A Sinfully Bad Story

Ever have one of those stories where, even before you tell it, you already know the people you’re telling it to are probably not going to believe you?

 

I’ve got one of those…
So gather round children, this tale begins in the mystical land of Windsor, Ontario, where the birds fly lower to avoid the smog from Detroit and where the most racist of barbers reside.

The protagonist of this journey is of course myself, accompanied by 2 loyal wingman; Evan Gaiswinkler and another guy whose name I can’t remember. So for lack of a better name I will refer to him as Rusty.

So at this point in the night we had already gone bar-hopping in downtown Windsor and after last call we made our way over to the Ceasers Casino. In roughly the first 30 minutes I lost about 40 bucks but I was planning on making that money back in free coffee.

So now I’m fucking wired at like 3 in the morning walking around aimlessly in this casino. Evan playing poker and Rusty is walking around with me.

At one point we were walking through this aisle that got a bit congested, people were pretty much shoulder-to-shoulder. I looked back to see where Rusty went, when I bumped into the guy in front me.

This guy, black, wearing a guitar on his back was around my same height but was definitely stockier than me.

Because I had an open coffee cup in my hands and a little sloppy from the beer from before, I split coffee on the guy in front of me’s shirt.

He stopped and began to turn around, so obviously he noticed the hot coffee that is currently staining his jump suit.

I got kinda nervous when I noticed what I did so almost right away I began to apologize, but before I got the whole thing out I realized who this mother fucker was…

“Oh shit man I’m so sor- HOLY SHIT YOU’RE SINBAD!”

Jingle all the way, House Guest, First Kid, A Different World….I could go on…..actually, nope that’s about it.

 


ANNNNNYWAYS…

Even for a noisy casino when I said that, I think the granny on the other side of the casino with her hearing aid turned off could have probably heard me.

“You split coffee on me, my man.”

This is all he had to say, and all he DID say during this entire encounter.

Even though I was an asshole for not fully apologizing (and not to mention the fact I split hot coffee on him) I still somehow made it worse by preceding to ask to get a photo with him.

This is where the first part came in where I knew no one would believe this happened unless I got a quick pic with Sinbad.

He was having none of it.

I probably walked amongst his group of people for roughly 10 minutes asking for a picture. I know this is a pretty lame thing to do but there’s something that comes over you when you’ve been drinking excessive amounts of coffee after already been out getting smamered at the bars; you feel kinda off balance, yet, concentrated…

So after following him for a pretty awkwardly long time he finally stopped and gestured to let me take a picture with him. I remember him rolling his eyes like my 16 year old little sister does when my mom tells her to clean her room or some shit like that.

The guy who took the picture on my phone looked like Dragons Den reject and as if if he wasn’t there escorting Sinbad he would probably be monitoring the ladies changing room cameras.

He did a half-ass job of taking the picture but I wasn’t picky. The point was to get proof this all happened, not to get a glamour shot to put up on my refrigerator.

Here’s the pic…

 

 

You can obviously tell how un-pleased he is.

I guess in the end I did all that because after being out 40 bucks from the blackjack table I knew I had to do something to make the trip to the casino worth it.

Seems somewhat narcissistic to think this; but sometimes I wonder if Sinbad ever tells the story of the night some punk ass from Windsor spilt coffee on him and then preceded to hound him for a picture.

I’m really moving up in this world.

 

Advertisements

About cameronchase420

Hey I'm Cameron and I hate Ketchup, obviously. I also like to talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, talk, and rap. I'm from Calgary but lived in Ontario for the most of my life. I now live in a little town called Wingham, oh you haven't heard of Wingham? Strange. Aaaaanyways, enough about me. Go read my shit. View all posts by cameronchase420

One response to “A Sinfully Bad Story

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: