The Misuse of Pale Pink Hats

The Drums Danced

$20k

That’s it. I scanned every page of the little black book which I’d never seen before. What did it mean? What drums? I looked around for inspiration at a flat dusty landscape that shimmered in the heat and definitely didn’t resemble the Texas Hill Country. Off to my right a muddy river flowed sluggishly to some unknown destination.

I looked down to discover I stood on a rickety wooden porch attached to nothing and out loud asked myself what turned out to be a rhetorical question since I could see the answer. “What the hell am I wearing?”

I blushed and guiltily looked around to see if there were people pointing and laughing at my whimsical pajamas and boots handpainted with hummingbirds. Hardly de rigueur for the wasteland surrounding me.

Wasteland. Stephen King’s Dark Tower novel, The Wastelands! The drums that dance must be the God Drums which are the drums from ZZ Top’s Velcro Fly. As if on cue, I heard the drums in the distance.

Somehow I’ve been transported to Lud in the Wastelands in my pajamas and boots and I really have to pee.

“You’re overthinking this.”

As a former smoker, I marveled at the intensity of the banshee shriek I emitted. I didn’t think my lungs had it in them. I backed up against the railing of the tiny porch and looked in terror at my uninvited guest.

“Are you a parrot?”

“Do I look like a parrot?’

I clutched the little black book to my chest as if it might be a talisman to protect me.

“No, you look like an enormous scary bird, but since you’re talking to me, I assume you’re a parrot. Either that or I’ve gone insane.”

“You’re not insane, Kat.”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know many things. Google is very informative.”

“Birds google things?”

“You should be asking my name.”

Now that I had almost recovered from my original fright, this bird who spoke in riddles began to annoy me. Best not to provoke it though.

“I’m sorry for being so rude, but I don’t know what’s happening or where I am. What’s your name?”

“Lucky. I’m a golden eagle, not a parrot. All birds can speak, we choose not to most of the time.”

“Umm, okay. Can you tell me where I am and can you hear those drums?”

“I hear them, but once again you’re overthinking this. Look at the railing.”

Draped on the railing was my purple and teal pashmina scarf, one of the few items of clothing I own that isn’t faded jeans or t-shirts with sarcastic slogans plastered on the front. It hadn’t been there before.

“Did you bring that from my house?”

“No, Kat. And it’s time for me to take off. Heh, heh, heh.”

I guess that comment is what passes for humor in avian circles.

He reached up with a talon, snatched the little black book from me, spread his wings and abandoned me to the Wastelands, the drums and my confusion.

“Hey, Lucky! That’s my book! And it’s a Moleskine!”

I could barely hear him shout back, “Go pee, Kat. Then Google.”

I woke up. Damn ancient bladder. I shambled to the bathroom like a World War Z fast zombie with the nightmare still fresh and scrabbling for purchase in my brain. I pulled down the same pajama bottoms from my dream and pondered my feet covered by striped socks and sans boots while I relieved myself for the third time since going to bed.

I crawled back in bed and tried to go back to sleep, but I could still remember every detail of the crazy nightmare. Unusual, as most of my dreams evaporated before I got to the bathroom. Tossing and turning to the sound of ZZ Top’s drums, I finally gave up, got out of bed and turned on my computer.

The first thing I googled was Velcro Fly. I’m a child of the 70s and I love ZZ Top, but I wondered if there is a statute of limitations for Billy Gibbons to be arrested for DWI (Dressing Without Instructions) due to the pale pink hat he wore in the video. Nothing in the song indicated what was meant by the only words written in the little black book.

Next I looked up Dancing Drums. It’s a slot machine. Perhaps that accounted for the cryptic $20k. I watched some people who have YouTube channels play Dancing Drums, but mostly these people lost their asses on that game. I checked many slot YouTubers and yes, this is a real thing. I found out that the micro-second you touch the spin button, the outcome is decided. I learned slot machine dos and don’ts. Do set a budget and stick to it. Do get up from a machine if you’re up. The machines are designed to take your money. Don’t play more than one machine at a time. It’s rude. Don’t be a slapper. A slapper is someone who quickly slaps the spin button as if that will change the outcome. Everything about this strange new world I’d stumbled into seemed odd to me because my idea of entertainment is reading.

I really wanted to get some more sleep, but before I crawled back into bed, I googled lucky eagle, thinking maybe it’s a type of eagle. Nope. It’s a casino in Eagle Pass, Texas run by the Kickapoo tribe. Eagle Pass is on the border between Texas and Mexico and is indeed a wasteland with the Rio Grande separating the town and its neighbor to the south. I’d heard there was a casino down there, but never suspected it of being a Vegas-style hotel and casino. Perusing its website I marveled at the five restaurants, entertainment venue and overall glitz.

A ridiculous notion began to form in my senile brain. Maybe I should jump into my 1997 Mercury Grand Marquis with no spare tire and use my $1,134 Social Security money and go check it out. My hometown is only three hours away.

I’m a born procrastinator with a penchant for disorganization, but by 9 am I had stopped by my bank’s ATM and withdrawn $300. My rationale was that I could stand to lose 10 to 120 pounds so not eating this month would be a good thing.

I filled up my gas tank and made a stop to the local entertainment store and found a used CD of Afterburner, the album that contained Velcro Fly. I’m not superstitious, but if changing my plans to read all day and argue with my cat, The Evil Dr. Sprinkles and instead do something spontaneous based on a ridiculous nightmare, I intended to stick to the entire thing with the exception of birdnapping a golden eagle. I inserted the CD in the player and turned the volume way up. God drums of Lud, here I come!

Three hours later I pulled into the covered parking garage at the casino and immediately began having second thoughts. I’m an introvert. There were people in this place. People who might talk to me. I shuddered but felt compelled by an imaginary eagle sitting on my shoulder whispering, “You’re overthinking it, Kat.”

I walked through the massive door into the casino and immediately understood a whole lot of losing was going on to afford the electric bill. I hate the Texas heat and immediately fell in soulmate love with the polar air conditioning. I noticed quite a few people wearing sweaters.

The next thing I noticed was the noise. Loud rock music playing, bells and whistles going off, the occasional scream of either a big winner or a victim of some type of crime. A perfect venue for an introvert on a Thursday afternoon.

After a 3-hour road trip, my first priority was to find a restroom. These days peeing is the major theme of my life. Once I took care of that, washed my hands and surreptitiously checked my money, I set out on my quest to find a Dancing Drums slot machine. The place had so many slots that were obviously organized by a frustrated maze designer that I wandered aimlessly, gaping at all the lights and colors. Rube, thy name is Kat.

The casino was filled with a multitude of elderly gamblers. I later found out discounts are offered on meals, rooms and Bingo for seniors on Thursdays. At one point I abruptly stopped my meandering to take in an approaching Methuselina. A one-inch Olympic downhill skier could have successfully navigated the crags of her face, although the sludge she had mistaken for makeup might have bogged the skier down. Her cerulean street walker eye shadow made me want to find a window shade and pull it down over my eyes. If Lucille Ball had injected her hair dye with steroids to make it more red, this woman would have screamed in her face, “I WIN!” She wore black boots with three-inch heels, but the winner of this smorgasbord of truly bad taste had to be her outfit; a shiny, skintight faux leopard onesie. As she passed me, I turned to watch her go. I guess she was proud of that booty straining to escape. I haven’t worn makeup in over 30 years and 20 years from now will never have a whippersnapper like me judging me. I call this my Lucky Eagle Vow.

Due to my nightmare, which I had come to think of as a prophecy because I’m stupid, I didn’t want to waste my money on other machines, but they were all calling to me. I finally sat down at one that strived to be cuter than a kitten montage video. Lucky Pony allowed you dress the pony in adorable outfits. If you touched the pony on the screen, apples came out of its ass. Despite my crazy dream, I don’t have the imagination to make up something so hilarious. I lost twenty bucks and didn’t even care because I was having too much fun.

I finally found a bank of Dancing Drums slot machines, but people were playing in front of all of them. I sat at a machine across the aisle and began playing 38-cents a spin. I wasn’t winning much in line hits, an occasional dollar here and there, but suddenly something sparkly spread across the screen and six balls dropped. One of them said Major. I won the Major! I looked up to see how much while balls were still dropping. $1,473.24. On a 38-cent bet. After getting paid, I moved over to Dancing Drums which had emptied out, I assume because it was 4 pm and the seniors were flocking to the buffet.

I looked up at the progressive jackpots and caught my breath. The Grand was $20,000.00. “Don’t be silly, Kat,” I muttered. “It was just a dream.” Even so, the aortic pig valve in my heart which I had named Breakfast began working overtime. Dancing Drums is an Asian themed slot machine and I’d learned that the number eight means wealth. I put $100 in the machine, picked the $8.80 bet and spun. On my first spin, the progressive pot opened for a picking bonus. First pick the Grand. Second pick the Grand. My hand began to shake as I made my third pick. The Grand. The machine became a flashing, beeping berserker, a crowd gathered and for the second time in 10 minutes an attendant counted out my winnings.

Time to go pee and get out before I lost it all. It was getting late and I needed to avoid the Texas past time while driving in the dark known as suicidal whitetail deer dodgeball. For the moment I was numb, but tomorrow my first purchase will be a little black book.