Bad Luck Billy
He was born on the 13th day of the first, or I guess you could say 13th month depending on how you look at it. That’s the same day his mother died for him. You could imagine it was cold outside that time of the year in Philadelphia. It was also icy. That’s what caused his first stroke of bad luck, if you don’t count what happened to his mom of course. His father slipped over a dense patch of black ice as Billy left the hospital for the first time. You couldn’t detect that ice with a spotlight. Billy fell too, obviously, since he was in his father’s arms. He was too young then to know, but he brought bad luck to his family at a very young age. But now he’s older. And he knows something is wrong with him, if you ask him.
By the time he was 13 years old, Billy had been a victim of so many unlucky experiences, that he stopped hoping for things to go his way. Throughout his miserable life, Billy accomplished a grand list of misfortunes which he felt no control over. He once crashed his bike into a school bus. It was full of his peers, who found this hilarious, as they did his entire existence. But they always laughed from afar, because everything he touched lost its magic, and none of them would dare test his bad luck. His right hand never functioned the same after a serious—or funny, depending how you look at it—accident involving fireworks. He was once blamed for a local convenience store robbery while he was in bed with a fever. His father paid off the owner. And this was just the tip of the iceberg.
On his 13th birthday, Billy was surprised to come home to a room full of peers (not friends) from his middle school. His dad asked Billy’s brother to call some of the kids from school over. Reluctantly, many accepted because they were promised goodie bags and cake amongst other things. Anyway, Billy was surprised when he walked into the door. A clown was the most conspicuous person in the room, and that combined with the shock of 30 or so others screaming happy birthday scared the crap out of Billy, literally. The room smelled terribly in what seemed like one second later. All of a sudden, Billy froze and looked down, and as insult to injury, he began to pee his pants. Everyone stared in bewilderment, not yet ready to laugh, as the wetness spread into the shape of Texas on his white khaki pants that his uncle had just gotten him a few hours earlier. He felt like Taylor Swift at the VMA’s when Kanye West interrupted her, IF she had been naked. One tear drop broke free from Billy’s attempt to suppress his embarrassment, and that was all it took. A moment later, his eyes were streaming rivers like an exaggerated anime character. Laughter ensued, and the rest of the scene is just too painful to continue describing.
So Billy accepted his fate, as the most misfortunate individual to ever walk this earth. And he actually gained mild fame for his unlucky ways. He was featured on a local news channel, like some curious case that could not be solved. Despite his D-list celebrity status, Billy could not hold a job for more than a few months, and he was employed by the local car wash when he received the call from Vegas. That call would change his pathetic life.
He didn’t have much to pack, or many to say bye to. So two days later, Billy arrived in Las Vegas to start his new life, all paid for. Billy was 22 years old, and he had never left the greater Philadelphia area prior to his arrival in Las Vegas. At the airport, he was greeted by two men in custom-tailored suits who carried his luggage and directed him to a limousine parked right outside. Inside the limo, along with a chilled bucket of Dom Pérignon Rosé, sat one of the most powerful men in Vegas, Randal Ruiz. It was delicate with flair—not the champagne, Mr. Ruiz’s personality.
“So Mr. Ruiz, you own the entire Mandalay Bay Resort and Casino?” inquired Billy after Mr. Ruiz spoke of his role in Las Vegas.
“Please Billy, that’s what my father calls me,” said Mr. Ruiz with a half smile and the mildest Panamanian accent.
“Sorry Randal,” cried out Billy with his eyes enlarged due to fear of his error.
“Call me Randy,” said Mr. Ruiz in the most nonchalant manner possible in that moment.
Billy had never met such a conundrum of a man, and only a few minutes had passed. This Latino was one of the biggest players in a Casino warzone commandeered by wealthy white men. He was calm yet powerful, gritty yet tasteful, passive yet vigorous. Mr. Ruiz was important, yet he saw something valuable in the petty existence that was known as William Higginbottom.
“Why did you call me here?” Billy posed.
“Well Billy, you have a talent that I could sure use. You see, back at the beginning of the decade, my casino was the highest grossing on the entire strip. Things have changed in the last 20 years, and I’m losing a lot of hard cash on the floors. The environment is changing, and we’re falling behind the competition. People are getting lucky at Mandalay bay, and that’s not good for business. I’m sure a smart kid like you understands that. I need a drastic turnaround and that’s where you come in, my bad luck charm.”
Billy just stared, impolitely. He couldn’t tell if that was an insult or a complement.
A few days and training sessions later, Billy was ready to begin his custom-made role as Deficit Manager. His job description stated that he was to manage Mandalay Bay’s debt by eliminating further losses through creative strategies. What he actually had to do was just be there, at the casino, and share his bad luck with the gambling casino-goers.
It worked. You would be surprised at how bad his luck was. Of course, he was no disappointment to Mr. Ruiz, who saw his casino’s debt cut in half nearly four months after Billy’s first day. And the bad luck, or good luck, depending on how you look at it, continued for years. Mr. Ruiz kept Billy around and happy, since his casino rose back to prominence as the most thriving spot on the strip, with the best shows and crowd. But people began to catch on to the bad luck they experienced at Mandalay Bay. Within the next year, due to word-of-mouth and bad press, people stopped coming to Mr. Ruiz’s casino and resort.
“This is your fault! I tried to help you, but you’re just too pathetic. You’re cursed, I’m telling you! Mr. Higginbottom, get off my property in the next five minutes or consider you a dead man!” yelled Mr. Ruiz in his angry Panamanian accent.
Billy wandered miserably towards the Fountains at Bellagio, where he leaned against the railing and stared at the water dancing so happily in front of him. The water was happier than he could ever be, he thought. Just then, a beautiful voice called out to him from behind.
“Hi! Do you mind taking my picture in front of the Fountains,” she said in such a jovial tone.
Billy turned around, and was shocked to learn that her face was more beautiful than her voice. She was a recent college graduate from London, travelling to Las Vegas for the first time with a few of her old roommates. She was trusting and very friendly, as she told Billy what seemed to be her life story in all of five minutes. She could tell that he was a nice person.
“So do you mind taking my picture? I need to catch up with my roommates soon, and I’d hate to take up your time,” she said very genuinely.
“You don’t want me to take your picture, trust me. I’m sort of a magnet for bad luck,” Billy admitted.
“Don’t worry, I only believe in good luck, not bad,” she claimed with an optimistic smile.
“Well that’s good to know,” Billy thought out loud.
With a brilliant stroke of courage, he dared to inquire, “If you don’t mind me asking, do you have any plans tonight?”
And for the first time in his pathetic life, William Higginbottom witnessed a glorious moment of good luck.
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