Mr. CSI by Anthony E. Zuiker

Author:Anthony E. Zuiker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins US
Published: 2011-11-30T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

From my experience at the brokerages, I knew I wasn’t going to become another Gary Abraham. I had to be myself. I still thought that meant being creative, and in search of some guidance, I sent a sample of my ideas to a former advertising professor of mine at UNLV. He had his own company on the side and I thought he might have an entry-level position.

He called as soon as he received my package, which I thought might be a positive sign. It wasn’t. He said my work was talentless and the last thing I should consider was a career in advertising. He also chewed me out for wasting his time, adding, “I hope this helped.”

As always, I vowed to show him how wrong he was. I set my sights on getting into the advertising and marketing department at the Mirage. It was the best hotel in Vegas, the centerpiece of Steve Wynn’s operation, and I figured they had to be on the lookout for bright new talent. I mocked up several magazine ads and sent them on spec to John Schadler, the vice president of advertising. A few days later, his secretary called and set up a meeting.

“See,” I told Rico. “They recognized genius.”

“Are you sure they had the right number?” he joked.

It turned out to be a joke—a cruel one. When I entered John’s office, he was at his desk, watching the stock ticker scroll across a TV on the opposite side of the room. He let me sit there for a minute or two before turning away from the TV and directing his attention to me. But he looked confused.

“Who do you think you are, sending me ideas and asking for a job?” he said.

“What?” I asked.

“I get submissions from everybody and their grandmother,” he continued. “They come in every day of the week.”

“I thought my ideas were good,” I said.

“This is a billion-dollar business,” he said. “We don’t use submissions from people off the street.”

“I’m just trying to get a job.”

“Take the appropriate steps,” he said. “Fill out an application with HR. Check back in six months. Work your way up.”

I didn’t get it. Why did these busy people take time out of their days just to chastise me simply for trying to get ahead? At least this meeting had provided some useful information. Go to HR. Fill out an application. Before I left the corporate offices, I found Human Resources and asked if there were any openings at the hotel. There was one for a tram driver. I thought, What the hell, and filled out an application. Months later, I went back in for an interview and left as the new tram driver.

I was assigned to the graveyard shift, from 7 p.m. to 4 a.m., and issued a uniform: a Hawaiian-print beach shirt, khaki pants, and brand-new white tennis shoes. On my first day, my boss, Chuck Nino, introduced me to my supervisor, a petite African-American lady named Tamika. As she explained, there wasn’t much to the job other than fighting boredom.

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