The Origin of "408Down"

It's not your typical alias, I know. I get a lot of guesses from SF Bay Area people familiar with 408 as the area code for greater San Jose and the surrounding area. Coincidentally, I spent a huge chunk of my childhood in that section of California, but that's not the reason for the nickname.

I've held off on writing the background story on 408Down for the reason that I had intended to post the tale on the anniversary of. We're about 8 months away from the third year since that night, so what better time than now to recount that story.

October 10, 2006: During work, a few of my co-workers and I discussed the idea of going to a club later that night. Obviously, this is typical weekday consideration for young Vegas professionals, so the idea of partying on a weeknight was not out of the ordinary. My sister tends bar at a local nightclub, so with access to the VIP line, the destination was immediately decided upon. The remainder of the day consisted of gathering more colleagues to join in on the fun. There weren't many takers, as it was a Tuesday.

10pm: Four of us met at Caesar's Palace, ready to party. We fought through the crowd that had already amassed at the club entrance, made our way to the front to let the bouncer know that we were on the list, and made our way in victoriously ahead of the mob. Of course we immediately made a beeline for the bar my sister was working.

I will say that having a sister who is a bartender is dangerous (that should be Dangerous! with a capital 'D' and exclamation point). She served us vodka mixers, where 98% of the drink was pure alcohol and the rest of the drink was literally a splash of either Red Bull or cranberry juice. Every sip was painfully strong, and yet we each managed to consume a few of those drinks between Jagermeister shots.

October 11, 2006: By this point we lost a party pal who decided to turn in for the night so that he would still be able to go to work at 7am. Smart guy. The remaining crew continued to dance and drink a bit more. When we realized that perhaps we should call it a night the time was close to 1:30am.

As we exited the club and cut through the casino, we all sensed our inebriation, and also decided that a quick trip to the potty was in order. The nearest restroom was located an escalator down from the casino area and had its own lobby area, equipped with benches and a shoe shine area. After finishing my business in the ladies' restroom, I returned to the lobby area to find my companions patiently waiting for me. This is the moment I decided to sit down for a quick break, and ended up passing out on the floor.

We were all pretty wasted from what I recall, but clearly, I was tanked. After ending up on that lobby floor, I don't remember much. The rest of this narrative is based on my friends' accounts:

Prior to passing out I told my pals that I just wanted to rest for a sec, and apparently continued to tell them so for about a half hour each time they attempted to get me to get back on my feet so we could exit the casino. I was so drunk that I remained unmoved.

A hotel security officer eventually showed up and advised my companions that they needed to get me out of there. My friends swooped me up by both arms, and practically carried me through the casino. Meanwhile, the security officer who was on the scene first followed closely behind us, summoning back-up on his radio with "We've got a 408 Down here, 408 Down exiting the casino."

I didn't go to work that morning for obvious reasons. However, my friend, Matt, took it upon himself to impart our previous night's adventure in gross detail to colleagues who would find interest in our tale, making sure to emphasize that the casino code for drunken, unconscious female is "408 Down." Many were entertained by the story, and it didn't help that I had a developing reputation as a party aficionado which I had long tried to keep under wraps. Word spread quickly about that night and consequently, the name stuck. Even one of the executives got wind of the story, and often greeted me with a spirited "408 Down!" every time I passed his office.

The moral of the story is: beware of excessive drinking nights. Friends may never let you live those moments down.

Yes, the image you see here is from that night of the 3 of us being escorted out. Good times.