Here’s the rundown on my weekend in Vegas.
To preface this story, however, you must know that I travel for work occasionally. The bulk of my job when I travel is client entertainment. I am supposed to take them to dinner, ply them with drinks and then take them out after dinner for more drinks. The purpose, obviously, is to get them drunk and liking me so that they will give me their business. Last week I was in Jacksonville from Monday through Friday. I was out past midnight every night and hung over every day. It’s tough work, but someone has to do this.
So, as we’re leaving Jacksonville (I did mention that my boss and our marketing director were with me, right?) after an 8:30 a.m. meeting Friday morning, hung over and miserable and wanting nothing more than to sleep in my own bed and forego any alcohol for a few days, my phone rings. My friend John is on his way to Vegas. Good for him. Unfortunately for me, John’s girlfriend has bailed on the trip and he doesn’t want to hang in Vegas by himself. The negotiations begin:
John: Come to Vegas, it’ll be great.
Wes: I can’t afford it.
John: I’ll pay for half your ticket, up to a max of $250.
Wes: I can’t afford it, plus I’m going to Auburn this weekend to hang with some friends.
John: Fuck that. I’ll buy half your ticket up to a max $500 and I’ll pay for the room.
Wes: I can’t afford to lose a bunch of money in Vegas and I doubt I can find a flight.
John: Fuck that. I’ll buy your ticket outright, to a max of $750, pay for the hotel room and give you seed money for gambling.
Wes: Godammit. Okay, let me see if I can find a flight.
<put my girlfriend on a mission to find a flight….two hours, and much wrangling with the airlines, later>
Wes: John, the best I can do is $971 for the flight.
John: Book it. I’ll see you there.
So, I’m miserably tired and hung over and now I’m planning on spending the weekend in Vegas. Super. I get to my local airport about 20 minutes before the flight is scheduled to leave and, of course, I get flagged for the ultra-invasive security search. Make the gate just in time and I’m off.
Fly to Memphis, LA, then to Vegas (fuck a bunch of last minute booking, you have to go around your elbow to get to your ass). I show up in Sin City and make my way to the hotel, arriving at 12:30 a.m. John has promised to leave me a key, but has failed to do so. I know he’s in the room, because he called when I was in LA to tell me that the key is at the front desk and he’s going to pass out for a while. The front desk can’t issue a key without John’s authorization and he’s not answering his room or cell phone. I spend an hour calling his cell phone and leaving increasingly angry messages. Finally the night manager shows up (a fucking lunch break at 1 a.m.?) and offers to take security up to the room if I think John’s life is in danger. I agree. This guy is a dangerous alcoholic and might be going all Chris Farley in their room. Not really, but it helps my cause. John is roused from his stupor and I get a key. It is 2 a.m.
I shower and convince John that we need to start gambling…sharpish. John hits me with the promised cash and we’re off and running. We head to the Wynne and play blackjack for four hours, leaving with the casino’s money and a substantial quantity of their booze in our blood. Fall in bed at 6:30 a.m. and crash…
Only to be awakened by Howard and the gang drunk dialing me from Auburn. They are very intoxicated at 10:30 a.m. PST and I’m in Vegas, so fuck sleeping; I’m up. Kick John and we’re off to place our first bets of the day (thank you Auburn Tigers for putting $$ in my pockets) and grab some lunch.
Properly fortified, we return to the Wynne and camp out in the ‘book to watch the UCLA and Wake basketball games. We lose, but we drink heavily for free (I know…it’s not really free. Fuck that cuz there was no money directly exchanged for the drinks apart from the gratuities) and convince our cocktail waitress that we are captains of industry. On second thought, we win. Now we’re off to the craps table. We hang strong for about four hours. John demands that the entire crew address him as Mr. F (his last name begins with this letter, of course). They comply…and they love us. We have hot hands on our end of the table, but the other end of the table sinks us. We leave.
Back to the room at 5 p.m. for showers and rest before seeking out dinner. John crashes and I stay up to make calls and watch the UNC game. At 7:30 I’ve had enough waiting around and start kicking John in an attempt to wake him. No dice. I start blasting music at full volume. He’s not moving. Fuck John, he’s the first casualty of the weekend. I strike out on my own to explore the town.
On my cabbie’s advice I head to the Venetian to have sushi at Tao. The sushi is fantastic, the bartender is stunning and I’m having a good time. Then the cougars attack. A very attractive older woman leans over my shoulder and asks about my meal. I walk her through what I’m having and she wants to try some. I oblige her and we continue making small talk. She starts buying my drinks (which is nice because $16 a drink is fucking outrageous) and asks why I’m sitting there alone. I explain about John and she says, “You should hang out with me and my friends, then”, as she points to two more very attractive older ladies (I’d guess that they were late 30’s to early 40’s). I join them and continue drinking. They love me. They are from Dallas and are used to Texan douchebags. Two cougars are married, one is not. The married ones say, “We’re married, so we’re harmless. You can hang with us.” To which I reply, “What if I came to Vegas to be harmed a little?”
They love me. We go dancing for a while, they pay for the drinks, but soon I’m tired of hearing about their fucking children and life in Dallas. I ditch them and head back to the Wynne to gamble. While I’m waiting for my cab a lovely young lady walks up and asks if she heard my destination correctly and would I mind if she split the fare with me. Do I mind? Fuck no. Tiffany is from Long Beach, California and we talk about the music scene there on the ride. As we exit the cab she says, “I need to run to my room and change my shoes. Will you wait at that bar for me?”
I’m very drunk and fading fast, but I agree. I order another drink and a red bull…and wait. No Tiffany. Fuck this, I’m going to gamble some more. Lose the rest of my cash at the craps table and decide to head to bed.
It takes me 10 hours to get home and I fall into my bed at 11 p.m. last night. I return penniless (well, they weren’t my pennies to start with) and without a social disease or police record. This qualifies as a successful trip in my book. Sorry I missed the game, boys.
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