Intro to Vegasification

I don't know if I've brought this up yet or not, but I've got a little trip to LAS VEGAS next week. We're going for my sister's 21st birthday. (You may ask how I can afford so many trips this summer. The answer: I can't! As long as American Express doesn't realize that too and then take away my magic cash-dispensing card, nobody gets hurt.)

I'll be staying with the family this time, and not my usual band of Vegas yahoos. Such a switch-up raises many questions in my mind. For one thing, if I'm not rooming with Paul, who's going to retire back to our room with me to watch Lionheart when we run out of money? If I'm not sharing a bed with Damon, who's going to put me in a headlock in his sleep and then stuff a racing form into my mouth? Should I ask the bellboy at the hotel to do these things with/to me, just to establish my Vegas comfort zone? How much do you tip for something like that?

All of this brings up a pretty good Vegas story that I'm going to unload on you people.

We went to Vegas for the first time a couple of years ago. Since we'd never seen any of the casinos, we were walking through them and Paul happened to be filming the thing, trying to create a travelogue of sorts. It was typical tourist stuff. As we're bumbling around like a couple of doofuses and trying to narrate all of this tacky, random crap we're seeing, when one of the cocktail waitresses runs up next to us.

She had a little message, alright: it was maybe the scariest, most bewildering/stressful thing I've ever heard. She said it quickly and quietly with a distinct, frightened edge in her voice. She told us right in the middle of the casino, where she knew they couldn't get her, and then before we could respond, she turned and ran away. I watch a lot of spy movies; I know that right after the double agent shares a secret with you, the snipers are after you. I've also seen a lot of Vegas movies; I know that when you anger the casino, they break all your bones and send your remains to the bean dip factory.

Here's roughly what she said: "The guards saw you with the camera, put it away before they come get you. Oh God, it's too late, here they come."

I just wanted to start screaming right there. I enter a casino for a little sight-seeing, and I'm almost immediately mistaken for some master criminal attempting to break the bank. I knew there'd be no way to explain the honest mistake before the guards punched my tongue off.

What happened next? Well, we never saw any guards. We stood in the casino, looking around frantically and ready to burst into tears, but nothing ever happened. I didn't want to flee the scene; I knew that'd only make them madder. Eventually though, we had to accept that somehow, we had evaded the immense crapstorm into which we accidentally waddled.

The best part of the whole thing is that Paul still has this on tape. (Paul, is there any way to upload that clip? It'd probably be better if you could edit out the sound of me pooping myself.)

Posted by Cody at July 25, 2006 05:52 PM