Fear and Drunkenness in Vegas (part 2)

(Note: If you have not read Part 1 first, please go to the previous post and do so now!~ Things will make more sense that way. And please do not reveal the shock ending! Now...Where we're we? Ah, yes... The Shark Club urinals...)

PART 2: Purge Transit

The two party guys hand over the sagging load of stinking flesh that is my roommate for Vegas, Doug. I sling and arm about him and half drag him to the line of taxis. The first one opens up the door, probably thinking he's gonna get a load of cash off of me just for driving us a few blocks. I slide the still laughing Doug into the back seat, trying to fold his noodle legs in so I can slam the door shut.

"were too?" the Taxi driver asks.

"Excalabur" I get into the front seat of the cab. He gives me a look on why I wouldn't want to ride with my buddy.

"He's not gotta throw up, is he? I aint taking him if he's gonna throw up in here..."

I look back to the open mouth slobbering grin that Doug is giving from the back seat. If I tell the truth, we'll be back at the Club, and I don't think I can stop his blubbery frame from going back in the club. He'll be arrested eventually. So, I lie. I tell the cabbie, no problems, he threw up already...

So we start to drive back to the hotel. We don't get out of the driveway when the cabbie and I smell a horrendous stench from the back seat. And the cackling slurred laugh starts up again. And now he's talking endlessly.

"Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it! Mike did it!..."

"Who's Mike?" the cabbie asks. I say I don't know, he's drunk. Why stop lying now?

I can see the lights of the Excalibur car port! We've almost made it! We're gonna.... wait. The back seat all of a sudden fell silent. I look back and I see Doug's head rocking back and forth slightly. Eyes glazed, the sound of belch being born. I see a fast moving countdown timer metiphorically on his face. And through grit teeth, a scream, "Shit!!!" as I undo my seatbelt and slide down to the floorboard. The cabbie just got "wha...?" out and looked back...

When the projectile vomit started.

The cabbie is scraming like a little girl and blinded, covered. The front window is painted with sick as he slams on the brakes and we start to fishtail out of control into the hotel carport. Doug throws his gurggling head back and now he looks like one of those school project volcanos. He's tapped into another dimention, because the puke and bubbling sounds just isn't stopping!

As we come to a stop on the curb we jumped, and fall out of the cab like it was on fire. Who knew a cab driver knew so many profanities? I grab Dougs ankle and drag his heavy carcass to the automatic doors of the hotel, proping him up on the frame. I tell the cabbie, who's now wiping out the backseat with papertowels and catlitter, "sorry" and give him $50. He's earned it today.

I look behind me and see that Doug has slid off the frame and his head is now caught between the sliding doors, which are now opening and closing on his neck as he's laughing like an idiot. Getting him up and dragging him to the elevators to end this nightmare, he see the escalator up to the slots room. He tries to brake away from me, stumbling.

"erp...wanna gambowl..." he spits out from his red, now crusty, face. I tell Doug "no", and the next thing I feel is a meaty balled up fist slamming into my eye socket, with the full wieght of a bloated drunken rage. I fly backwards into the corner...and I...finally...snapped.

My evening was watching this idiot, toteing his fat ass, dodging vomit, almost dying in a old cab, and spending all of my days money for the cab. I am only trying to help. And then...he full on HITS me in anger?!!

Have you ever read about those times were people get superhuman strength and lift cars off of babies and stuff? It's totally true. I got up, the most pissed off I've ever got. Raced over to Doug, trying to get on the escalator up, actually pick up his almost 300 pound frame over my head, and toss him over the rail to the down escalator. Hotel security comes to the scene just as Doug comes to rest on his back at the bottom of the escalator, and he was laughing like the joker all the way. He loved it.

We all pour his body onto a wheelchair, and his dead weight is bottoming out the frame. He has to be taken through the casino as he's too heavy to be taken into the normal elevator. He's doing the "Mike did it..." mantra again and try to snatch drinks and chips off of tables. He also stripped half down by the time we clear the floor to the freight elevators. He's only in his soggy baggy whities when we get to the hotel room door.

The rest of the evening to morning, was hearing him in the bathroom belching, throwing up, betching, etc. I spent the rest of the two days in a friends room. But, I made sure I called Doug from a dead sleep every 15 minutes, Just to make his hangover all the more painful. He ended up throwing the phone across the room and having to pay for it, then he threw up into his suitcase when he tried to get clean clothes. He had no recollection of what happened. Or why his suitcase was full of vomit. But, he spent the rest of the few days in Vegas holed up in his room with nothing but a bedsheet toga for clothes.

Ah, Vegas....I don't think I needed to travel to the Sin City just to get a black eye.

Fear and Drunkenness in Vegas (part 1)

PART ONE: the Vegas Curse

There are many kinds of drunken attitudes. When people drink and get inebriated, inhibitions drop and they become something else. There are happy drunks that like to hug. There are lonely drunks that'll call you at 4am to tell you. "I love ya, man...". There are stumbling drunks that just pass out and you can then write rude things on them with a magic marker.

This is a story of an annoyingly stupid drunk.

My first trip to Las Vegas was with my workers at Pizzamania when I was 22. We paid for two days three nights for gamblin' and, well, just gamblin'. We all flew in already with a few drinks in us from the flight. I don't drink much becuase I become the most uninteresting drunk, the bypass-drunk. I just get a headache and hangover instantly. If I socially drink, it's two margeritas, three tops.

So, we land we land in Vegas, and we get our roommates for our suites at the Excalabur. Mine is a co-worker named Doug, a large-ish surfer looking dude with a Metalica/Motorhead fetish. And we go off for a day of losing hard earned cash. But this isn't a tale of slots and blackjack..It's a tale about drunkenness...

We get to our rooms at midnight after being up and active since 5am. My boss, Bill gets the bright idea that we should go to a Dance club called the Shark Club he was told about by a cab driver. I don't dance, and I'm very shy, but the others convince me I should go and try to have a good time. So we pile into a cab and off we go to a building at the end of the strip with a giant neon shark and tons of cabs with patrons piling out into the loud music arena.

So, I sit at the bar and watch from there, and I probably look as pathetic and out of place as I feel. The others are drinking and dancing like white guys. Every now and then they go back to the bar and order a drink, as does Doug...You remember him, right? Before they finish the drinks, they go back out to dance some more with the hot chicks when the muse takes them. But Doug is very thirsty, and he sees no problem just finishing the drinks that the others abandoned. I see this happening quite a bit, and the others see this, and decide to play a trick on him, they start ordering stronger, bigger, and more drinks to leave behind, knowing that Doug has never been drunk before in his life. Teach him a lesson, as it were...

Dougs a big guy. He was a big thirst. And he's now downing 5 shot glasses each time. He's getting loud and drunk, as he marching in place on the dance floor out of synch and yelling at the top of his lungs, "WoooOOOOOOOoooooooo!!!!"

How did he get so smashed and not know it? Then I see. Each time he want back out to the dance floor, he passes by other tables, each with half empty drinks. Abandoned drinks. On the last pass, he swallows a shallow liquid and then spits out the cigarettes that was crushed in it. Then continues to finish the glass. The Barkeep asks if that we take him home now, as he's cut off, and we see him lapping up a spilt drink on the bar counter.

Guess which one of us is sober enough for this task?

"Mike, you gotta take Doug back to the hotel."

So I grab Doug by the meaty arm. "Time to go, Doug..."

"with a slurred cackle, "NO! NO! Thirsty. wanna dance s'more!"

"So we spin in circles as he attempts to stumble out onto the dance floor and I whirl him towards the exit. All the while sucking out the liquid of any glass nearby. Even those who's owners are still at the table. With a hefty yank, I get his 280 lbs carcass to the foyer before anyone takes a poke at him. He probably wouldn't feel it right now anyway.

I see the taxi lines up ahead! It's almost over! Doug whispers in a breath that could peel paint, that he has to go pee, so I shove him into the bathroom, after he says he can do this alone.
Five minutes later, he being escorted out by two guys. His pants are around his ankles.

"...Are you Mike?" one of them says. I nod, thinking perhaps I should have lied .

"Your friend here, fell in the trough" Doug looks wet and starts to slurringly cackle-laugh again.

I should have lied, we're not even home yet...

(end of part one)

Van Ride of Purgatory

Yesterday, I got a ride home from some people that I work with. I'm lucky enough to have people willing to do this on my lite night shifts. Sharri, one of my favorite persons and an aunt-ly like figure to me, was driving, and Kevin...er...just Kevin...needed a ride home.

So I'm riding shotgun in Sharri's van with Kevin in the back. We're talking things and Kevin starts to relate a time at this very intersection that he saw a woman on a motorcycle cross on the red and slam into a truck side. Nothing wrong with this tale. What was starting to get wrong...was he was evolving his speech into...baby talk.

Let me explain.

Both Sharri and Kevin sometimes "evolve" their speaking patterns into a baby like syntax. Sharri does it trying to be cute, and it sorta is. Kevin does it trying to be gay, which is unnecessary because he has already achieved that. Now, he's not "screaming" or "flaming" gay, just gay, but you don't have to baby talk on everything.

We're not talking about a "goo-goo, gah-gah" like thing. Or even I high pitched voice. Just the evolution of an adult conversation, transforming into a 2 year old. Where words like "here" become "hee-wha", and "there" becomes "deah-wa".

Imagine a speaker at a podium doing this: "...so by examining the bar graph of sales over productivity, we can acheive a proper stance by gow-win ohvah deah-wa and saying 'no-no' to da ouchy..." No change to tone. Just reversion.

So back to the van. Kevin starts his tale "this woman starts to go against the red light, and I thought, 'oh no...dere gonna be a widdow accideeeent'. and she go and go 'boom' on da twuck...". I sit there dumbstruck for a moment thinking, what the hell just happened? I look to my hands to see if I've reverted to my preschool state, as I watch too much sci-fi. I focus on Kevin, not knowing if a piece of my brain misfired and sent me some weird audiology.

Then Sharri chimed in. "uh ohhhh, was she bewing naughty? I bet she didn't feewha vewry good den..." Oh my god! There's probably an airborne virus doing this! Sharri's fallen under and i'm probably next. I claw at the door window controls.

"yeah, dere was de rwed light and she go and vroom thwoow and get hit wit de twuck. And I thought 'oooooh, thwea gonna be a angwee laaaaady, she gonna suuuuue...'. " At this point I realize the air is okay, but they've both been rendered insane anyway. Surely, this will stop.

It didn't, and they talked like this, back and forth, for the entire 14 mile drive. My hand was tightening on the door handle. Perhaps I could open the door and roll out when we slow down at a corner. If I tuck and roll, and aim for a gutter, I might make it. It was too late to change my mind and walk home now. They're starting to mention "ouchy's".

What the hell did I just go through?

Children are Lying Little Bastards

Yes, they are, and I stand by that!

Everyone says that children are so precious and innocent, they don't know how to lie. Well, snap out of your dream bubble, because, brother, do they...and know how manipulate people as well.

It seems children gain this skill at an early age, and start to lose it around the 8 years of age range. Right from birth, they start to test everyone. Test limitations. Test what they can do to get what they want. Morals? Fugetabout it! From right out of the birth canal, they start to cry. Crying gets them something. Then the amazing human brain makes it's first idea: If I create the right stimuli, I can get whatever I want! Cry for a bottle. Cry for attention. Cry if your hungry. Parents think their baby is just wanting to be loved. Not exactly, it's just wanting. I've known parents who come at the ebbing of a childs cry, and that baby will cry non-stop for a parent to rush into a room, hold them, feed them, etc These are also the same children that are still breast feeding in their teens. I've also know parents who will ignore the babys selfish demands, and the baby will eventually sleep soundly.

I know some may still think, an innocent baby cant be devious.

I witnessed a baby at a store in a cart. The baby was quiet until he saw something he wanted, then the sound of a shreeking child permiates the air: the mom immediatly gives the baby what he wanted...and he stops crying...until he sees something else he wants. I also saw the baby look around for his mom before he started up. No sense wasting a good scream if it doesnt get you anything.

Need more proof?

I was once working in a toy store, and I enter an aisle with a small child there. This child is unattended and tearing into a package. He sees me, and after a look of guilt, quietly and without fuss, hands me over the package without me asking anything! He knew what he did was wrong, and he was caught. I said thank you to him...I was also being set up.

The parents come about the corner and the child sees them...and SCREAMS bloodly murder at the top of his lungs! Mouth totally unhinged! Spittle flying everywhere. His parents ask whats wrong, did someone do something to you? And what does this "innocent" child who doesnt know the meaning of lying do?

He points to me. Crying like I killed his puppy.

His dad rips the package out of hands and hands that, and a few other things to calm the child and bitches me out! This gentle lad cons his parents and makes me ther fall guy in one swoop! He of course, gets a bunch of toys and forgets he's supposed to continute crying instead of being happy about his devious plan, but the parents are oblivious...just like he planned.

Need more?

Another job. Fred Meyers, I was watching a child of 6 with a video game in his hand start to wander out of the securety area calling "Mom? Mom?" Like his mother vanished and he's looking for her now. He walks behind a clothing rack and then I see him pull out a Target bag from his pants and place the game in that! The evil genius! He's like the pre-Dr. Doom! Well played, my tiny friend, well played!

That reminds me of a story Bill Cosby told about his daughter. Children lie like a cheap rug naturally. He once told his daughter that she cant have any cookies on the top cabinet. He sees her go to the cabinet when she thinks he isn't looking, grab a chair, and climb up to stick her hand in the cookie jar:

Bill: What are you doing young lady?!
Daughter: (hand in jar) ...nothing...
Bill: What did I just tell you?!
Daughter: You said I cant have a cookie...
Bill: Whats that cookie doing in your hand then?
Daughter: (long pause, think think think) ............I got it for you....
Bill: I don't want a cookie.
Daughter: ...Well then can I have it?

What does this prove? Lying is human nature, honesty is learned and worked for. Thats why I charish my honest relationships of friends. they've aquired the skill that separated them from the evils that men do, seemingly from birth.