— 6:17 a.m.
Flight to Vegas
Viva Las Vegas!!!!!!!!
I had my most successful weekend in Vegas ever this 4th of July, which is to say I didn’t lose very much. First, I'll tell you about the flight.
Thursday was the day of departure. (I took a ˝ day at work). We took a plane from a small airport (Ft. Collins/Loveland) instead of flying out of Denver International. What great experience that was! The parking was cheap (and close), there were no hassles in security, it was a direct flight, and not really too expensive airfare-wise. Off to a good start, right? One would think so…
Once we boarded the plane, we happened to be right behind 2 drunks. Of all the people in the waiting area, there were about 3 or 4 people drinking before the plane arrived. How they managed to be next to each other only the gods of angst and annoyance know. The one in front of me was playing a 12-string guitar while we were waiting to board. Fortunately, they took it away from him when he got on or we would all have been subjected to slurred versions of old country songs. “duhn ins d’ wesht texshas chown o’ el passho…” Sing along, you know the tune.
This crusty old crooner was one of those people who love to hear his own voice, and what’s more, assume that everyone is interested in what they have to say. You know the type of person I mean? Even worse, he thought he was funny and that he had everyone in stitches as he clucked happily at his own cleverness. Speaking of stitches, I wish someone would have closed his mouth with them. This personality insecurity only increases with 2 or 3 gallons booze in you, as I’m sure you’re aware. All that was missing was the humming of the tune “How Dry I Am” and the cartoon hiccups that sound like “whiggup.”
Next to Butch Cassidy here was his very own Sundance Kid, i.e. a punk who likely drank his way through college, if he was even finished. They both ordered their drinks 2 at a time. Once, the college boy tried to get a free drink by telling the flight attendant that he’d paid the other one. Needless to say, he lost. He also told Cleatus some really vulgar joke in his ever-so-quiet drunk voice. He was then told that there was a 14-year old girl in our row, which caused him to fill his mouth with more booze instead of bad jokes.
So what’s the big deal? I drink, don’t I? Why am I being such a whiney gash? Well, in front of Barfsky and Lush was a 2-year old boy. The fact that the boy had eyebrows enough to scrub burnt trout out of a cast iron skillet is irrelevant, but I’ll still refer to him as a noisy little browstard.
The drunks wouldn’t leave the kid alone. He likely would have slept, but he was kept stimulated THE WHOLE FLIGHT. He almost never resembled quiet, had no inside voice, a very shrill, quasi-fierce tyrannosaurs rex impersonation, and repeatedly grossed my shit out by sticking his tongue out all the way, and rubbing it wholly all over the headrest of his seat. **shudder** I thought the seat would start to melt from the large volume of his digestive juices being smeared all over it, but as it turns out, his father didn’t pass that power to him. It must skip a generation or something.
After the AA dropouts got cut off, the kid really got going. See, the seatbelt light came on and he was still hungry due to the hunger-inducing properties of dandruff and pomade.
That’s when the Land of the Lost reruns began, complete with dino-roars in a three part harmony. Rather than give him a little pop to say “no, that’s not cool,” his mother told him SSHHHHHHH, while his father covered his mouth with his hand. Clearly, he knew about his son’s lack of flesh-melting salivary excretions. Failing miserably in their feeble attempts to calm the child, they just ignored him. This tactic can be effective at home, I suppose, but they graciously let everyone else on the plane ignore him to. How nice. I hope their attempts at birth control in the future are more successful.
The power the little browstard has over his parents frightens me. What type of adult (besides hairy) will he make?
To be continued...