Hey, Baby, Let's go to Vegas
This post was written on some People magazine reply cards while on an airplane. I couldn't find any blank pieces of paper.
I'm on the aisle, next to a girl reading Jughead comics, watching Biggie music videos, and surreptitiously turning on her cell phone. Across the aisle from me are two guys, obnoxious ones, the kind of guys who make audible comments about the physical assets of women and would, I imagine, rather be flying Hooters Air. They find themselves hysterically funny.
This is a game flight, which means that the flight attendants come around with a trash bag to collect dollar bills, onto which we have written our seat numbers. The bills go into the bag, and then the flight attendants draw one of the bills, like a lottery.
One of the guys across the aisle grins at me. "You look excited about this game," he says.
"I am. My first time in Vegas. Maybe this will be the beginning of my lucky streak." I answer. We exchange some brief small talk about why I'm going, and where I'm from. When he asks, I say "Pennsylvania," because I'm afraid that Lancaster sounds too amish-y. But the woman behind me wants to know WHERE in PA, so I answer.
"My advice to you, young lady, is to keep your hand under your chin when you get to Vegas, and that way when your jaw drops and your eyes pop out, you can push your chin back up." The guy demonstrates. "It's a pretty liberal city."
Do I look that naive? I wish I could lean back in my seat, take a long draw on a cigarette and expel smoke rings expertly. "You don't have to tell ME," I would say, "I've been around the block a few times." Like I really know what I'm talking about. But how does he know anything about my experiences? Just because I've never been to Vegas? I'm wearing black pants and a sweater . . . nothing too unsophisticated. Perhaps it was the fact that I did Sudoku and crossword puzzles the whole flight, like an old woman.
16F is the lucky winner of 99 one-dollar bills. That's not me. Or the obnoxious guys. They try to get everyone around them to ring call buttons in protest. "Dude, it'll be anarchy."
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Well, I arrived. Slot machines all through the airport, as you'd imagine, and more chauffeurs with signs than I've ever seen. Otherwise, it's looks just like the movies. I saw a guy from the new UPN TV show Pepper Dennis. He was riding the little airport tram with me. I didn't know he was on TV (I've never watched the show), but another woman stopped to talk to him and did know who he was. Maybe I'll see someone even MORE famous before I leave! (see, I really am horribly unsophisticated).
And if I don't think about what time it is back home (12:55 AM), I'm OK. 'Cause really, it's only 10 PM and there's a long night ahead. My brother and sis-in-law arrive at 12:00 PDT, and then we're going to the casinos.
Maybe I should take a nap.
I'm on the aisle, next to a girl reading Jughead comics, watching Biggie music videos, and surreptitiously turning on her cell phone. Across the aisle from me are two guys, obnoxious ones, the kind of guys who make audible comments about the physical assets of women and would, I imagine, rather be flying Hooters Air. They find themselves hysterically funny.
This is a game flight, which means that the flight attendants come around with a trash bag to collect dollar bills, onto which we have written our seat numbers. The bills go into the bag, and then the flight attendants draw one of the bills, like a lottery.
One of the guys across the aisle grins at me. "You look excited about this game," he says.
"I am. My first time in Vegas. Maybe this will be the beginning of my lucky streak." I answer. We exchange some brief small talk about why I'm going, and where I'm from. When he asks, I say "Pennsylvania," because I'm afraid that Lancaster sounds too amish-y. But the woman behind me wants to know WHERE in PA, so I answer.
"My advice to you, young lady, is to keep your hand under your chin when you get to Vegas, and that way when your jaw drops and your eyes pop out, you can push your chin back up." The guy demonstrates. "It's a pretty liberal city."
Do I look that naive? I wish I could lean back in my seat, take a long draw on a cigarette and expel smoke rings expertly. "You don't have to tell ME," I would say, "I've been around the block a few times." Like I really know what I'm talking about. But how does he know anything about my experiences? Just because I've never been to Vegas? I'm wearing black pants and a sweater . . . nothing too unsophisticated. Perhaps it was the fact that I did Sudoku and crossword puzzles the whole flight, like an old woman.
16F is the lucky winner of 99 one-dollar bills. That's not me. Or the obnoxious guys. They try to get everyone around them to ring call buttons in protest. "Dude, it'll be anarchy."
--------------------------------------------------------
Well, I arrived. Slot machines all through the airport, as you'd imagine, and more chauffeurs with signs than I've ever seen. Otherwise, it's looks just like the movies. I saw a guy from the new UPN TV show Pepper Dennis. He was riding the little airport tram with me. I didn't know he was on TV (I've never watched the show), but another woman stopped to talk to him and did know who he was. Maybe I'll see someone even MORE famous before I leave! (see, I really am horribly unsophisticated).
And if I don't think about what time it is back home (12:55 AM), I'm OK. 'Cause really, it's only 10 PM and there's a long night ahead. My brother and sis-in-law arrive at 12:00 PDT, and then we're going to the casinos.
Maybe I should take a nap.
posted by Melanie at 12:48 AM
