An airplane landed after coming from Atlanta. You can feel in the air that you’re near a hot desert, about to have the time of your life, and have some memories of Las Vegas that you want to flashback to. That is true and I’m the living proof.
It all began when I ran off the airplane, knocking people down due to the two large backpacks I was holding. One by one people were falling to their knees like a group of Dominoes, and I didn’t care. The only thing on my mind was the restroom.
I was fourteen years old and it was my first time on a plane. The high school performing arts group I was a part of received an offer from an elementary school in Vegas to teach children science and mathematics through the arts. The way I calmed down my airplane anxiety was by throwing back small cups of apple juices. My classmate would always ask me why I was drinking the juice like an alcoholic.
When I ran into a cubicle in the airport restroom I dropped my pants and felt extra embarrassed when the urine I was holding for two and a half hours came out through my front and back door. If you’ve been to sex education classes, you know exactly what I mean.
My boxers were soaked and someone shouted on the speakerphone “Welcome to Las Vegas!”
I originally took it as a joke. I had no idea that it was the beginning of a memorable three days.
The first day ended in just two things: kids and buffets. Since we couldn’t find any regular places to eat we went to this buffet near the Flamingo Hotel. We challenged each other at the dinner table to a pancake eating contest. I came out the winner nine full pancakes later. My prize was a two hour trip to the bathroom. It’s a good thing my hotel roommate was a jock, so that he was able to tolerate the smells.
The second day arrived and my roommate decided that it was time to splurge. We worked many hours with the children at the school, and explored more of the city. It was time for a moment to us. As soon as we made up our minds about that we were already at the hotel store.
It didn’t take long for this one shirt at the store to catch my eye. It was a black shirt that had the city’s name sowed to it using actual rubies. It was beautiful and only cost a hundred dollars at the time. With only that much in my card, I swiped it, took it, and cat walked around the casino for an hour.
What made me strut it for only an hour was because of a phone call I received from my mother. I don’t know if it’s healthy to get into details over what she said exactly. Let’s just say if HBO was recording our phone conversation, the executives would’ve picked it up for a one hundred episode sitcom.
In conclusion, I returned the shirt and they promised to pay me back. That was seven years ago and I haven’t seen a hundred return to my account with the name “Las Vegas” next to it.
The third day came and things went to the next level. My hotel roommate and I were exhausted after another day of work. All we wanted to do was eat some candy and go to sleep. We slid the key in and our door didn’t work. My original thought was that it was near my cell phone, which absorbed its electrical power.
We went downstairs to the front desk, had them fix it, went back upstairs, and found ourselves walking into a different hotel room. This room followed the rock ‘n’ roll theme to the last letter.
Half drunken to empty beer bottles covered the dresser. Used condoms and bottle caps were on the rug. The beds were upside down and cut in half. Someone’s sweaty skin dried up and was pasted on the hotel window. The room reeked of marijuana and cigarettes. It didn’t take long for my roommate and me to realize that it was the wrong room, and closed the door behind us.
The both of us called our performing arts mentor and realized we accidentally went into room #617 instead of #716, which was ours.
We went downstairs, got the key fixed, and went back into the elevator to stumble upon a drunken couple making out like maniacs without a care who was in there with them. They got off on the sixth floor.
That’s what I call a memorable three days in Las Vegas.