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February 25, 2007
My Trip To Las Vegas, Part 1: Getting There
Back during the World Series, a few weeks before the main event, I decided that since actual poker wasn't working out so well for me I'd goof around at its machine-based cousin for a little while. Apparently I spent enough time and money there to make Harrah's really like me, since they gave me a shiny new player's card and have since been offering me all sorts of really nice deals, like free rooms, show tickets, etc. It turns out that if you wager more in a couple hours than most Americans make in a year they treat you really well.
So I decided to head back out and see if I couldn't make them love me a little more. I began my little journey at the airport, my least favorite place in the world. Now that I'm a Silver Elite member on Continental (which, fortunately for me, has a hub in Cleveland, allowing me to fly direct to almost anywhere) and have given up my overpacking ways in order to fly carry-on, that's usually not too terrible anymore. No lines at the check-in counter, small lines in the special Elite security lane, no waiting for boarding, and frequent free first class upgrades all make traveling much more enjoyable. This trip, however, was an exception.
I got there an hour before my plane was supposed to leave because Continental's website said it would be on time. By "on time" they apparently meant "an hour and a half late". I guess I should have read the glossary. On the way in the board said the plane was on time too. So I sat down at Max and Erma's, ordered up a beer that took forever to get to me, drank it as fast as I could and then power walked my way over to the terminal hoping to get there just as Elite and first class members began boarding, only to find that I could have actually enjoyed my Great Lakes Nosferatu and a couple more as well.
I got to the terminal, noticed the lack of a plane, and sat down. As with all airports, the chairs at Hopkins are of the bench variety, so the fat guy 17 seats down who wouldn't stop shifting around made me seasick. I spent the next hour reading my RSS feeds in that god awful chair (which I think was scientifically designed to be less comfortable than sitting on pavement) praying the entire time that the giddy, morbidly obese fuckhead would have the massive coronary he deserved before he gave me whiplash.
I think his constant vibrating caused the lid to come off of a tiny bottle of mouthwash I had packed, soaking everything else in smelly blue liquid. The geniuses at the TSA now make you stick all of your toiletries in tiny bottles, all of which must fit in one Ziploc bag for no good reason at all. Don't give me any terrorism-related bullshit either. I've made plastic explosives before (yes, it's so simple that high school kids can and do make them all the time from readily available materials) and trust me, a baggie full of that stuff is more than enough to take out a plane with ease. An ounce alone could easily rip a hole in the side of a 737. The fact that the baggie goes through nothing but an ordinary metal detector at almost all airports makes it yet another bullshit government regulation designed to make the average moron sleep easy. Here's 57 channels of American Gladiator. Go back to bed America.
Finally I got on the airplane and was lucky enough to have decent neighbors. That's rare. I usually have terrible luck with that. I can't imagine how most people stand it. I have some ridiculously expensive headphones scientifically designed to block out screaming babies, but if you aren't willing to drop a nickel on ear buds (and I doubt many people are) you're really gambling. I've been on exactly one flight in the last two years without them, and of course I got the screaming baby right behind me.
I figured I would end up next to the fat guy who couldn't stop rocking again. Sitting next to fat people is the worst, because there aren't any earphones made that block out obesity. You can't even hope to use the mutual armrest, because they have some flabby appendage for which doctors have no name resting partially on it, and partially on your elbow. Often they ask if they can lift up the armrest in between you. I once told a guy that I didn't think I'd make it home alive if he did that. Next time I end up next to one of those people, I'm calling the pilot and demanding that the fucker has to at least pay for two seats, with the profit from the second going to me. Why should I have to suffer just because he likes Big Macs?
But I got a couple of doctors from Akron who were pretty nice. I asked the woman, who was an OB/GYN, if she could cure my cold. No luck.
So the flight itself wasn't too bad. Usually the flight itself is the worst part because the stewardesses (or as I call them, cocktail waitresses) unfortunately don't work for tips. They really should. I have a feeling I'd get water more than once on a five hour flight then. Some times I get one that's motivated, and I got lucky with that on this trip, but more often than not they sit in the rear compartment reading the paper and gossiping about which pilots they slept with. It's a little more consistent up in first class, but even then I'd say 1/3 of the cocktail waitresses on any airline are terrible.
The only thing that kind of sucked on the flight happens to me every time I get stuck in coach. It's going to the bathroom. I had to walk all the way to the back of the plane, and there are always assholes milling about aimlessly in the aisle. Always. Half of them can't figure out to just go back to where there seat is for one second so I can get by them easily, they want to turn sideways and have me slip past them that way.
Then I get to the bathroom and wait in line. That, in and of itself, is one of my biggest pet peeves. I was specifically designed by evolution, or God, or whatever to be able to piss quickly. Having to wait to do so violates the natural order of things.
Finally an old man came out and I went in to do my business, but as old men for some reason always do, he pissed on the seat. This happens to me every time. If I'm lucky I don't need to sit anyway, but even then I face a dilemma when I'm done. Now there's piss all over the seat and I have two options. I can clean it up myself with a tissue, or I can leave the bathroom and face whoever is behind me in line knowing that they didn't see the old man exit and are going to think that I pissed on the seat. My aversion to other people's excretions far outweighs my concern over what they think of me, so it's not a tough choice, but either way it's a lose/lose situation. When I'm emperor of the world I'm going to have all toilet seats retrofitted with urine detectors, and if even one drop gets on it and the jackass who did it doesn't clean it up by the time they touch the door handle it will lock and start slowly filling the bathroom with tear gas. Either they'll clean the damn seat off or there will be one less old person in the world. I figure it's win/win.
Also I never heard anyone say "yeah, I had a cold but then I went on the airplane and now I feel better." Those things have such an amazing power to make you sick that they should be classified as biological weapons. I don't know how they do it either. It isn't the circulated air, as everyone seems to think, since they use HEPA filtration. And it can't be in the food or beverages because you rarely get any. But I do know that if you board a plane with a minor cough you have full-blown SARS by the time you land, which is pretty much what happened to me.
Then I had to walk a mile through McCarran, because I always land in a terminal that I think may technically be in California, and again it's crowded and full of morons milling about aimlessly. And worst of all, I had to walk by the smoker's lounge. That place is noxious even when you’re 20 feet away. I've heard that a lot of parents who catch their kid smoking make them inhale an entire pack to teach them a lesson. What they should do is just take them to Vegas and make them sit in that room for five minutes. Then I suppose the next stop on the itinerary should be whatever city the Mayo Clinic is in so they can begin chemo right away.
Posted by themaroon at February 25, 2007 9:06 PM
Comments
That is the most hlarious post I think you have had in forever. I don't know if you meant for it to be, but it was. Very entertaining, and very good writing in general.
Posted by: Dornie at February 25, 2007 10:09 PM
lmao... you're a riot Matt. If you ever quit poker... stand up comedy would suit you well.
Posted by: Jason at February 26, 2007 1:02 AM
Hilarious. But where is the smokers lounge? I thought they banned all smoking a couple months ago?
QL
Posted by: Richard Brodie at February 26, 2007 3:22 AM
I think those chairs in airports are actually designed to be uncomfortable to sit in. If memory serves me, they're designed to prevent people from falling asleep in them.
That could be an urban myth, though...
Posted by: Gravity at February 26, 2007 11:02 AM
I totally agree with the pisser point. This actually happens in the ladies rooms, as well. People can be so disgusting sometimes.
Posted by: jusdealem at February 26, 2007 5:25 PM
"Here's 57 channels of American Gladiator. Go back to bed America."
Bill Hicks, anyone?
Posted by: yoyo at February 26, 2007 5:35 PM