I Hate Going To Las Vegas And I Miss It Horribly

I hate Las Vegas. And I love it. I’ve been going  every year for the NCAA tournament since 1988. Few places in America inspire such strong feelings. I run through the same emotions every year. Like a dog who knows he gets to go in the car, I’m excited the entire week leading up to the trip. And like that same dog, when I arrive I feel a little nauseous from the overwhelming strength of the air conditioning in the airport and the casinos. By the end of the first night, after losing a few hundred bucks on sports bets, blackjack and craps, the internal monologue begins. ‘Why did I come to Vegas? I hate Vegas. I’m so much better than this place. I read books for god’s sake. I watch the PBS Newshour. You think he watches the PBS Newshour?’

The last two years, I haven’t been able to go to Vegas and I miss it so much. These are the five things I miss in particular:

SMOKING

There are so few places in the world where you can smoke anymore. I don’t smoke. I hate smoking. Why would anyone smoke? You get cancer and die. I don’t want to die. But I miss being disgusted by the smell. I miss how the smoke gets into your clothes and sticks around for a few weeks. And I miss being able to stare judgmentally at all the smokers letting them know that my gambling addiction pales in comparison to their smoking addiction because Oklahoma State is absolutely gonna cover this 10 point spread.

SLEEP DEPRIVATION

I never sleep well in Vegas. I feel like I’m perennially late for something. I have to get to the buffet before it switches from breakfast to lunch. I hate lunch. I want breakfast. I have to place a bet before the game tips. I have to go sit by the pool for a second to remind myself there’s an actual world out there. When I go to sleep, I spend most of the night worrying I won’t wake up in time for breakfast.

HOTEL SAFES

I never use hotel safes. But in Vegas I do. And then I spend the rest of the time worrying that I won’t remember the code. So I write it down on a piece pf paper. Then I worry I’ll forget the piece of paper somewhere and a blackjack dealer with a good memory will realize it’s a safe code and hire someone to break into every room in the hotel to break into my safe and steal my money. Still, I love a good hotel safe. I love the sound when it locks and the feeling of pushing the little lever down. You feel so safe and secure. Everyone should have a tiny little safe somewhere in their house. Even if you don’t really have anything important to put in there, it makes you feel important when you tell people, “I think I forgot the safe code.”

TINY BRIDGES

It’s ridiculously hard to walk anywhere in Vegas. Most of the time, you don’t want to walk anywhere because anytime you leave the hotel you’re reminded of how disgusting we humans really are. The tight clothes. The fake breasts. The neon plastic drink glasses that clog our landfills and kill our adorable baby turtles. We’re a horrible group of people. The only good thing about walking in Vegas is the tiny bridges. You can go from Caesars to the Bellagio just by walking over a few tiny little bridges. Tiny little bridges make you feel better about your life. You’re above the traffic. You’re above it all. We need more tiny bridges in our lives.

Mesa Grill’s Chilaquiles

Chilaquiles are my favorite food to say out loud. If you’re in a bad mood because you’ve lost thousands of dollars and someone says, “Hey, let’s get some chilaquiles for breakfast,” you immediately feel happy. It’s a traditional Mexican breakfast made with eggs and tortilla chips simmered in sauce. It’s the greatest thing in the world. I’d go back to Vegas just for Mesa Grill’s chilaquiles.

Big Bright Happy Elevators

Maybe your wife just left you. Maybe you just lost a ton of money you couldn’t afford to lose at the blackjack table. Maybe you got fired. Maybe you got fired and then your wife left you because you no longer have a job. And then, when you were walking, home, you got mugged and they stole your wallet and gave you a black eye. Whatever horrible thing just happened in your life, the moment you step into the big bright happy elevator at a Vegas hotel, all your problems vanish. First, you hear that annoying techno music pulsating inside your head. Then you see a video for some God-awful show you wouldn’t go see in a million years if it was the last possible thing to do on this planet. A magic show performed by a small person that looks like a pedophile. Or a Celine Dion  impersonator. Then a young suburban couple, 100% in love and ready to get up to their room and have sex gets into the elevator and holds hands in the corner, staring at their shoes, not wanting to seem too happy when they know you’re headed up to the room by yourself to do god knows what after having lost your job, your wife and your wallet. And in spite of all of it you can’t help but smile because that elevator is so big and so bright, and that music so annoying, it just has to get better from here.

Someday soon, life will get back to normal. I can’t wait to get back to hating Vegas next year.