Vegas Vacation 1 − March, 1994
Everyone had big plans for Spring Break this year. Everyone except Vince, Nate, and me. We had a car (mine) and practically no money, so we put our heads together and came up with a plan: road-trip to Las Vegas. Not exactly inspired by genius.
Vince's brother was in the Air Force and was stationed at Nellis AFB; perfect, we now had free lodging and could probably mooch a meal or two. Vince's other brother was in the Navy stationed in San Diego. Sweet. The road-trip just expanded to the coast.
Friday after class we hit the road. I drove most of the way to Vegas that night, much to the annoyance of Vince and Nate. They kept saying I drove like a grandma. So I drove the speed limit and let other drivers in front of me occasionally... wait, I'm a 21-year-old college/military guy. Fuck. I was driving like a grandma.
We rolled into Vegas around 3am. The lights were incredible. This was my first time in Vegas and I was mesmerized. It was slightly surreal, though, in that was hardly anyone around. Well, it was 3am. We didn't want to intrude on Vince's brother this early (we may be mooches, but we're not rude), so we stopped at a small casino to kill some time. I was too tired to gamble, and Nate was legally too young, so we watched Vince play a few slots. We were the only ones there and it was weirdly quiet. A tired-looking waitress wearing what looked like a red-sequined one-piece swimsuit and fishnet stockings came up to us and asked us if we'd like a beer or mixed drink. Even we three college guys were taken aback by that. Good lord, woman! It's fucking 3am!
Once 5am hit, we were done. We drove to Vince's brother's house and pounded on the door until he let us in. All I remember doing then is being shown to the guest room where we all dropped to the floor and fell asleep. We slept through the better part of the day, so by late afternoon we were ready to hit the town. We roamed the strip for a while before succumbing to hunger; Vince's brother had recommended the World Buffet at the Rio. All you can eat for $8, and there was a huge selection of food (the Mongolian grill was the best). I don't remember the last time I made such a fucking pig of myself -- there's just something about that phrase "all you can eat." It's like they're issuing a challenge.
On the way out of the Rio, Nate played a slot machine -- just once, in passing -- and got busted by casino security for underage gambling. Vince and I just stood there and laughed at him. He's going to hate us by the end of this trip. We walked the strip for the rest of the night, but really didn't do much due to Nate's status as a minor. Probably should have thought that through before choosing Vegas as a Spring Break destination.
The following day we drove out to Lake Mead. I don't know what the plan was: we had no boat, no jet skis, no fishing tackle... Apparently we were going to sunbathe; Vince needed a tan. Fuck. I'm as pale as they come; I don't tan -- just burn. We stretched out near the water for a few hours, and since Vince brought along some peroxide to lighten his hair, Nate and I rubbed some in, too. Minutes stretched by and none of saw immediate lightening of our hair -- so we rubbed in more peroxide. This scenario repeated at least two more times. By the time we left, Vince's hair was white, mine was bright yellow, and Nate's was neon orange. Dumbasses.
That night we had dinner with Vince's brother and his wife at Binyon's casino. A friend of the family was footing the bill -- a little old Korean (I think) gent that was some sort of hard-core gambler and thus got just about everything comp'd from every casino. Interesting guy, hardly spoke a word and shaking his hand was like gripping a limp fish. It was a nice restaurant, Asian cuisine, and it surprised me that it was hidden in the rather dilapidated casino.
The little Korean guy apparently liked us (must have been the hair) because he set the three of us up with a room there at the casino. Woo-hoo, more free lodging! The room, though, was an incredible shit-hole. Three old cots (seriously) in what amounted to a broom closet and one tiny window that looked out to the back of the big fucking neon sign outside. Fuck it, it's free.
After dinner, Vince and his brother wanted to go to the Glitter Gulch strip club across the street. Sounds good. The club was 21-and-older only, so Nate ended up sitting in the broom closet watching casino TV. Maybe we were being assholes by ditching Nate like that, but the choice came down to this: watch boobs or do something else. Have fun in the broom closet, Nate.
As much fun as it sounds to sit and drink while surrounded by jiggly things, it just didn't turn out that way. In fact, I don't really remember much about the sights within the club. At $10 a drink, I wasn't anywhere near drunk. So what was it? I was uncomfortable. Vince's brother's wife was in there with us. Don't get me wrong; she was really cool with it -- she was even waving dollar bills around herself. It was just... weird having her there.
We wrapped up the night by going to a bar with much cheaper drinks. Without Nate. Poor underage bastard.
Monday we hit the road again for San Diego. I've heard a lot of people bitch about how long and desolate this drive is, but it didn't seem too bad to me. In San Diego we stayed with Vince's other brother and his wife. She took us driving around one day to see the sights; this consisted of driving by Mission Beach, sitting in a traffic jam, and driving down to the Mexican border (but not actually going into Tijuana, damn it). Surely San Diego has more interesting things to do than this.
One day we drove to the beach to hang out. It was deserted; probably because it was cold, windy, and overcast. We rented boogie boards anyway and ran out into the water -- what the hell, we were at the ocean, might as well play in it. Vince and Nate went back and hung out on the beach after only a minute or two in the water. I wanted to catch a decent wave, so I paddled out a ways. Having never spent time at the ocean, I wasn't aware of the current. The next thing I know, there is a lifeguard jeep blaring its horn from the beach and I hear a voice over a bullhorn: "YOU ARE OUT TOO FAR. COME BACK IN TO SHORE!"
What? I can't be out that far. I turned around to face the shore, but all I saw was water. In all directions. Oh, fuck. Panic was almost setting in when I bobbed to the top of wave and caught a glimpse of the shoreline with a little tiny jeep and a couple of tiny little people next to it. How the hell did I get out this far? I started the long, slow process of paddling back toward the shore. It took for-fucking-ever. Not a single wave came up that I could ride in. Fucking ocean. Once back on the beach, Vince and Nate started in with the smart-ass remarks. I'm not going to hear the end of this for a long time.
That evening we stopped at the naval base to play pool and drink at the enlisted club, but we were getting rather crusty looks from some of the grizzled old NCOs, so we didn't stay long. Instead, we parked our asses at the house and drank tequila and played video games. I don't know about the others, but I was trashed. I vaguely remember calling people back in Colorado -- I don't want to know what I said or who I said it to. There's also a fuzzy memory of clinging to the bathroom sink and being grateful for the feeling of the cold porcelain against my face. Ugh. Tequila drunk is the worst -- and the resulting hangover is second only to getting hit in the face with a bowling ball.
Our last day in San Diego saw us nursing hangovers at a BBQ someone was putting on (I think it was a friend of the family). None of us ate a thing. We left from there to head back to Colorado, and we drove straight through. Nate slept the whole way in the back seat while Vince and I took turns driving.
That is a long fucking drive on a tequila hangover.
Vince's brother was in the Air Force and was stationed at Nellis AFB; perfect, we now had free lodging and could probably mooch a meal or two. Vince's other brother was in the Navy stationed in San Diego. Sweet. The road-trip just expanded to the coast.
Friday after class we hit the road. I drove most of the way to Vegas that night, much to the annoyance of Vince and Nate. They kept saying I drove like a grandma. So I drove the speed limit and let other drivers in front of me occasionally... wait, I'm a 21-year-old college/military guy. Fuck. I was driving like a grandma.
We rolled into Vegas around 3am. The lights were incredible. This was my first time in Vegas and I was mesmerized. It was slightly surreal, though, in that was hardly anyone around. Well, it was 3am. We didn't want to intrude on Vince's brother this early (we may be mooches, but we're not rude), so we stopped at a small casino to kill some time. I was too tired to gamble, and Nate was legally too young, so we watched Vince play a few slots. We were the only ones there and it was weirdly quiet. A tired-looking waitress wearing what looked like a red-sequined one-piece swimsuit and fishnet stockings came up to us and asked us if we'd like a beer or mixed drink. Even we three college guys were taken aback by that. Good lord, woman! It's fucking 3am!
Once 5am hit, we were done. We drove to Vince's brother's house and pounded on the door until he let us in. All I remember doing then is being shown to the guest room where we all dropped to the floor and fell asleep. We slept through the better part of the day, so by late afternoon we were ready to hit the town. We roamed the strip for a while before succumbing to hunger; Vince's brother had recommended the World Buffet at the Rio. All you can eat for $8, and there was a huge selection of food (the Mongolian grill was the best). I don't remember the last time I made such a fucking pig of myself -- there's just something about that phrase "all you can eat." It's like they're issuing a challenge.
On the way out of the Rio, Nate played a slot machine -- just once, in passing -- and got busted by casino security for underage gambling. Vince and I just stood there and laughed at him. He's going to hate us by the end of this trip. We walked the strip for the rest of the night, but really didn't do much due to Nate's status as a minor. Probably should have thought that through before choosing Vegas as a Spring Break destination.
The following day we drove out to Lake Mead. I don't know what the plan was: we had no boat, no jet skis, no fishing tackle... Apparently we were going to sunbathe; Vince needed a tan. Fuck. I'm as pale as they come; I don't tan -- just burn. We stretched out near the water for a few hours, and since Vince brought along some peroxide to lighten his hair, Nate and I rubbed some in, too. Minutes stretched by and none of saw immediate lightening of our hair -- so we rubbed in more peroxide. This scenario repeated at least two more times. By the time we left, Vince's hair was white, mine was bright yellow, and Nate's was neon orange. Dumbasses.
That night we had dinner with Vince's brother and his wife at Binyon's casino. A friend of the family was footing the bill -- a little old Korean (I think) gent that was some sort of hard-core gambler and thus got just about everything comp'd from every casino. Interesting guy, hardly spoke a word and shaking his hand was like gripping a limp fish. It was a nice restaurant, Asian cuisine, and it surprised me that it was hidden in the rather dilapidated casino.
The little Korean guy apparently liked us (must have been the hair) because he set the three of us up with a room there at the casino. Woo-hoo, more free lodging! The room, though, was an incredible shit-hole. Three old cots (seriously) in what amounted to a broom closet and one tiny window that looked out to the back of the big fucking neon sign outside. Fuck it, it's free.
After dinner, Vince and his brother wanted to go to the Glitter Gulch strip club across the street. Sounds good. The club was 21-and-older only, so Nate ended up sitting in the broom closet watching casino TV. Maybe we were being assholes by ditching Nate like that, but the choice came down to this: watch boobs or do something else. Have fun in the broom closet, Nate.
As much fun as it sounds to sit and drink while surrounded by jiggly things, it just didn't turn out that way. In fact, I don't really remember much about the sights within the club. At $10 a drink, I wasn't anywhere near drunk. So what was it? I was uncomfortable. Vince's brother's wife was in there with us. Don't get me wrong; she was really cool with it -- she was even waving dollar bills around herself. It was just... weird having her there.
We wrapped up the night by going to a bar with much cheaper drinks. Without Nate. Poor underage bastard.
Monday we hit the road again for San Diego. I've heard a lot of people bitch about how long and desolate this drive is, but it didn't seem too bad to me. In San Diego we stayed with Vince's other brother and his wife. She took us driving around one day to see the sights; this consisted of driving by Mission Beach, sitting in a traffic jam, and driving down to the Mexican border (but not actually going into Tijuana, damn it). Surely San Diego has more interesting things to do than this.
One day we drove to the beach to hang out. It was deserted; probably because it was cold, windy, and overcast. We rented boogie boards anyway and ran out into the water -- what the hell, we were at the ocean, might as well play in it. Vince and Nate went back and hung out on the beach after only a minute or two in the water. I wanted to catch a decent wave, so I paddled out a ways. Having never spent time at the ocean, I wasn't aware of the current. The next thing I know, there is a lifeguard jeep blaring its horn from the beach and I hear a voice over a bullhorn: "YOU ARE OUT TOO FAR. COME BACK IN TO SHORE!"
What? I can't be out that far. I turned around to face the shore, but all I saw was water. In all directions. Oh, fuck. Panic was almost setting in when I bobbed to the top of wave and caught a glimpse of the shoreline with a little tiny jeep and a couple of tiny little people next to it. How the hell did I get out this far? I started the long, slow process of paddling back toward the shore. It took for-fucking-ever. Not a single wave came up that I could ride in. Fucking ocean. Once back on the beach, Vince and Nate started in with the smart-ass remarks. I'm not going to hear the end of this for a long time.
That evening we stopped at the naval base to play pool and drink at the enlisted club, but we were getting rather crusty looks from some of the grizzled old NCOs, so we didn't stay long. Instead, we parked our asses at the house and drank tequila and played video games. I don't know about the others, but I was trashed. I vaguely remember calling people back in Colorado -- I don't want to know what I said or who I said it to. There's also a fuzzy memory of clinging to the bathroom sink and being grateful for the feeling of the cold porcelain against my face. Ugh. Tequila drunk is the worst -- and the resulting hangover is second only to getting hit in the face with a bowling ball.
Our last day in San Diego saw us nursing hangovers at a BBQ someone was putting on (I think it was a friend of the family). None of us ate a thing. We left from there to head back to Colorado, and we drove straight through. Nate slept the whole way in the back seat while Vince and I took turns driving.
That is a long fucking drive on a tequila hangover.
