Turning Shit into Gold since 2006
Not long ago I took a light holiday to the brightest neon city in the world, Las Vegas, Nevada. Sure there were the usual aimlessly stumbling alcoholics and fidgety gamblers, but the two groups of people that seemed to dominate the strip were not what you might think. Sweaty toddlers in SUV sized strollers weeping for shade, over clothed elders attached to mobile oxygen tanks, and the caretakers who preceded to drag them up and down Las Vegas Boulevard. They wheeled over my feet every time I left a casino or tried to cross the street.
Usually I am very kind to small children and accommodating towards the needs of the ancient but with each encounter I became more enraged. Both young and old were immobile and unable to escape their confines, and for those reasons I began to ruefully loathed their presence. The incessant baby whining was killing my buzz and the smell coming from grandpa’s incontinence pads was churning my stomach, making even the Medieval Round Table Buffet seem unappetizing.
In all fairness, my rage is possibly being placed in the wrong direction. What about the family members responsible for bringing these wastes of space along on the journey? Beer belly dads in too tight shimmering rhinestone Ed Hardy shirts piloted their spawn past babes in bikinis and sports cars, while sons and daughters pulled the plug on the electric wheelchairs, parking their suffering parents in front of pennie slots for countless hours. A swift word of advice for those traveling with babies and old fogies, get a sitter, or even better, kennel these dead weights.
The peak of my bafflement came as I skipped through a pedestrian walkway between The Flamingo and Planet Hollywood. Chugging along towards Denny’s, literally chugging Heineken pre-10am, two young Asian men pushing their Weekend at Bernie’s slumped grandma in a standard wheelchair clipped my heels. As I glanced back, giving them one of those ‘watch where you’re fucking going, you fucking idiot’, I noticed that both of their eyes were glued to the pavement. The plethora of cards featuring nudy ladies with names like Chandelier and Fantasie that littered the pathway was making them giggle like perverts. I am pretty sure that a boner or two poked granny in the back of the neck.
Despite my moaning and groaning, Las Vegas is a magical city that offers anything under the sun for anyone who enjoys a lowbrow good time. Since I have made my beef clear, all I ask of travelers toting a wheelchair or stroller in Sin City is that you might mingle between the Riviera and Circus Circus. I will stay north of O’Sheas Casino and all should be gravy.