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Published: February 14th 2020
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The bottle that "jump kicked" it all.
You'd think it'd have a less somber label. I managed to convince Aly that I need to leave this country every year in February; because by that point of winter I’m usually ready to renounce my Canadian citizenship and move somewhere less slushy. Being the raucous party animals that we are, we picked Las Vegas. As some of you know, airports, airlines, and the overall being on a plane experience is challenging for me and initially amusing but over time irritating for those around me. According to Aly I become quite cross and sarcastic or “airporty” as we’ve decided to call it. For this post you may be relieved to know that there will be practically no airporty-ness.
We arrived a little early and there were no lines for baggage, security, or customs, Figuring we were on vacation, we downed an entire bottle of wine in short order at the one actual restaurant in the international departures lounge.. “Let’s jump kick this vacation!” Aly exclaimed as we finished the aforementioned bottle. I knew sort of what phrases she was trying to put together but there was no point in correcting that gem of a sentence now. I’d latched onto it forever. Other passengers were not nearly as spirited
though. “Gawd it’s like a 3
rd world country” a man exclaimed as we were walking to our gate. Blatantly eavesdropping I gather he and his friends were disappointed there were no bars immediately next to the gate they had arrived at, and they would have to walk (I know. WALK!) hundreds of meters to get to closest one. I hope the moving sidewalk failed on them halfway there.
Being a gentleman, I politely asked assigned Aly the middle seat. That way she can more effectively experience whatever weirdo inevitably has the window seat next to us and report said weirdness to me. “The man spread is real” she whispered to me as we sat down. Indeed it was. And this fellow also clearly didn’t know how to fly, as he was a sucker who paid for the airplane alcohol, whereas we took the cost-effective route and got buzzed before even getting on board. We figured he must’ve known the other alcoholic divas in the terminal, as his 3 Bacardi and cokes (which he ordered at the same time) all had to be in their own separate cups and have their own separate cups filled with ice on the side.
Our hotel room
"How often does the rollercoaster go by?" "So often you won't even notice!" The window weirdo also took full advantage of his seating position and snapped several photos of indiscriminate city lights in darkness as we came in for landing. No doubt he’d cherish these forever.
Our first night was not overly restful. New York New York had overbooked its king bedrooms so we were put in a double queen for the first night, with the reassurance they’d “like totally move us or whatever” tomorrow. We got into the room and heard a whoosh followed by the signature scream of a pack of drunkards in mild peril. New York New York’s famous rollercoaster was outside our window. “Haha neat!” I said. It was neat. But it became less neat over the next 60 seconds as another carload of screaming people flew by. And another. And another. “What time does the rollercoaster close?” enquired Aly innocently as I stood at the window, face slowly coming to terms with my reality. Midnight on Fridays we discovered. We walked to the Walgreens down the street to invest in some ear plugs and noted that the weirdo from the flight had many, many friends and family who infested the area immediately outside of the store. Not sure why, but Walgreens was THE place to be on the Strip this Friday night. Probably the 2 for 1 Pepto-Bismol happy hour.
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