#WhatHappensInVegas

There comes a time in every man’s life when he has a sudden and profound realization – “I have too much money lying around and I need to waste it as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

This past spring, my bank account was teetering on that edge of comfortable living when my good friend Ritchie came to the rescue. He wanted to visit Las Vegas. After about one one-hundredth of a second of selling me on the idea, I was hooked on the plan and already scouting out flights and hotels.

You see, when I was just a little kid, I got my first taste of gambling. While on a trip to the Baseball Hall of Fame, my father and I made a pit stop at the race track to bet on the horses. As we were leaving, we passed one of the windows and the guy working there asked me what horse I liked in the next race. I spouted off a random number and he gave me a ticket. My dad figured it was a fake, but then saw that it was a genuine $2 bet on the next race. He paid the guy and we watched one more race. I don’t remember where my horse finished. He definitely didn’t win. They may have put him down at the quarter post for all I know. But for some reason, 7-year old Mike looked at the situation, saw that we were never getting that two dollars back… AND COULDN’T WAIT TO DO IT AGAIN!!!

It took about 20 more years (save for a few poker games and the occasional afternoon of Keno), but last week saw me headed west towards a Vegas vacation.

The only downside of the trip that I could see was the travel and the time changes. Kelly and I would have to take an early flight there in order to get into town by early afternoon and the four hour flight was over twice as long as I had ever spent on a plane. Even after my fourth trip that has required air travel, I can figure out exactly how I feel about flying. I don’t think that I’m too scared of it since I have been able to read, sleep and order liquor drinks at the same pace as I do while at sea level, but I’m still a little unsettled. Maybe I’m just too logical about things and still haven’t gotten used to thinking that being trapped in an aluminum tube hurtling though the air at hundreds of miles per hour while 30,000 feet off the ground is a good place for a human.

Either way, I found a good deal on our flights, so the only thing left was to get to the other side of the country.

For that, we turned to Southwest Airlines. Famed for their efficiency, affordability and – to my knowledge – one of the few major airlines that has never used one of its planes to test the durability of the Earth’s crust (scientific note: the crust welcomes all challengers). Since Southwest obeys schoolyard law, there are no assigned seats and everyone gets a position in line based on when they check in for boarding. Kelly had the position in front of me, so it was left to her to lead the way. Armed with a good position in line, we had our pick of over half of the seats on the plane. Looking forward to getting a good view of parts of the country that I have never seen before while enjoying a relaxing flight that would take us to our vacation, Kelly decided to pick… a row with a window view half obscured by one of the wings that also had two kids under seven years old directly behind us. I mentioned this to her immediately. I was met with a look of death. I decided to just make the best of the flight.

We made it approximately halfway to the runway before one of the kids decided to use the back of Kelly’s seat as a kickboxing sparring partner. I got a little too amused, and received a second look of death while still in Georgia.

Once in the air, things calmed down in the row behind us, but the party was just getting started at the back of the aircraft. Apparently, it was TAYLOR’s 21^st birthday. As someone who is awful with names, I only remember TAYLOR’s because the 10 or so drunken friends of TAYLOR felt the need to remind everyone about TAYLOR and how we should all sing Happy Birthday to TAYLOR and buy drinks for TAYLOR.

Somewhere over Oklahoma, I began wondering if it was possible for just half of a plane to crash.

As we entered Nevada and cleared the last few mountains, my childlike excitement levels peaked. I’ve seen a ton of movies and TV shows that show clips of Vegas. We all have. I knew that I would have a great view of the city (so long as the wing wasn’t in the way) as we descended and the sight that I got was as awesome as I could have imagined. After a few miles of residential neighborhoods, the plane dropped low and the view exploded into an alternate reality.

The Stratosphere towered above everything but the mountains. Caesar’s Palace stood in the distance, standing taller than you would ever imagine just from seeing it on the big screen. We caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower at Paris and the sphinx and huge pyramid of the Luxor – our hotel for the weekend – came into view just as we touched down.

One more chorus of Happy Birthday for TAYLOR while we taxied to the gate and the vacation was underway.

I know that Vegas was built on gambling, but I was unprepared for just how abundant the opportunities to lose your money are. As we walked up the gate, I joked to Kelly that we probably wouldn’t make it 100 feet before we saw a slot machine.

I was way off. It was probably only 40 feet.

Once Ritchie and his fiancée Erin picked us up, it was time to hit the strip. Once again, I cannot stress just how big all of those famous landmarks are. The skyscrapers at New York, New York are hardly scale models, the Hooters hotel and casino has as many stories as their waitresses have daddy issues, even the lions in front of the MGM Grand are at least 30 feet tall.

We checked into our room on the 14^th floor – not even halfway up the pyramid – and then got to touring. The casino at the Luxor is actually one of the smaller ones of all of the resorts, but nice just the same. Everyone lost a few nickels on slot machines, but with three of us new to the whole gambling scene, nobody got up the guts to try out the tables right away.

After walking from the Luxor to the Excalibur (and finding a restaurant that sold $2 beers – a stop that Kelly and I made about a dozen times) we finally decided to lose some of our hard earned cash. After trying unsuccessfully for a few minutes to explain roulette to Kelly, I remembered that the dealers are supposed to be nice and helpful. I figured he could do better than me. Of course, that was before I realized that 80 percent of the dealers in Vegas are elderly Asians that speak with heavy accents. I had no problem with that at all, but it is sort of difficult to fully learn a game when someone keeps taking your money and offers only broken English explanations when you ask why.

Luckily, we got off to a hot start. Kelly and I both made some easy black and red bets and earned $20 in just a minute or two of play. We decided to walk away while that luck lasted.

As dinner time approached, I was anxious to find a good deal for us. After all, this is Vegas – home of the $5.99 steak, seafood, strippers, etc. buffet. We came to realize that all of the buffets at the resort hotels have backed off of that old-time shtick and now want upwards of $40 for dinner, so that idea died quickly. But being the good vacationer that I am, I had done my research and found a handful of locals that raved about a steak dinner at a place called the Ellis Island Casino. After selling the rest of the group on the plan, we walked to New York, New York, figuring that Ellis Island should be right there.

For all that Vegas does right, geography isn’t high on the list. We found out that Ellis Island was a good two miles from New York, New York. After walking in the Vegas heat for one mile, we came to our senses and hailed a cab to get us the rest of the way.

Now, there is nothing that has ever blitzed my senses like seeing the Vegas strip. When in the middle of it, you’re basically walking in a canyon of awesomeness. However, travel a block or two away from

Las Vegas Boulevard

, and you’re quickly approaching some shadier areas. Unfortunately, this is where our cab started driving. I was nose-deep in a brochure when I got an elbow in my rib cage from Ritchie.

“Dude. Is this restaurant really inside of a Super 8 Motel? You cheap bastard.”

Well… it turns out that Ellis Island is indeed connected to a low rent hotel. But being the troopers that we are, we at least decided to try it out. We discovered that the casino did have a restaurant and that they did have the steak special that I had heard about. Better still, the steak was as good as any high end steakhouse I’ve eaten at and the place had a microbrewery to boot.

Feeling lucky with my awesome choice of a $7.99 steak and beer dinner, I finally got up the nerve to play some blackjack - $5 minimum, of course, because while I had no idea about the whole casino/restaurant/Super 8 deal, Ritchie is right that I am a cheap bastard. The first hand I was dealt in Vegas was blackjack. Then 20. Then 21. In less than five minutes, I turned $40 into $75. Obviously, I was on a roll and would take down the entire town within the weekend. BACK TO THE STRIP!!!

As impressive as the strip was upon arrival, it gets even better at night. Seeing dozens of 50-story buildings sticking up out of the desert sand and shooting every possible shade of neon light at you is pure sensory overload. I would guess that it’s entirely possible for a non-gambler to have just as much fun as we did simply because of all the over-the-top visual experiences and the 24-hour party that is the main strip.

After seeing the half mile or so of the south end of the strip, we headed back to the Luxor and hit the tables. Roulette, blackjack, video poker… you name it, the game paid off the first night. Ritchie and I made a killing off of two blackjack tables and I finally got to satisfy my urge to have some big money chips burning a hole in my pocket.

Golf awaited on the second day, so I managed to walk away from the casino for a healthy four hours of sleep before our tee time. For being in the middle of a desert, Vegas knows how to grow a golf course. Lush fairways, packed down sand dunes that roll your ball back into play, and – most important of all – cheap beer highlighted the course, and a back-nine 40 just added to another great day in Vegas.

On the second night, we were in a sight-seeing mood, so we decided to take the monorail to the far north end of the strip to the Stratosphere to watch the sun set over the mountains from 1,078 above the ground. The monorail was a fast and efficient way to cover the length of the strip, but the advertisements left out one important detail.

You see, all of the six or so stops on the monorail are attached to a resort. You just hop out, walk through the resort’s casino, and you’re back out on the strip. Unfortunately, the northernmost stop on the monorail route is at the Sahara. I’m sure that there was nothing bad about the Sahara – back when it was in operation. Now deserted, we were left to walk around the empty casino and cover another half mile or so of increasingly sketchy streets to get to the Stratosphere.

After a great sunset, we caught a cab back through the shady streets and were dropped off at the Wynn where we began the longest aimless walk this side of the Old Testament.

We were originally scheduled to stay at the Wynn, and my wallet could not be more pleased at the change of venue. That place – along with its sister resort, the Encore – are the definition of “spare no expense”. Between the extravagant flower gardens at each entrance, the Cartier shops (that’s right. One Cartier shop just wasn’t enough for the Wynn), and the lighted pool/waterfall/30-foot animatronic singing frog, it came as no surprise that there wasn’t a table game in sight with a minimum bet lower than $25.

From there, we ventured to the Palazzo, followed by the equally Italian-themed and vastly less ridiculous sounding Venetian. Now, I’ve never been to

Fifth Avenue

or

Rodeo Drive

, but I can’t imagine that the endless rows of shops in the Venetian are lagging too far behind in terms of “Who the hell can afford to actually shop here?” If you ever want to take a two-mile walk while feeling bad about your bank account, I implore you to walk through the entire shopping center at the Venetian.

Despite the overpriced stores, what can’t be denied is that the Venetian’s ability to put a man-made river that flows over one thousand feet on an above-ground level of the building is very impressive. Everyone has heard of the river and the gondolas, but I wasn’t prepared for the ceilings. Domed and obviously professionally painted and lit, the entire building suddenly transforms from shopping center to outdoor Italian town at twilight. It’s hard to describe just how real they make it look. Of course, half of my mind had already melted from the alcohol and constant walking, so maybe it isn’t really all that great.

After finding our way out of the Venetian’s labyrinth, we ventured down to Caesar’s Palace (more impressive than I could have hoped for, and hosting the best Alan from The Hangover impersonator that I’ve ever seen) and the Bellagio, whose fountain show is as spectacular as it is classy, thanks to the opera music it was set to.

By the time all of that had been done, we were all about to drop, yet it was still another half-mile back to the monorail and close to another mile back to the Luxor once we hit our stop.

Finally, with my feet painfully asking what they had done to anger me, we made it back to the casino. Ready to finally sit down, Ritchie and I found our saving grace – the Party Pit.

Seemingly not convinced that free drinks are doing the trick, several of the casinos have added an extra perk to keep you smiling as your money flies out the window. At the Party Pit, there is a mini runway set up between the gaming tables featuring a couple of girls dancing. Note that these aren’t strippers – I’m too classy for that. They’re just scantily clad enough to make me feel a little bit better about the six-card 21 that the dealer just drew on me.

The Party Pit actually turned out to be good luck for Kelly and me, but Ritchie got taken to the cleaners. Up over $150 on the day, Kelly and I scoped out the most innocent looking old lady dealer the world has ever seen, sat down to pounce, then spent 30 minutes getting thoroughly pummeled by Betty White’s demonic older sister. But hey, that’s Vegas. It wouldn’t have been as fun if I hadn’t wanted to punch out an old lady for dealing me nothing but 14s and 15s.

Heading into our final full day in Vegas, I really started to get into the spirit. Despite thinking that my feet might literally fall off from all of the walking the night before, four hours of sleep was plenty and I was guzzling Bailey’s and coffee at 6 a.m. in the sports book and debating on laying down a bet on the British Open. Once Kelly was awake, it was on to the kid-tested, degenerate gambler-approved breakfast of Krispy Kreme donuts and Bud Light. It’s really underrated. The glaze and low-proof alcohol combine to form the perfect a.m. version of a jagerbomb.

After some $5 blackjack at New York, New York, I finally hit my luckiest streak of the trip. We sat down at some video roulette machines and worked our way through a few dollars each. Lunch was nearing, but just before I was going to cash out, my bet on black-15 hit, paying 36-to-1 odds, finally hit. Not one to walk away from a heater – and also not one to realize that hitting one bet in 20 spins shouldn’t qualify as a heater – I placed another single bet and watched as my bet on black-26 hit on the very next spin. Lunch is on me!

Later in the day, we took the car and headed north toward

Fremont Street

to see the old part of town. On the way, we made a detour to the Gold & Silver Pawn Shop, better known as the setting for Pawn Stars. About 10 years ago, I discovered that I own a trading card that might be worth a little bit of money. Hoping to get on TV, I chaperoned my card two-thirds of the way across the country, then ventured into the slums to find the shop… only to be told that they don’t buy trading cards.

Are you kidding me? I’ve seen you buy gas masks designed for infants. I’ve watched as you shelled out hundreds of dollars for old kids toys that are half rust. How can you not want sports memorabilia – one of the most collectable things on the planet?

Oh well. No big deal. By the way, don’t buy into all of the hype on the show. The place is tiny, in a bad part of town, and right across the street from a strip joint.

After that debacle, we headed to Fremont, a.k.a. – the place I would go if I was in Vegas all by myself. The place is the perfect combination of cheap, old-school, tacky and tasteful. I’m not sure if all of those things can actually exist together, but I’m not a fashion or design person, so I’m sticking with it.

In this new age of computerized everything, Fremont is the only place we encountered that still has the old slots that you can put coins into and then rejoice as you win a gallon of nickels. Combine that with cheap drinks, neon signs that haven’t been updated since the 70s, and a constant cigarette haze hanging five feet in the air… It’s like the mother ship is calling be home.

Then, there is the light show. A good 1,000 feet of

Fremont Street

is covered in a dome that doubles as a giant LED screen. At sunset, the roof lit up with an over-the-top video montage set to “American Pie”. Nine minutes of unrelenting awesomeness. Even though there were easily a few thousand people on the street gambling, perusing the strip clubs, and buying souvenirs, the light show was the only time throughout the entire weekend that I saw everyone come to a complete stop.

Staying on Fremont would have been great, but our time in Vegas was winding down and nobody wanted to drive through the wasteland between Fremont and the strip. A few hands of blackjack (Kelly and I had the Party Pit turn on us and try to take all of our money) and we were off to bed, ready to head home in the morning.

But wait! There’s more!

It was glaringly obvious by Sunday morning that Vegas had a grip on me and that it was time to go back home. Still, that didn’t stop me from waking up at 6 a.m. again for more early morning gambling.

After all, when is the next time I’m going to have a halfway plausible excuse to start drinking and acting like an overly caffeinated kid at such an early hour?

*Checks calendar. Sees that first GSU home game is only a month away.* Ok, but still…

Anyways, Vegas gave me a nice present on the way out the door. I doubled the $100 I pulled out in just an hour and Kelly helped me add another $50 before we checked out.

Going home is always the toughest part of any vacation, and this was no exception. We arrived at the airport over two hours before our flight and were told that our 12:30 flight had been delayed to 12:50. We passed through security and arrived at our gat just in time to see the time bumped back to 2:00.

At least there was a restaurant and bar.

Then, 2:00 became 3:30.

Ah, the joys of air travel. In the end, we didn’t touch down in Atlanta until almost 11:00 eastern time and didn’t get back to Statesboro until 3:00 in the morning.

I should have been spent after all of that, but I couldn’t have been better. The next morning came and I was devastated not to have 30 different sporting events, a casino full of games and a breakfast bar with 20 different kinds of quiche at my disposal.

Kelly and I had sworn that we wouldn’t get too wrapped up in Vegas and that we would look for a different spot for our next vacation.

I’m not so sure that I’d take that bet.