The Vegas Hangover

Last weekend was my first "real" trip to Vegas. I went once before, but it was a really bad day. In fact the day was so bad, I remember the exact date. Everyone does actually. It was September 11, 2001.


I had a really great time in Vegas. I didn't do anything out of the ordinary, just the typical gambling, hanging by the pool, staying up way too late and getting up way too early. I ended up making enough money at blackjack and Wheel of Fortune nickel slot machines (which I'd highly recommend to anyone) to pay for all the food, drink, tips and taxi rides that I did while I was there. I'm pretty sure that I tested the limits of my body between the lack of sleep, secondhand smoke inhalation and unhealthy eating. I fully believe that if I'd stayed one day longer, I'd have started to break down and either got sick, or had a heart attack or seizure or something. So I was pretty happy to make it home in one piece on Sunday.

What I wasn't expecting was how much Vegas sticks with you once you're home. The tiny little jolts of adrenaline you get when you hit blackjack or get a "double spin" bonus on a slot machine are hard to replicate in a cubicle. I don't get the same feeling when my boss sends me an email asking me to do a "database clean-up project." It felt weird to go to bed before midnight (and even weirder to get up at 5:15.)

Actually, it almost feels the same as when I first played Grand Theft Auto III. The game was so unlike any game I'd played before. I would play for a few hours, and then go outside and have visions of just clubbing some stranger on the sidewalk for $20, or turning my car sideways on Monroe Avenue in front of a city bus, then pulling the driver out and slamming the bus into Clodfelters. Vegas had the same effect on me. It was strange to me that people in Corvallis didn't have margaritas so big they needed a shoulder strap to carry them. Nobody was wearing a tube top. The guys at work weren't slamming into the walls on the way out of the bathroom. I don't think I've seen a neon light yet, and I haven't had someone who doesn't speak English try to hand me a card with a naked girl and a phone number on it in three days. Why aren't these things happening? Vegas has slipped its seductive finger under my collar and is gently pulling me towards it.

Of course, I have to say no. I have to say no for the same reason I've never had a sip of alcohol and don't use painkillers. I'm scared of what'd happen if I start. I have an addictive personality. Once I say yes to dang near anything, I can't stop. I watch one episode of Friday Night Lights, I'm going to watch 8. I eat one potato chip, I'm eating the whole bag. I drink one Pepsi....well you all know what happens next. I always need someone to make me stop. Good thing I have to be accoutable to my wife and son. Were I single, I have no doubt I'd have lost a ton of money last weekend. I might've missed my flight trying to "chase the unicorn" as Grant so eloquently put it.

So stop tugging on my collar Vegas. Go find some other sucker to whisper sweet nothings to. I'm done with you. There's plenty of other people you can tempt. Maybe one day our paths will cross again, but it'll be on my terms. In other words, don't call me Vegas. I'll call you.