My mother’s last words were to be careful in sin city. I somehow had no trouble abiding by her advice, as I acted as more of a scared puppy trying to avoid noise, flashing, and crowds for the majority of the trip. As we were flying in, I longed to be dropped off in the mountains and gorgeous gold deserts we passed by. Instead, we landed on the strip.
I got to Vegas and got the taxi-cab spiel about the greatest city in the world. Movies were mentioned, the fanciest hotels, the city that never sleeps. The car door opened and the doorman commented on the lightness and portability of my bag. I told him real women pack light, and could he please take me to the lobby so I wouldn’t get lost. I got lost anyway.
Vegas is the land of frivolousness, of course the gambling and the drinking, but also the expense of indulging in just about anything. Shopping, massages, entertainment, partying: it seemed to me that some people live for that kind of stuff. I weaved my way in and out of the casinos, watching ladies in bikinis deliver drinks at 9 in the morning.
I tried to envision it, and if I had a million dollars, I would book a room at Caesar’s Palace for a week with four of my besties (yes I said besties). We would rock bikinis and drink cosmos in the pool, just like another episode of Sex and the City.
Instead I snuck out before the conference to read at the pool before any hungover 20 year-olds could block my sun rays. Vegas just wasn’t my cup of tea, but I’m glad I saw it, even though I was forced to listen to “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas” jokes from my co-workers for a solid month.