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Vegas airport, McCarran International Airport, was nice to smokers. Only one absurdly long airport hallway away from the gates was a glass-walled enclosure for smokers. It even had slot machines in there to occupy the other hand. Having a cigarette after the weekend in Vegas was lovely, so easy to forget the stench of the tobacco terrarium and my new shoe feet ache. Pretty easy to forget the last hour of the trip, the time when things almost turned deadly.
We caught a cab from the front of the Mandalay Bay. There are some disturbing similarities between the décor of that casino and some of Saddam’s liberated palaces. A friendly-looking Rasta picks us up; he’s playing top-40 shit on a nice detachable-face set next to the meter. “Airport.”
“Airport.”
We got into traffic easy, right onto the Strip - a few blocks - right again towards this airport. The absurdly long airport driveway was the next right; we had a turn lane there on the curb. Bang.
The cab to the airport was rear-ended by another cab. A goddamn Explorer cab. Whose bright idea was that? What, 5 miles per gallon? Anyway, the Rasta asks my mother to fill out a statement for insurance purposes. Of course she snaps into legal mode and asks for cross-streets and cardinal directions to make this statement recognizable to those of her ken. Lawyers like to show off.
We’re sitting in the cab alone; my mom is filling out the statement. I had to carry my bag and her bag from another casino way down the Strip to the Mandalay Bay, so I mentioned my neck was stiff. Mom suggested the accident may have contributed to my distress, going so far as to suggest I fall out of the cab in pain for all to see. I wasn’t sure she was serious but I thought about it. If I fell out of that side of the cab I would have fallen into traffic. I said my neck would be fine.
Another cab, from the same company, picked us up on the curb. There’s no radio in this cab. This cabbie tells us AM/FM radios are forbidden in Vegas cabs. I laughed at the strangeness of the moment and, suddenly, I felt bad for the Explorer cabbie. He probably lost his job. We traversed the long driveway and made it safely to the airport.
I went two dollars up on the slots, but paid it back on the video poker game. At this point it really didn’t matter. I had a half inch of cigarette left and an airplane ride to sleep through. If I can afford the 200 a night I will stay at the Mandalay Bay next time I’m in Vegas. |
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