I’ve been to Vegas on a multitude of occasions, but actually haven’t been back in many years, as I’m honestly still recovering from the last few trips. I’m the type of person who never wants to go home if there is fun to be had. Las Vegas is a deadly place because day or night, rain or shine, someplace is always open and serving booze.
Several years ago my good friend and I wanted to do a weekend getaway and decided on Vegas. She had never been and was recently single and itching for some trouble. (Itching in the non-pubic lice fashion.)
Our first night there we went hog wild. We were like escaped convicts on ecstasy. Major trouble. Because I’m trying to keep this blog relatively PC/PG (I need to keep my day job!), the details of this night are not that important. I was dating someone at the time and, although I was faithful, he gave me the silent treatment for a week based on some of the night’s activities.
Anyway, we rolled back into our hotel room around 8:30 a.m. A LARGE part of the night is very blurry, including this next incident. I remember putting on my pajamas and then discussing mutual hunger pains with my friend. We decided to go down to the casino to get something to eat.
In our pajamas.
My only hope was that at least I had kept my bra on. Otherwise, those bad boys were probably tucked into my drawstring pants.
As we made our way to the elevator banks, it was very clear to my friend that I probably should not be out walking (i.e., stumbling) around. It was not a pretty sight and normal (read: non-drunk) people were already out and about. Why we didn’t go back to the room to safely deposit me, we do not know. We had just gotten off a 12-hour drinking binge mixed with nudity of the female variety and brain synapses obviously were not properly firing.
She decided to sit me in a chair in the corner of the elevator banks and told me to stay put while she ran down to grab our breakfast bagel sandwiches. She was gone about 10 minutes. She rode the elevators back up, heard the ding of our floor and came face to face with a very unusual sight as the doors slowly opened.
I was passed out, face first, in front of the elevator. Like right in front of the elevator. She had to step over me to exit the elevator. FOR REAL.
Apparently I got tired and literally face planted myself into the floor. Arms and legs outstretched, mouth likely wide open and drooling.
She laughed, woke me up and we made our way back to the room. I managed to eat my bagel sandwich, made a few garbled phone calls to my boyfriend and then passed out until 3 p.m.
So much for pool time.
Moral of the Story:
When scouting a good location to pass out, I would steer clear of any public hotel areas.
ESPECIALLY WHEN IT’S RIGHT IN FRONT OF AN ELEVATOR.
I often think to myself, how many people encountered me lying there while my friend was gone? What must they have thought? It’s amazing to me that I remember what pajamas I was wearing and how delicious that bagel sandwich tasted, yet I have no recollection of falling asleep in a chair and dropping my face like it’s hot to the floor.