There are only two ways of telling the complete truth—anonymously and posthumously. — Thomas Sowell
Ah, sin city. You returned me a broken man, a defeated man, but you returned me nonetheless.
Here’s a brief timeline of how Vegas battered my soul:
Wednesday, July 3rd
7:52am: I’m picked up from the San Jose airport, where I and two friends immediately begin the eight hour drive to Vegas in a recently inspected and tuned-up car.
2:39pm: In the middle of 123 degree temperatures, the air conditioning stops working. In order to literally survive, we have to drive with the windows down for the next 2 hours. In the back seat, it feels like the devil is perpetually passing gas in my face.
9:13pm: Finished with dinner, we return to the room to consume mass quantities of rum.
9:14pm: Both my body and mind disagree with this decision, but I power through.
12:04am: We stumble around the Wynn casino (about a thirty minute walk from our own hotel) as I watch my friend win $3,200 in blackjack.
1:34am: I return with two others to the hotel after watching that same friend lose $5,000.
Thursday, July 4th
11:30am: Behind two closed doors and under the covers, I hear loud noises coming from the living room. I investigate.
11:34am: I find two of my friends jumping around the living room, blasting music, and taking their seventh tequila shot, while two other friends lay on the pull-out couch trying to sleep.
11:36am: I call the front desk to inquire about prices for a single.
2:15pm: We walk to the hotel Caesars where we purchase 48oz pina coladas. Once more, my body and mind equally protest the endeavor, but I ignore them.
2:19pm: I quickly realize the grim outcome of this undertaking.
4:15pm: Two friends and I walk all the way to the Wynn (again 30 minutes) to purchase tickets to enter the club for later that night.
4:47pm: We learn such tickets do not exist.
10:30pm: After reuniting with the group, eating, and dressing up, we return to the club and “purchase” a table to drink and sit at.**
11:17pm : [CENSORED]
4:14am: [CENSORED—this is a good one, too]
5:32am: I meet up with four others to get tacos and go to bed.
Friday, July 5th
11:41am: We all get nauseated.
1:04pm: I and two others go to float in the pool, trying to alleviate gravity’s pull on our stomachs.
9:13pm: A high school friend is randomly in Vegas this weekend, so I introduce him to all my college friends.
10:55pm: At the roulette table, I place money on the number 4 (a 1 in 38 chance of hitting).
11:02pm: I hit “number 4” twice in a row (a 1 in 1444 chance of happening).
11:03pm: I only make $70.
12:44am: Some of the group attends a well known “gentleman’s club.”
4:32am: One of these men leaves aforementioned club with $2000 less than he previously had.
5:40am: Said man randomly bumps into me and another friend waiting outside a café that opens in twenty minutes.
5:41am: We do our best to console him with laughter and greasy food. Neither is overly successful.
Saturday, July 6th
11: 32am: I and the two others pile back into the car to commence the eight hour drive home. The whole ride, this time, completely void of AC.
So there you have it, my Vegas trip in a nutshell. Why, then, call this post my Vegas vasectomy? It got you to read it, didn’t it?
** To purchase a table at one of these night clubs, you need to buy a fifth of alcohol from the club—which is $500 for the cheapest bottle (we got a deal through a friend, though). On the menu they also offered a $90,000 bottle of champagne.