From 1977 until 2004 my wife and I didn’t fly on one single commercial jet. Its not that we were afraid to fly, it’s just that, well, I guess we didn’t have any place to go. Although I did fly a couple times on a de Havilland Beaver on our way to a couple of fishing trips in Canada – I sat next to the fuel drums and you had to YELL REAL LOUD TO TALK TO THE PERSON NEXT TO YOU SO THEY COULD HEAR. So in 2004 when my wife was awarded a trip to the Bahamas we went. When I told my mom we would be flying she said (and I quote), “Yeah Danny, they even have jets now!”
In 2005 she was awarded another trip to Hawaii and we flew there too (dah).
And we flew to Phoenix a couple times to visit my brother.
So this past February when we flew to Las Vegas to attend my nephew’s wedding, we figured we were pretty seasoned world travelers. And for those who know us, “Dan and Kay are going to Las Vegas” is almost as ludicrous of a statement as “the Vikings have won the Super Bowl!”
We left O’Dark Early on Friday. The ticket lady at the Duluth Airport was really nice. I brought along some cookies my daughter had made and I asked if she wanted one. “No thanks!” she replied politely. Was probably one of those post 911 regulation things – am guessing Homeland Security was on the lookout for a Dutchman wearing suspenders carrying a baggie full of Spritz cookies.
When we went through security we made sure we didn’t have any axes or scissors with us and that we had all of our carry on liquid stuff in a quart sized baggie.
“Pay attention!” my wife said, “Your baggie is in here!”
“OK I said,” noticing how crumbled my cookies had become.
When I went through the Stargate Metal Detector portal it started beeping.
It was my suspenders. I had an inkling they might set off the alarm, but I wasn’t too alarmed
The security guy asked if I wanted a) to take them off (No thank you! They just happen to hold my shirt down!) or b) go through added security. Much to my wife’s dismay I chose door number two. The security guard directed me to go back to the private room that EVERYONE coming through security could see into. As directed I placed my feet on the inlaid footprints and stretched out my arms with the palms up. I felt like I should close my eyes and start chanting or something. After about 10 minutes he determined that I was not a terrorist, just some sort of suspendered geek with a baggie full of cookie crumbs.
My wife and I made it to Las Vegas about 11:00. One of the flight attendants directed everyone to go to carousel C to get their luggage. So off we went in search of carousel C with a zillion other people who were coming to Las Vegas for the weekend.
Turns out carousel C was in another building that you had to take a tram to. A tram it turns out is similar to a train, except that it rams you back and forth as you ride it…thus the name: tram.
But it turned out that one of the trams was not running, so for crowd control the airport people filtered us through one of those zig zag stockyard cattle rope things. You know – where you want to get to point B which is like 10 feet away but first you have to go 100’ this way and then 100’ that way and then 100’ this way and then 100’ that way.
MOOOOOOOOOO!
One of airport guys hollered (and I am not making this up), “Floor Space! I don’t want to see any floor space!” Apparently you are only allotted one square foot per person.
MOOOOOOOOOO!
At last we waddled our way onto the tram and proceeded at the speed of light to the suitcase building. We finally found carousel C, got our luggage but didn’t know where we were supposed to catch the bus to the hotel/casino. So I asked some guy that looked like he worked for the airport.
.
“Excuse me sir, could you tell me where to catch this bus?” I showed him the voucher.
“Door #12!” he said, obviously irritated.
“And where’s door #12?” I asked.
He pointed. “See! Door #9, door #10, door #11, door #12!”
I felt like saying, “Thanks Doorknob.” But I didn’t. It seemed as though “Minnesota Nice” was about 1500 miles east and north.
When we got to the casino/hotel and walked in, it was then that I realized, “We aren’t in Kansas anymore Toto!”
We registered but had to wait about 3 hours before we could check in so I called my brother. “Hey Bro, we is here!” They headed toward us from the Paris and we ventured out and headed toward them from the Imperial.
We really did have a great time visiting with my brother and his wife, seeing Scott and Lindsey get married, going to the Hoover Dam and just seeing the sites. And I was taking more pictures than Jacques Cousteau on the bottom of the ocean.
However, as we walked through one of the casinos I happened to notice a sign that read “R & S Book.” Now I love killing time in a bookstore. “Hey honey, let’s go find this place.” We meandered around for awhile in the casino but never did find the R & S bookstore. The next day I noticed the same sign in a different casino, but we never found that bookstore either.
That was puzzling to me. When we got home I emailed my sister-in-law.
“Moe, does ‘R & S Book’ mean something like Race and Sports Betting?”
“You got it!” she replied.
We don’t get out much. ;>)
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