This one doesn't stay in Vegas

Came across this in my files the other day and thought I'd share.

The year was, well, it was long time ago.

My high school buddy Jamie and I were in Las Vegas. This was before the Disneyfication, when Sin City offered plenty of opportunity to sin. After an all-nighter at the famed Crazy Horse and after showering dozens of skanky strippers with dirty dollar bills, we found ourselves enjoying a $1.99 buffet breakfast at the Stardust Hotel. 

As he was wont to do, Jamie started chatting it up with the buxom blonde waitress. I would say she was young, but no one stays young in Las Vegas. She was jaded beyond her years and was immune to his small talk. So he redirected his attention to the blank Keno cards sandwiched behind the menus.

On her next visit to refill our coffee, he handed her a completed a Keno card and a five dollar bill that somehow didn't make it to Tiffany's underpants. Ten minutes later she returned with our soggy scrambled eggs, cold brittle bacon and news that Jamie had hit 7 out of 15 of the numbers -- or whatever it is that signifies a win in Keno.

In other words, he was suddenly $900 richer. 

And the waitress was suddenly friendlier. 

Jamie could not believe his luck. If memory serves, we quickly got up from the breakfast bar and made a beeline for the other bar. The one that served alcohol.

By 10 AM we were completely soused. 

Again. 

And at 11 AM we found ourselves across the street at the Las Vegas FlyAround. 

For the uninitiated, the FlyAround looked like a huge cylindrical water tank. At the bottom of the tank was a 6,000 horsepower jet engine blowing air straight up. The inner walls of the tank were lined with cheap foam rubber. And visitors to the FlyAround were taught how to leap into the stream of jet-blown air and enjoy the phenomena of weightlessness. 

It's more difficult than it sounds. 

It's a lot more difficult when you're blowing .27 on the breathalyzer.

When we weren't being tossed against the padded walls, Jamie and I were laughing so hard our bones hurt. When we exited the tank, we were offered the opportunity to purchase a Polaroid picture (yes kids this was way before digital cameras) of ourselves at  zero G's. Normally I don't splurge for trivialities as such, but flush with Keno cash, Jamie snapped up the pictures.

And I'm glad he did.

Because now it occurs to me, I like the way I look in a jumpsuit: