Everyone has a Vegas story, but not everyone has an airplane story. I was living in San Diego at the time. Fresh out of college living with my longtime best friend JB. Even though JB was a bit of a bitch, there were perks to being his friend. His wealthy dad had an upcoming work conference for a week in Las Vegas. Before I continue I should say that JB's dad isn't typical. He's probably 60 but acts around 25. He will party. Real Hard. His father invited us both to stay at the Wynn hotel on his dime when he got in town. Thank God because there's no way I could afford a trip like this, especially at a place as nice as the Wynn. Even though its only a 5 hour drive, we booked flights since my truck got dick MPGs and JB's Jetta recently got stolen by some Cholos. We arrived thursday night ready to muder some drinks and stab some ladies...metaphorically speaking.
Ill spare the details (since I was blacked out for most of them) but the expected happened. We drank, we mowed buffets, and somehow noone got laid (Although I was told I made out with a decent 45 yr old and disappeared for a few hours). We were finishing up our saturday by playing late night Blackjack at the Wynn. I remember vividly how badly I didn't fit in with the other players at the table, or the casino for that matter. My backwards hat and chuck taylors vs the suits and LV bags. But somehow I was winning. I was hammered, and the less I cared the more I seemed to win. 17 on dealers 6? Hit me, I don't give a fuck. Eventually the forty something lady to my right began mumbling some shit about my playing. She spoke just loud enough for me to hear. Clearly she was confusing my drunkenness for inexperience of the game. Before I could began a rebuttal I accidentally knocked my RBV all over the table. It was an epic spill. The cards, the chips, the dealer, all soaked. I laughed loudly and even the dealer chuckled a bit at my misfortunate state. "Shit. My bad mother fuckers", I said to the table. I promptly yelled at the nearest fake titted server to get me another, while the pit boss and crew cleaned up my mess.
My hot streak continued. I pounded RBVs and turned my initial $40 into several hundred. It only ended because I spilled a second drink on the cards and was "asked" to leave by security; to the bitch next to me’s delight. It was probably for the best. I sarcastically told the bitch next to me to ‘have a pleasant night’ as I scooped the $100 black chips into my pockets and began the journey of finding my room. I vaguely remember walking in and seeing sunlight pouring in and JB passed out on his bed. The clock read 10:30am. My flight was leaving at 1pm. Ill just lay down for a bit....
I awoke to JB shaking me, "Don't you have a flight soon, dude?".
"What time is it?", I said breathing fire.
"Fuck me.", I gumbled. I sat up as the pain swelled in my head.
Reality was flooding in. I called Southwest immediately and was able to get on the next flight at 4pm. I had to hurry. There was no time to sulk. But I was hurting real bad. I began to gather my shit. I ran downstairs and grabbed a cab to the airport. By the time I had gotten through security and to my gate I had about 5 minutes to spare. Everyone had already boarded the plane but the doors were still open. The Airline employees just stared at me, waiting for me to walk on. But I needed a fix. Luckily there was a small pizza place across from my gate. I inhaled a slice and downed a moutain dew hoping to change anything about the way I was feeling. They made the last call over the PA and I made my way towards the plane and into one of the unluckiest situations you can imagine.
The stewardess was glaring with impatience as I strolled down the walkway. Oh she knew. I mustered up a pathetic, half sarcastic smile as I passed her and turned to what was clearly karma fucking with me. A sea of red jumpsuits engulfed me. The San Diego State womens volleyball team had apparently just played UNLV and were headed back home. This is my life. I could hear the whispers and giggles of all the freakishly tall girls surrounding me. It was no mystery that I wasn't in Vegas for the golf. I didnt even have to look for my seat. It was the only one left. The glares of thirty girls were burning a hole in my filthy, pit stained undershirt as I passed them. I sat and began to wonder how a volley ball team rolls so damn deep, until I was interrupted by my stomach. The alcohol, the red bull, the Mt Dew, and the pizza. They had begun waging WWIII.
It was only a 45 minute flight I kept telling myself. I can do this. Time always seem to slow down when your miserable. By the halfway mark I was on the edge. I was doing anything to keep my mind from wandering into any thoughts of booze. I considered my Ipod but was feeling too sensitive to even move to get it. "We are beginning our decent in to San Diego..." the pilot muffled over the PA along with some other gibberish that didn't matter. 15 more minutes and I was free. But the war was still waging. I was sweating bad. And I never sweat. Then the spits came. I buried my head in my arms and tried to keep the girls from seeing me. It was coming. I rummaged though the seat pocket in front of me at warp speed. The clock was ticking. To my own surprise I found it. They really do keep paper bags in the seats! It took half a second to open it and the valve opened. I puked and filled the bag instantly. It was like trying to fill a dixie cup with a firehose. It overflowed onto my hands and I instinctively turned to the nearest open space; the aisle. I let out a second heave of brown concoction onto the floor. It was way more than anyone could have expected and It kept coming. The seat in front of me, the floor, my lap. I really tried to keep it from getting on the girl next to me but who knows. When I was finally finished I took a deep breath in. It felt amazing. But the stench was unbearable. It was like rotting corpses put into a blender and dumped out of my mouth. I couldn't bear to look at the girls that surrounded me. But I could feel their disgust in the air. I stared at the floor in exhaustion and did my best with what i had to get the puke off of my hands and face. The plane was still in descent, so noone could get up and out of the seats. Including me. I sat there for the longest 600 seconds of my life. When the plane finally landed I didn’t wait for my turn. I grabbed my backpack, stepped over the aisle and bag of puke, then rushed out. Not a word was spoken. I gave another grin to the stewardess as I exited the door. Home at last.