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Snoopy Old No I Am Vintage Shirt, hoodie, tank top
It’s about 2 a.M. On my first night of forced freedom, although I already sense no matter how long you stay in Vegas, it is all one long night. I am slumped down in the vestibule of a parking garage, sitting on the ground, next to a garbage can. I tend to stretch out and sit on the ground wherever I am, like I’m hanging out on the stairs in a college dorm. It’s just my MO. Anyway, a woman spots me as she’s passing by and says, “Hey, are you all right?”
“Just Ubered out,” I say. “First it said 27 minutes, then 9 minutes, then it was back to 31 and …”
But she’s gone before I get to 19. Meanwhile, a large group of handsomely dressed young adults are loitering in the vestibule trying to plan their next move. “What about that place Angie and Erin are going? They bought tickets early.”
“This whole town is sold out,” one of the women says, looking over at me as if they might as well all slump down against the wall. But a second later she says, “Oh well,” and they stroll out into the night.
It is still so dense in the streets that I had to retreat. I’m not looking for six feet of separation, or even three feet. But three inches would be nice.
This is not like me, and I’m disappointed in myself. I tend to wear my days on Earth like a pair of baggy pants, with a bon vivant attitude and a penchant for playfulness. Maybe it’s the “have it” and “give it” guy back at CVS that I can’t easily shake – that sense of recklessness. And there’s still the voice in my head questioning whether it’s wrong to even be here.
A father comes in carrying a young girl who is half asleep and clutching a big trophy as if it is a teddy bear. I have been seeing these trophies all day. Apparently a dance competition is being held in town, and the winners have been crowned. These are not the tiny plastic things Fortune 500 companies give their employees of the month. These are the real deal, and they are abundant. A flock of dancers will pass by with ice cream cones in one hand and trophies in the other. Many are nonchalantly tucked under arms like a beach towel, as the girls go about their business.
I wish I could hand out trophies to those who have endured so much. After what everyone has been through, so many people deserve a trophy instead of only the invisible badges of honor and courage we have pinned on them. For the rest of their lives, I want them all to be walking around with a smoothie in one hand and a big gleaming trophy in the other. But in the same way, perhaps those who did not sacrifice – who laughed in the face of a serious threat to so many lives – should be forced to wear cheap, poorly made hats with stupid sayings on them.
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