COLUMN: Tolerating Vegas’ fumes and tragedies
I hate Las Vegas. It’s a dirty, overrated destination for old people. And tomorrow I leave.
I’ve now spent almost a week in Sin City. The saying goes that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but I’m sure the toxic fumes I inhaled while walking on the strip will be with me for a while. Likewise, the images of excess and poverty are well engraved in my mental files. All of you who have spent any time in this hell hole know what I’m talking about. I guess any city where the main attraction is also the place the locals avoid is going to have its problems.
There is a couple-hour window when the Las Vegas strip is interesting. It happens around 8 a.m. and continues until it heats back up. Most visitors never see this side of the well-lit city because they are either sleeping off a good hangover from the night before or waiting in line to get a really cheap breakfast. Either way, they miss the morning views.
I can tolerate Vegas in the morning for two reasons. First, the sun hasn’t risen completely and it is a bit cooler. The lighting caused by the low, morning sun casts a bit of a different shadow on the casinos. Just as the sun peaks over the barren hills, if you look out an Excalibur window towards the Luxor, the place is actually kind of pretty. Second, the morning finds the strip stripped of its typical masses of porn peddlers and tourists. You can actually walk down it. In the absence of the waves of people, it is easy to breathe and watch the city slowly begin to awake.
The morning light always discovers a few disturbing scenes that shine a spotlight on the weaknesses of humanity. Wednesday morning, I was able to witness both. En route from the Excalibur back to the Venetian, I saw, huddled in the fetal position, a man who obviously consumed a bit too much alcohol. He was missing his shoes and his pants had migrated towards his feet. He was filthy. At 8 in the morning, he was still unconscious and completely oblivious to his surroundings. I’m sure whatever he did will stay in Las Vegas because he won’t remember that night.
The second scene of typical Las Vegas emotion struck me one more block down the road. Outside of the Paris, sitting on the cement with her head in her hands, was a woman in her early 20s. She was a deep contrast to the happy, excited faces that roamed around her. Her emotion was magnified by the morning sun and excited people. She was crying. I didn’t take the opportunity to converse with this person, but I am positive that whatever she did in Las Vegas probably left a scar she will carry for a while. I may be wrong, but her energy was too dim for me to believe otherwise.
I think my extreme dislike for this place stems from observing such scenes played out on the strip time and time again. Growing up in St. George afforded me the opportunity to encounter Las Vegas life on a regular basis. It has not changed in any significant way during my span on this earth.
I guess it is possible that when I retire from being a vagabond and buy myself an RV to tour the world, I may enjoy this place. It seems that certain demographics tend to congregate here more than others. I’m not sure where all the elderly get their money, but they sure seem to enjoy spending it one credit at a time seated in front of a screen with flashing lights. It’s kind of like Nintendo 64, with 64 being the age you must attain to enjoy pointless games.
We should probably give props to whoever it was that came up with slot machines. No other business venture is so blatantly capitalistic in nature. Think about this one for a minute. Casinos set up machines that have a few buttons and moving pictures, and then they tell us we can win lots of money for a nickel. After said machines are in place, thousands of people believe the lie and flock to give you money for nothing. Turnkey, I believe, is the appropriate term.
It has been a good week. Good friends surrounded by thousands of bikes can’t be all bad. Yes, I enjoyed the bikes, but I still hate Las Vegas.
Lukas brinkerhoff is a junior majoring in journalism. His column documents his trek from Salt Lake City to Santiago, Chile on bicyle to raise awareness for alternative transportation.