Since I was ten years old, I have called the combination of the sandy desert, the glitz and glam, and the neon lights of the strip home. For the past 18 years, I have lived in the Las Vegas area. Las Vegas is so different from any other city in the world. It flaunts its 24 hour service, its massive casinos, and its clubbin' atmosphere. It is a place of organized chaos and partying.
Living in Las Vegas, I have heard the term "bottle service" on a regular basis. As a matter of fact, daily...I see a billboard, hear a radio spot, or see a Facebook status update regarding the term "bottle service." Now, since I am a happily married man that doesn't feel the need to go clubbin' and a Mormon who doesn't partake of alcohol to boot, the term is lost on me. For years, I haven't had a reason to have any interest in a "bottle service." But, in recent months, like Will Smith, "my life got flipped-turned upside down." My life became chaotic. I never knew when I was going to sleep or eat. And, with all the craziness, a "bottle service" seemed like it might be a good idea. It seemed like something I needed.
So, on a cool Saturday morning in October, I went out on a mission to figure out what this "bottle service" thing was all about. I jumped in the Dodge Journey, cranked up the radio, and drove off. I wasn't exactly sure where I was headed, but I know it wouldn't be long before I saw an ad for a bottle service. As I drove, I let the wind blow through my hair. After all, there is a lot up there for the wind to enjoy.
It wasn't long though before I was gripping the wheel tight. A tan Ford Taurus darted up the on ramp at Eastern and proceeded to fly across three lanes of traffic to the fast lane...only to slam on her breaks to narrowly miss the taxi cab in front of her. She turned the wheel hard and the car skidded into the middle lane then she smashed down the accelerator to narrowly avoid being rear ended. She was hell on wheels and I was afraid. Maybe this whole bottle service things wasn't worth it.
I drove behind the Taurus keeping my distance. I had no idea what type of Evil Knievel move she was going to try next. The tan death contraption continued to swerve in and out of traffic. As I peered through the back window of the car, I thought I saw the Grim Reaper. I blinked hard and rubbed my eyes. Whew...it was ONLY a woman, but I probably would have felt safer if the Reaper, himself, was driving. She was driving while putting on make-up and brushing her hair while talking on her cell phone and singing Lady Gaga. I thought of "Alejandro" and it made me quiver but not in a good way.
I breathed a long sigh of relief as the tan Ford Taurus shot suddenly across two lanes of traffic and quickly exited off Warm Springs. It left a wake of destruction in its path, but like Jeff Gordon, I can miss a 20 car pile up and stay on the lead lap without a problem. In my back on my head, I heard Pablo say "Nice job" as he high-fived Tyrone. Then, The Backyardigans theme song rattled my eardrums. It was strange, but a lot of weird things happen in my head.
As I sped down the highway towards the Las Vegas Blvd exit, I glimpsed a billboard of a young lady smiling seductively while a strand of pearls in her mouth. I felt dirty just looking at it. In the right corner of the billboard, I noticed that it was for a dentist. Even in Vegas, the billboards for your dentist are dirty. The next billboard though made me completely forget about just how sexy a root canal can be. It was a billboard for a bottle service at the Tryst nightclub at Wynn. It was perfect. It was just what I was looking for.
As I pulled up to the Wynn, I got a little overwhelmed. Could I handle this? What was this bottle service all about? I dodged tourists after tourist as I made my way towards the club. I really wasn't sure what to expect. As I approached, I noticed it was empty. The lights were dimmed. It was dark. Suddenly, cries pierced the air and a young lady looked at me strangely. I was a little embarrassed. I was clearly out of place and now the crying had begun. I couldn't help it. She told me that they were closed and wouldn't open until later. I didn't know what to do and the crying wasn't going to stop. I asked her if I could use the restroom and then made my way there. I looked high and low, but what I needed wasn't in there. How was I supposed to fix my problems?
I had driven all this way, survived the tan Ford Taurus, and now this...
Seriously?
I rushed out of the little boys room and the crying still hadn't stopped. I was about to lose it. Really...no changing tables in the bathrooms...
Come on! What was this nightclub thing all about? You are going to offer a bottle service and not have a changing table? You cannot tell me that my kids were the only ones urinating on themselves. At any rate, I would have to just find somewhere else to change the diapers. After all, Boston, Braxton, and I still had about six hours to kill before the bottle service would be available. We couldn't wait to order some of that sweet Similac Sensitive. This whole bottle service thing was going to be awesome. I just wondered when all the other dads are going to show up...
To be continued...
Living in Las Vegas, I have heard the term "bottle service" on a regular basis. As a matter of fact, daily...I see a billboard, hear a radio spot, or see a Facebook status update regarding the term "bottle service." Now, since I am a happily married man that doesn't feel the need to go clubbin' and a Mormon who doesn't partake of alcohol to boot, the term is lost on me. For years, I haven't had a reason to have any interest in a "bottle service." But, in recent months, like Will Smith, "my life got flipped-turned upside down." My life became chaotic. I never knew when I was going to sleep or eat. And, with all the craziness, a "bottle service" seemed like it might be a good idea. It seemed like something I needed.
So, on a cool Saturday morning in October, I went out on a mission to figure out what this "bottle service" thing was all about. I jumped in the Dodge Journey, cranked up the radio, and drove off. I wasn't exactly sure where I was headed, but I know it wouldn't be long before I saw an ad for a bottle service. As I drove, I let the wind blow through my hair. After all, there is a lot up there for the wind to enjoy.
It wasn't long though before I was gripping the wheel tight. A tan Ford Taurus darted up the on ramp at Eastern and proceeded to fly across three lanes of traffic to the fast lane...only to slam on her breaks to narrowly miss the taxi cab in front of her. She turned the wheel hard and the car skidded into the middle lane then she smashed down the accelerator to narrowly avoid being rear ended. She was hell on wheels and I was afraid. Maybe this whole bottle service things wasn't worth it.
I drove behind the Taurus keeping my distance. I had no idea what type of Evil Knievel move she was going to try next. The tan death contraption continued to swerve in and out of traffic. As I peered through the back window of the car, I thought I saw the Grim Reaper. I blinked hard and rubbed my eyes. Whew...it was ONLY a woman, but I probably would have felt safer if the Reaper, himself, was driving. She was driving while putting on make-up and brushing her hair while talking on her cell phone and singing Lady Gaga. I thought of "Alejandro" and it made me quiver but not in a good way.
I breathed a long sigh of relief as the tan Ford Taurus shot suddenly across two lanes of traffic and quickly exited off Warm Springs. It left a wake of destruction in its path, but like Jeff Gordon, I can miss a 20 car pile up and stay on the lead lap without a problem. In my back on my head, I heard Pablo say "Nice job" as he high-fived Tyrone. Then, The Backyardigans theme song rattled my eardrums. It was strange, but a lot of weird things happen in my head.
As I sped down the highway towards the Las Vegas Blvd exit, I glimpsed a billboard of a young lady smiling seductively while a strand of pearls in her mouth. I felt dirty just looking at it. In the right corner of the billboard, I noticed that it was for a dentist. Even in Vegas, the billboards for your dentist are dirty. The next billboard though made me completely forget about just how sexy a root canal can be. It was a billboard for a bottle service at the Tryst nightclub at Wynn. It was perfect. It was just what I was looking for.
As I pulled up to the Wynn, I got a little overwhelmed. Could I handle this? What was this bottle service all about? I dodged tourists after tourist as I made my way towards the club. I really wasn't sure what to expect. As I approached, I noticed it was empty. The lights were dimmed. It was dark. Suddenly, cries pierced the air and a young lady looked at me strangely. I was a little embarrassed. I was clearly out of place and now the crying had begun. I couldn't help it. She told me that they were closed and wouldn't open until later. I didn't know what to do and the crying wasn't going to stop. I asked her if I could use the restroom and then made my way there. I looked high and low, but what I needed wasn't in there. How was I supposed to fix my problems?
I had driven all this way, survived the tan Ford Taurus, and now this...
Seriously?
I rushed out of the little boys room and the crying still hadn't stopped. I was about to lose it. Really...no changing tables in the bathrooms...
Come on! What was this nightclub thing all about? You are going to offer a bottle service and not have a changing table? You cannot tell me that my kids were the only ones urinating on themselves. At any rate, I would have to just find somewhere else to change the diapers. After all, Boston, Braxton, and I still had about six hours to kill before the bottle service would be available. We couldn't wait to order some of that sweet Similac Sensitive. This whole bottle service thing was going to be awesome. I just wondered when all the other dads are going to show up...
To be continued...
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