After getting over my initial fear of flying (as discussed in last week's column), I settled into the flight. Just as my eyelids were starting to droop in the fourth hour in the air, a voice came over the loudspeakers and said, "If there are any medical personnel onboard, your assistance is needed in the rear." I turned to my friend Dr. Dave, fresh from his medical school graduation but now fast asleep, so I had to grab his arm to wake him up.
Bleary-eyed, Dave jumped into the aisle and rushed to the rescue of an elderly man -- who just happened to be the Pearl Harbor survivor we'd been chatting with while waiting to board the flight in New York. Although his injury was minor, it was still pretty cool to treat it on a plane, and be treated like heroes. Our first aid earned us a night out with our flight attendants who wanted to introduce us to the fun of Las Vegas.
Almost immediately, I got addicted to gambling. I've always had the itch for it, but had never acted on my impulses until now. Not gambling in Vegas is virtually impossible. The tables draw you in. Blackjack quickly became my poison of choice. And although I was just learning the ins and outs for the first couple of days, by my third and fourth day I felt like a seasoned veteran.
You can see images of Vegas in countless movies and magazines, but you really don't "feel" the place until you're actually there. This is the real "city that never sleeps," as locals referred to it, and it grew on us fast. We realized on our first night just how special Las Vegas is.
In five days Dave, Rhodian and I tried to fit in everything we possibly could. But as anybody who's ever been there can tell you, Vegas can't be totally explored in one trip. This is a city you take in more and more of with each visit.
I could tell you story after outrageous story, but you'd probably have a hard time believing all this could happen in five days. We also made a pact that even though I'd be allowed to clue you in on some of the things we experienced in Sin City, ultimately "what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."
As we took our last cab ride to McCarron airport, I realized one thing. The cab driver kept going on and on about how Vegas was so much better than New York City, how "it's a better life out here." Even with the fun we had, I missed home. I missed New York. And even though we came home to the bad attitudes and smelly restrooms at JFK, I was still glad to be back.
