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Destination: Las Vegas

Same Plane ~ Different Shituations!

By Joyce O’DayPublished 12 months ago 9 min read
2
Photo by author

“Give your seatbelt a tug and your companion a hug, cuz this Boeing is a goin’, and we are Vegas bound this time around,” announced the handsome male flight attendant to a cabin full of people ready to party and a few exhausted passengers heading home to the high desert.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Why do you keep booking seats in the last row, Cassie? This is the second time we’ve ended up back here, damnit,” said a thick man with bad teeth and a stubbled, gray beard. “I’m sick of being the last person off the freaking plane and sitting next to the line of dumbasses waiting to use the john.”

A middle-aged woman with a hairdo out of Golden Girls shook her head. “Next time you can make the goddamn reservations yourself.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“I’m so excited to finally see Adele perform. Angie Carter saw her show in New York and was absolutely blown away,” said a sharp-looking middle-aged woman in an ivory pantsuit.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” A man in an obviously expensive suit leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Finally, the stewardess is getting to our row with the drink cart.”

“Hell yeah! I’m ready to get this freaking party started,” said a thin woman wearing heavy makeup and obvious hair extensions.

“Then start it with this.” A thirty-something man with a shaved head and a full beard took a vial of cocaine and a tiny spoon out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Extension Lady.

“I’ve never tried this before. Is it safe?”

“Coke has never let me down. I think you'll love it.” Baldy carefully twisted off the lid, dipped in the spoon, and held it up to her nose.

Extension Lady snuffed up the white powder, took a deep breath, and sighed. “I think I could get used to this.” She snuggled up to Baldy, closed her eyes, and smiled.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Mommy, why did Grandma say that Daddy needs to clean up his act?” A little boy with a wrinkled Rugrats t-shirt looked up at his mom. “She seemed really angry when we left.”

“Sweetheart, don’t mention that to your father when he picks us up. It will only upset him.” The young woman with curly red hair past her shoulders kissed her little one on his head.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Give me a Jack and Coke, honey,” demanded an older man with greasy salt-and-pepper hair wearing a beige Members Only jacket.

“I will need a credit card for the liquor. We no longer accept cash.” The fit forty-something flight attendant – with strawberry blond hair in a stylish updo that clearly took some time – pursed her lips and feigned patience.

* * * * * * * * * *

A twenty-something guy in a “Dark Side of the Moon” t-shirt leaned across the aisle to address his three similarly-clothed companions. “We got a hell of a deal at the Orleans. It is just slightly off the Strip, but you can’t beat the price. The Excalibur wanted to charge me $170 a night for two double beds.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“I hear that the Spearmint Rhino is the best club to hit. The girls are crazy hot and a twenty will get you a quality lap dance,” said a youngish man with short brown hair and a thin beard.

“Ron Parker told me that Little Darlings is the hottest club in Vegas,” said a slightly older man with a dirty-blond braid halfway down his back.

“Sure, if you like girls who look like jailbait,” said a third man with dark brown hair and a mustache that would rival Tom Selleck’s in his Magnum, PI days. “Here’s an idea, gentlemen. Let’s rent a car and head to Sheri’s Ranch in Pahrump tomorrow.”

“Is that a brothel?” asked Ponytail.

“Damn right, brother,” said Tom Selleck. Let’s try out some professional gals who really know how to deliver. We can get a lap dance at home in Chicago.”

“Hell yes. I’m in,” said the guy with the beard.

* * * * * * * * * *

An intoxicated guy in an Affliction t-shirt stood up in the aisle, popped open the overhead compartment, and grabbed a blue duffel bag.

“That’s my bag,” yelled a biker dude a few rows behind. “Put it back.”

Affliction t-shirt guy continued to pull the duffel down. Biker Dude rushed up and grabbed Affliction from behind, just as Affliction unzipped the bag and realized that it wasn’t his property. “Holy shit!” said Affliction, as he peered into the bag.

Biker Dude shoved Affliction back into his seat, ripped the duffel from his hands, zipped it up, and headed back to his seat.

“Sorry, Bud,” said Affliction. “I had no idea. I thought it was mine. Really sorry, man.”

A muscle-bound man in a wife-beater sitting next to Affliction flashed him the what-the-hell look.

Affliction shook his head trying to suppress a shiver.

Wife-Beater unbuckled, rose up, and turned around to look back at Biker Dude, who was still grasping the duffel in his lap. He shot Wife-Beater a look that chilled him to the bone.

* * * * * * * * * *

“The real money is at the craps tables,” said a handsome man who looked like Colin Farrell. “Get me on a streak, and I’ll blow the roof off that place.”

“Jimmy, you promised that we would do more than gamble on this trip. Remember what happened last time!” The woman next to him with thin blond hair and a hot-pink sweatsuit appeared to shrink as she closed her eyes and sighed.

“I learned from that, baby. I’m staying away from the roulette wheel and the slots. It’s all about craps. I’m telling you, Smitty and the boys coached me at the poker game last week. I know what I’m doing.”

“Poker night? When you came home plastered after losing $300 to those degenerates you call friends. You’re a fool to listen to Smitty.” Pink Sweatsuit turned away to face the window as she dabbed under her eyes with a tissue.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Okay, girls. Tonight, we have tickets to Magic Mike.” A young woman in a sequined tank top passed out sashes to the other six women: two in front, two across the aisle, and the two next to her.

“Did you make dinner reservations?” asked a bleached blond who reeked of Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds perfume as she adjusted her sash.

“We’re going to Giada’s at the Cromwell, bitches!” Sequin Tank Top placed a tiara on the head of the bride-to-be who was sitting next to her, carefully adjusting her friend's blond-layered hair, which was reminiscent of Farrah Fawcett's back in the day.

* * * * * * * * * *

Across the aisle, a woman in a low-cut red halter dress and a black pixie haircut turned to her neighbor. “Jackie is so phony and an absolute ass-kisser.”

“Total skank,” said a woman with perfectly arched eyebrows. “I’ve been Sandy’s best friend since university and she chooses Amy to be her maid-of-honor. It’s bullshit.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“First thing we do when we land, is hit up a dispensary,” said a younger man with captivating blue eyes. “We’ll need some flower and some vape pens.”

“Don’t forget edibles. I heard they were opening cannabis lounges in Vegas,” said his shaggy-haired companion.

“Forget lounges. I heard you can light up a blunt on the casino floor. I saw a TikTok.” Blue Eyes winked at his friend.

* * * * * * * * * *

“I’m telling you, Doug. This convention is like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. The models at the display booths are hot as hell. They might even be hookers.” The fifty-year-old man in a short sleeve shirt and a striped tie smiled broadly and wiggled his shoulders like a kid in line at a carnival ride.

“Holy shit! Don’t tell Donna. What’s that saying? What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” replied Doug, a heavyset man adjusting the expansion buckle cutting into his ample belly.

“You know it, brother.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Nancy! Look out the window. I think that’s Lake Mead we're flying over. See the water?” A middle-aged man with a visible comb-over pointed excitedly. “That’s the bathtub ring that the news keeps talking about.”

“You can see the whole city from up here!” The lady next to him gently placed her hand on his shoulder. “There’s the Strip, and over there, that must be the Stratosphere tower. I can’t believe that the airport is right next to the Strip.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Can you believe these losers? They come to Vegas thinking they are going to hit it rich. Half these fools won’t have enough money to take an Uber back to the airport.” The strawberry-blond flight attendant adjusted her skirt as she buckled into the small jump seat.

The handsome young flight attendant shook his head in agreement. “Don’t you know it, honey. The flights going to Vegas are a riot. Everyone is amped up and ready to party. Whereas on the flights leaving Las Vegas most of the passengers are bitter, somber, and exhausted. The sad tourists have blown their cash, and the heat-exhausted locals can’t wait to get the hell away.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Hello passengers on Southwest Flight 420 from Chicago to Las Vegas. This is Captain Sean Spencer, your pilot. We will be landing shortly at 7:40pm to clear skies and a temperature of 105 degrees. The crew and I would like to thank you for flying Southwest, and we wish you a fantastic adventure in Sin City. Just a bit of advice, tuck a hundred dollars away in your luggage. Then, when you lose the rest, you won’t come home with nothing. There’s a reason they call this town “Lost Wages.”

© Joyce O’Day 2023.

AI was NOT used in the creation of this story.

Short Story
2

About the Creator

Joyce O’Day

After retiring from teaching world history for over 20 years, I am living every day on holiday: enjoying life with my family, traveling, gardening, engaging with my community in Las Vegas, and reflecting on the current state of the world.

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