| rev:text
| - When people go to Las Vegas, they generally return home with their wallets a little lighter than when they came. It's the nature of the town. I expect, it's how Las Vegas even exists. Aside from the leaving part, there's the taking away part. For me, it's coming away with memories, stories and tall tales, which are hard to come by anywhere else. The following story cost me about $2,000 for three days.
When you wait in line for a cab, you have no idea what you're going to get and who will be behind the wheel. Will it be the guy who drives in awkward silence, even though you try to make small talk? Will it be the guy who talks on his cell phone the entire time, in a foreign language? Will it be the overly aggressive driver who shouts and cuts in and out of traffic, as if he were in a race for his life? Or, will it be the chatty guy who intentionally takes the route down Las Vegas Blvd., even though you know better?
And, there's the driver I encountered from Yellow Cab on Friday night, who ....
LOOKED A LOT LIKE JESUS ....
.... if Jesus looked like JEFF BRIDGES (the actor, sporting a full gray beard) and went by the alias of MICHAEL WITT, Driver # 109790, and hailed from Oxnard, California.
Yeah, take that in for a few beats -
Michael started off a little tight. It was the end of his shift, and he seemed a little grumpy. I took my time, like a wily police detective with a crook in a confined interview room. I warmed him up and then pulled stuff out of him.
Michael had grown up in Oxnard, but relocated to Las Vegas 36 years ago. He had no desire to return to his birthplace, or even California for that matter. I asked him if he missed the beach and he replied, "No." With that response, I deducted there was more to his relocation from the beach community to the desert. I expect maybe he logged some jail time (maybe smuggling weed when ANY quantity of it was considered felonious), or there could have been a nasty divorce. Who knows?
There was something bad in Cali and Michael wanted nothing to do with it.
NOBODY BUT NOBODY doesn't want a beach.
So, Michael reinvented himself in Las Vegas as a Jesus look-a-like (in my minds eye after a few adult beverages). Very cool. And, the detective in me knew I had completely broken him down when he laid his best and only joke on us .... wait for it ....
With a few more beats -
"So, I picture you as the kind of folks who are either going to see Back Street Boys ..... or Brittney .... Am I right? (trying to subdue his cabbie cleverness, but on the verge of cracking up like a stoner who took one too many bong rips)
Me (revealing a true, but ironically clever fact considering the whole look-a-like thing) - "No man, we're seeing an AC/DC tribute band we know who are playing on Fremont Street." (which had apparently slipped Michael's mind when he briefly became CARROT TOP, because it was our proclaimed destination from the get-go).
Michael, as a cab driver, was capable in the realm of slow movers who may have a shady past. He also took us STRAIGHT DOWN THE STRIP through heavy traffic (at 7:00 p.m.). I was so caught up with Michael's whole scene that I didn't even mind (as I typed notes into my iPhone on the fly), until I factored in how much I was going to tip him. In the scheme of my $2,000 contribution to the Las Vegas economy, Michael only got a tiny sliver of the pie.
Finally (I couldn't help myself)
CUT TO:
A studio apartment, where Michael is sprawled on a black bean bag chair as we hear the distinct crackle of an old school vinyl record player and the distinct voice of the late Harry Chapin.
..... She took off to find the footlights,
And I took off to find the sky.
And here, she's acting happy,
Inside her handsome home.
And me, I'm flying in my taxi,
Taking tips, and getting stoned.
I go flying so high, when I'm s-t-o-n-e-d.
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