Every city has its eccentrics. For example, in the town where I grew up, this creepy middle-aged man decided he should dress up as Superman and wave an American flag on the street corner for a post-9/11 morale boost. Now that doesn't make any sense.
But Las Vegas has even more weirdos. In fact, we have at least a dozen people who walk around dressed up like Superman, and not for the sake of some lofty ideal like patriotism. It's because they're broke and have no shame.
What really made me start questioning the sanity of the average Las Vegan was when I began attending education conferences after I moved here five years ago as a new teacher. When most people think of teachers, they think of a bunch of squares who are really only as wacky as their loudest holiday sweater. So, theoretically, a city's teachers should, if anything, be the most normal cross-section of the population, and teacher meetings should be a small representation of the city's most responsible, level-headed citizens, right?
Uh oh, Mrs. Peterson, someone's been eating the paste, and it isn't little Johnny.
The people I meet at these things are CRAZY. Just today, I attended a small conference about sensory integration disorders with several of my colleagues. We were really excited to network with some private occupational therapists in the area to whom we could later refer students. Boy, were we wrong. I'd be more likely to leave my kid alone with the crazy lady on the corner who gets the mail in a shower cap. I couldn't even attempt to break down all the kinds of crazy on this page. But if I were to create a composite, imagine post-plastic surgery Roseanne Barr (physically), wearing Kurt Cobain's clothes with Tom Cruise's personality (circa frenetic Oprah interview).
Then I got to thinking, what if the crazy teachers are just leading to more crazy students who are growing up to be crazy adults? That's something to think about.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Leaving Las Vegas
Have I complained about early morning flights at the Las Vegas airport yet? Because if I haven't, I should.
This morning I left my house at 4:30 to drive to Terrible's Casino to park my car to catch the airport shuttle. When I got there, the shuttle was already parked outside, which is awesome because I didn't even have to pretend like I was staying at the hotel and make them call for one. Unfortunately, I got an incredibly talkative shuttle driver who wanted to carry on a completely one-sided conversation. When I told him I was flying to Minneapolis, he fell into a tailspin of excited chatter. Apparently, his first love lived in St. Paul. Apparently it's his favorite place in the world.
When we arrived at the airport and he handed me my luggage, he gave me his card. Great, I thought, at least I have the number handy for when I need a shuttle back. Then he flipped over the card and pointed to his cell number and told me I should text him so we can go to a movie sometime. Now I have to live in fear for a week that he'll be on duty when I get back in town. Maybe I'll just pay for a cab. But no, I get back Friday night, and the cab line on Friday night is a disaster.
Anyway, I went through security and stood in line at Port-of-Subs, which was the only thing open, to get an orange juice. "I've gotta warn you, this is going to take a while," said the guy in front of me. "The line hasn't moved for like ten minutes." Since nothing else was open and I was early for my flight, I decided to brave the line. The really notable thing about early morning flights out of Vegas is that everyone is drunk still. One guy could barely stand up to order his "baconincheesesanwitchanacoffee." And there's always a girl who thinks it's cool to wear an ass-baring club dress to the airport. I mean, how long does it take to pull on pants and a shirt?
Needless to say, I am rather glad to be getting on a plane soon to fly to a different city altogether. And I'll let you know how it goes with me and the shuttle driver.
This morning I left my house at 4:30 to drive to Terrible's Casino to park my car to catch the airport shuttle. When I got there, the shuttle was already parked outside, which is awesome because I didn't even have to pretend like I was staying at the hotel and make them call for one. Unfortunately, I got an incredibly talkative shuttle driver who wanted to carry on a completely one-sided conversation. When I told him I was flying to Minneapolis, he fell into a tailspin of excited chatter. Apparently, his first love lived in St. Paul. Apparently it's his favorite place in the world.
When we arrived at the airport and he handed me my luggage, he gave me his card. Great, I thought, at least I have the number handy for when I need a shuttle back. Then he flipped over the card and pointed to his cell number and told me I should text him so we can go to a movie sometime. Now I have to live in fear for a week that he'll be on duty when I get back in town. Maybe I'll just pay for a cab. But no, I get back Friday night, and the cab line on Friday night is a disaster.
Anyway, I went through security and stood in line at Port-of-Subs, which was the only thing open, to get an orange juice. "I've gotta warn you, this is going to take a while," said the guy in front of me. "The line hasn't moved for like ten minutes." Since nothing else was open and I was early for my flight, I decided to brave the line. The really notable thing about early morning flights out of Vegas is that everyone is drunk still. One guy could barely stand up to order his "baconincheesesanwitchanacoffee." And there's always a girl who thinks it's cool to wear an ass-baring club dress to the airport. I mean, how long does it take to pull on pants and a shirt?
Needless to say, I am rather glad to be getting on a plane soon to fly to a different city altogether. And I'll let you know how it goes with me and the shuttle driver.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Chivalry is dead, and it was killed by this guy ----->
On the way home from work yesterday, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up some yogurt and granola. You see, I recently arrived home after my MFA residency where I was served yogurt, among other things, for breakfast every day, so I had a hankering for active cultures.
Anyway, I grabbed a big bulk box of yogurt and a bag of granola and headed toward the self-checkout. When I got there, all the lanes were full, and this one guy was waiting in line. As I approached him, he said, "Go right ahead," and made this little sweeping gesture with his hand. I figured, ok, he must be letting me go ahead of him because I only have two things and he's a genteel. So I stood in front of him.
A second later, he made this little clearing-of-the-throat sound and said, "The line's behind me." Really? REALLY? From what I deduce, his "Go right ahead" statement must have actually been meant as a signal to cross in front of him and then take my "rightful" place behind him in line. So I stood there stunned for a minute and moved behind him.
First of all, I don't need some guy's permission to cross his path. (This isn't Iran.), and second, who would go through the bother of specifying that I should move to the back? I mean, there were only a few of us in line and eight lanes! I've been told lately that I should be nicer to strangers, but it took every ounce of self-control not to say, "Oh, I thought you were being A GENTLEMAN!"
Karma allowed me to swipe my two measly items and pay and get the hell out of there before he even finished. So there. Ha.
Anyway, I grabbed a big bulk box of yogurt and a bag of granola and headed toward the self-checkout. When I got there, all the lanes were full, and this one guy was waiting in line. As I approached him, he said, "Go right ahead," and made this little sweeping gesture with his hand. I figured, ok, he must be letting me go ahead of him because I only have two things and he's a genteel. So I stood in front of him.
A second later, he made this little clearing-of-the-throat sound and said, "The line's behind me." Really? REALLY? From what I deduce, his "Go right ahead" statement must have actually been meant as a signal to cross in front of him and then take my "rightful" place behind him in line. So I stood there stunned for a minute and moved behind him.
First of all, I don't need some guy's permission to cross his path. (This isn't Iran.), and second, who would go through the bother of specifying that I should move to the back? I mean, there were only a few of us in line and eight lanes! I've been told lately that I should be nicer to strangers, but it took every ounce of self-control not to say, "Oh, I thought you were being A GENTLEMAN!"
Karma allowed me to swipe my two measly items and pay and get the hell out of there before he even finished. So there. Ha.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
And then the mob said, "Turn your head and cough."
Yesterday I needed to go to the doctor. The only person available was the doctor's assistant, but he can prescribe drugs too, so what the heck.
When he entered the exam room, I thought perhaps I'd accidentally driven to urgent care on the Jersey Shore. He had one sort of droopy eye like he'd been punched in the face during one too many bar fights, and he kept saying shit. "I'll give you some of this shit and you'll feel all better. Shit." It's cool, I guess. Maybe the mob has infiltrated the medical industry.
Then, for dinner, we decided to try this new taco place. It's new but they'd sent out coupons in the mail, so what was there to lose?
We walked in and ordered and the guy's like, "Sure! Fuggidaboutit! I'll make you an offer you can't refuse," and gave us a bunch of free stuff. Then he started speaking Spanish with the grill guy in an Italian accent. At that point, we were pretty sure our burritos were going to suck, but that's beside the point. Has our economic slump trickled down to include organized crime? Will Bugsy Siegle show up to clean my carpet? I won't let him park out front for fear of car bombs.
When he entered the exam room, I thought perhaps I'd accidentally driven to urgent care on the Jersey Shore. He had one sort of droopy eye like he'd been punched in the face during one too many bar fights, and he kept saying shit. "I'll give you some of this shit and you'll feel all better. Shit." It's cool, I guess. Maybe the mob has infiltrated the medical industry.
Then, for dinner, we decided to try this new taco place. It's new but they'd sent out coupons in the mail, so what was there to lose?
We walked in and ordered and the guy's like, "Sure! Fuggidaboutit! I'll make you an offer you can't refuse," and gave us a bunch of free stuff. Then he started speaking Spanish with the grill guy in an Italian accent. At that point, we were pretty sure our burritos were going to suck, but that's beside the point. Has our economic slump trickled down to include organized crime? Will Bugsy Siegle show up to clean my carpet? I won't let him park out front for fear of car bombs.
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