Unfortunately, there were quite a few bad vibrations on Fremont Street last night which were a downer!
For example, when tourists (and locals) trotted over to toss an empty beer can or piece of trash into a garbage receptacle, a nasty city worker barked out at them.
"Not in there," he hissed to startled revelers, as he snatched up the item and dropped it into a second bin a few inches away in disgust.
What an asshole!
If he wasn't so ignorant - or a least possessed a modicum of common sense or loving kindness - it would have been obvious to the crusty old fool that at least the "offenders" attempted to dispose of the garbage properly instead of just trashing the street!
What nerve - treating a guest on Fremont Street - in such a despicable manner.
Who wants to go on vacation and have some idiot who makes about $2 an hour yell at them out of-the-blue and spoil their night out on-the-town?
Then, for some inexplicable reason, a posse of hateful Holy-Rollers turned up on the strip waving a half-a-dozen-or-so placards (with inflammatory remarks crudely scrawled on their face) denouncing everything and everyone under the desert sun.
"God hates Casinos," a chubby man with all the personality of a slug hollered out on a megaphone.
"God hates fornicators," he insisted, as his pals stood steadfastly by his side handing out pamphlets (propaganda).
"God hates all that Las Vegas stands for," he boldly asserted to a crowd of onlookers - who gazed on in amusement - as a gang of twenty-something lads taunted the zealots with a bit of hip-hop - that Nancy Grace herself - would have labelled "The Devil's Dance".
More to come in a follow-up post!
But, the most unpleasant incident came about because of the mean-spirited conduct of waitresses dolled up in Carmen Miranda "garb" at the entrance of "Mermaids".
While I was observing the escalating conflict - between the upstart studs and the born again Christians - a young girl caught my eye.
"Sir," she asked me meekly, "Where did you get your beads?"
Uh-huh.
I was feeling in a festive mood last night, so - before I stepped out of my suite - I draped a few strands of colorful baubles around my once-naked neck.
"Mermaids" traditionally hands the sprightly-colored beads out to patrons once they stride through the front entrance on Fremont Street.
Since the dive was just a few steps away, I pointed in that direction.
"At Mermaids," I replied, "Just go over and ask for a strand of beads."
At this juncture, her father spoke up.
"They wouldn't give her any," he noted with a tinge of sadness in his voice.
Say what?
At first I was dumbfounded, then I was angry.
Obviously, these tarted-up gals weren't mothers, eh?
Meanwhile - I had to seriously wonder - didn't these ladies of-the-night ever recall they were once little girls also fascinated with eye-catching sparkly jewelry?
To deny a 7-year old child a string of cheap pearls was beyond belief!
So, I have bestowed on both cocktail waitresses a "Golden Bitch" Award.
An artist is working on the design right now!
I envision an award crafted in the shape of a part of the female anatomy.
The first initial of the slang term for the sexual "organ" starts with the letter "c".
How appropriate!
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