Muerte Las Vegas!?

It's been almost 2 years since I left Sin City, but it seems like only yesterday that I was pissed off and bitter. Read and enjoy!

Just a typical workday.

It's about 6:00 and I’m crossing the parking lot to head to the bus stop. 2 scantily-clothed girls with boobjobs and too much make-up are getting out of a shiny, black Mercedes Benz. I don’t pay too much attention – these girls are everywhere. The sight of fakeness doesn’t even faze me anymore. But, one of them is now screaming and on the ground, being punched in the ribs by a dark figure in jeans and a T-shirt. She’s screaming, her friend is looking on with tears in her eyes – she doesn’t know what to do. In a flash – he’s off, running across the lot down the street. The friend rushes to her friend, and a police car has turned on his lights. I look to the left and right – there are at least 10 people looking on, but staying back from the sight. They say their “Oh Mys" and walk away. A gentleman and his wife decide to approach the scene, and I’m right behind them ready to help out. The girl is still on the ground, pulls herself up, grabbing her ribs and crying so that her dark MAC make-up is streaming down her plastic cheeks. Her friend holds her close, both of them crying. The man and his wife approach – he is an off-duty police officer. At this point, I don’t know what I’m still doing there. Another police car comes back around the corner, and mall security is involved. I ask if I should stick around, and mall security tells me they would like to ask me some questions. I feel ridiculous that I’m the only other person, other than the officer, who stuck around. My testimony was not helpful to the officers – they were right around the corner and saw exactly what I saw. I am released from my duties on site.

The first thing the police asks, “Do you know who attacked you?”
“Yes,” she says, “It’s my f#$%ing ex-boyfriend. He took my f#$%ing cell phone.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know, he took my cell phone and ran. F#$%, my ribs hurt.” She is still crying, her friend supportively rubbing her back.

Domestic violence is the #1 crime to affect Las Vegas residents. Seems to me, the second you become a Las Vegan, the more prone you are to being beat up by someone you are in a relationship with. Don’t worry about being beat up in an alley by a bunch of hoodlums – look out for your friend, boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands…. Or more specifically, your ex-friends, ex-boy/girlfriends, ex-husbands/wives… those are the people who might just put a cap in your ass. Don’t piss anyone off because everyone is out for themselves. If they don’t like you, they will take action. People don’t like to be hurt, abused, or pay for you to get a boob job only to get dumped. Pay for yourself – get your own job and pay for your own boob job – don’t ask friends for money. Just rip of perfect strangers and tourists, and for god’s sake, you’d better hope they don’t see you again. The drunker they are the better, because the more of a fuzz they will be in when you take them for all they are worth. This is why being a cocktail waitress in Vegas can be such a good job – you rip them off and you never see them again. If they follow you out of work, wanting you for sex, you only have to fear them for a week. Then they will be back at their jobs in Chicago and LA and you’ll just have to worry about someone new following you out to your car.

I could have been their personal savior.

A week before I left Las Vegas, I thought it would be funny, when confronted by people in public or on the bus, to tell them exactly what I thought they should do.

Comment: “My brother is on crack, and he took my dog.”
My response:“You should turn your brother in and send him to jail in hopes of rehabilitation.”

Comment: “I don’t like Mexicans – they smell.”
My response: “Actually, you smell, and those Mexicans have your job because they are smarter and more industrious than you are. So deal with it.”

I probably could have been the personal savior to these people by telling them exactly what I think. I probably would have been killed, or been extremely scared of being mobbed, but had I survived, I could have lived comfortably with the fact that these people even thought about my good advice, thus changing their lives forever. Even if the people just think about the stupid things they say would be a world of improvement. Maybe they would refrain from talking to strangers who don’t really give a shit on the bus.