My wife and I were in Vegas last week and even though we’ve only been coming here for the past ten years, I felt a little nostalgic for the old Vegas. Not the Bugsy Siegel Vegas, but the less crowded Vegas of ten years ago.
Seven thousand new people move to Las Vegas every month, and of those seven thousand, six thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine of them can’t drive. The sign at the outskirts of town should read, ‘Welcome to Las Vegas, Where the worst drivers in the world come to rent a car.’ Sometimes I think i’d be better off renting a tank.
I usually rent a KIA because it’s the cheapest thing they have and I’m a cheap bastard. . My gambling budget for the week was three dollars on the nickel machines at Caesars. At this rate, we should get comped a free meal in about twenty-seven years.
In my act, I always complain about how good customer service is going to hell. In fact, I bet you’ld find better customer service in hell than you would on earth.
“Excuse me, Mr. Satan, would you mind sticking me in the ass with that pitch fork while lighting the rest of me on fire?”
“Why I’d be more than happy to Mr. Morton. I’ll even throw in some of our best eternal hell fire, fresh from the Lake of Fire.”
“Thank you Mr. Satan. Could you please tell me why in hell can’t I get this kind of service on earth?”
“Because the real hell is on earth Mr. Morton, that’s why!”
Well, imagine my surprise when I walked into Budget rental car agency in Las Vegas and my new good friend Kirby, upgraded me from a four cylinder KIA to a brand new, red metallic , Ford Mustang convertible! Now I’m tearing up from all the nostalgia because the new Mustang has that great retro styling that is reminiscent of the 60’s pony car.
I love the Ford Mustang! I wouldn’t want to sit in the back of one unless you bound and gagged me, but I love the Ford Mustang. When I was a kid, the Ford Mustang was my favourite car. I used to have a model of the 67’ fastback on my book shelf. I vowed that one day, if I ever had the money or a mid life crisis, I would buy a Ford Mustang. Well, it’s been forty years and I own a Ford Focus. What happened? I told you I was a cheap bastard.
As you may know, I perform at the Comedy Stop at the Tropicana which was celebrating it’s 50th anniversary. When I look at the old photographs on the walls, it’s difficult not to feel a little nostalgic. Then the bathtub in my hotel room backs up at six in the morning and starts spewing grey sludge accompanied by a strong sulphur smell and the nostalgia quickly passes.
The Tropicana hotel is so old it has its own smell. It’s not a grandmother’s house smell, but more of a stale nutty roasted smell. ( I’m guessing that’s from fifty years of cigarette smoke.) The tar from all the nicotine is probably the only glue holding the old girl together.
Actually, maybe it does smell a little like grandma. Some of the original cocktail waitresses still work there. “Here’s a tip honey. Why don’t you go buy yourself some new bridge work?”
Screw this nostalgia crap. If I was performing here fifty years ago, I wouldn’t even be allowed to walk through the casino let alone stay in one of their rooms. I want to feel like I’m living in the 21st century and not a museum. Somebody please implode this son of a bitch and put it out of its misery. Viva New Las Vegas! Sometimes, the good ole’ days ain’t so good.
Whoosh! That was the sound of my nostalgic feeling quickly passing.
GREG MORTON 