warning
They offer suggestions, where to stay, to eat, to party. They recount their banal times there, ignoring my blank stare response. But they didn’t warn me.
Many rows back there’s a large group, yelling to each other between rows. One of them yells louder about her four dollar and fifty cent bag of snacks. This, apparently, is outrageous while standard for airport pricing.
To my right, a young couple looks to be doing homework. He’s dressed professionally with an inexpensive notebook computer. She’s skeletal, reading a textbook and looks frightened.
In front of them are a pair of men in various iterations of camouflage. One placed his bag sideways in the overhead, taking most of the space. The other violently forced his with the handle first. Obviously veteran travelers.
Beside them, with his significant other across the isle is a black man in an expensive coat emblazoned with giant M&Ms. She wears two earrings, one with a large, square piece that catches on the collar of her vest.
All around are other uniques. People trying to seem like they have the world by the balls, retirees getting a way from the winter still wheezing its last breaths. They’re all here, cheering like unruly fourth-graders at any mention of the destination.
We’ve barely just taken flight and worry what I’ll find upon landing. It seems like every other tourist mecca I’ve ever hated. Only, the clientele likely can’t afford it.
The wheels hit the tarmac; the bag rolls; the doors open; the strip glows; the bride and groom walk down the isle; the drinks are gigantic and strong; the plane jettisons east; the wheels hit the tarmac.
The city is filled with more characters, smells and pathetic than I imagined. The casinos are dreary, sad. An entire industry built on the promise of an adult Disney is filled with desperate, self-indulgence.
Yet, no one warned me.