Vegas Baby, Vegas
Did you know that Bugsy Siegel had a Guatemalan nanny? Si, it is a well known fact among the Guatemalan population that Guadalupe (Lupe) Martinez was his nanny during his infancy and is rumored to have given him the idea for Las Vegas. Yes, this is true. Legend has it that she whispered that his fortune would be found in the “deserts to the west”. When the opportunidad presented itself to go and visit the city inspired by a Guatemalan, I jumped at it.
Was this to be a bachelor’s fiesta with strip club-inspired activities? Claro que no! I am El Guapo. I do not do strip clubs.
I was going to celebrate the 30th birthday of one of mi Linda’s gringa friends. This occasion marked two milestones for me: 1) My first venture outside of the East Coast; 2) My first trip with mi Linda.
Now, I’m not a fan of airplanes mainly due to the fact that they were not invented by Guatemalans and so, I don’t trust them. I know this is ridiculous, but it can not be helped. I fear airplanes for the reason that I don’t know who is going to be sitting around me. Will there be a madre changing the diaper of her baby in the aisle next to me? Will I sit in the middle aisle of two Jennie Craig drop-outs? Will the stewardess flirt with me the entire flight and not let me sleep? You see, these are all very big issues and I was quite nervous.
Mi Linda was very gracious to allow me to have the aisle seat in the airplane. I am not a man of tall stature, so the need to stretch out my legs isn’t great, but I feel less claustrophobic in the aisle.
I looked around the airplane and was quite happy with the crowd. Turns out that taking children to Vegas wasn’t as prominent as I had expected, so there were no children on board. Since I was in the aisle, I didn’t have to worry about sitting next to anyone, but mi Linda, so I was bueno there. Look at this, El Guapo was going to have a pleasant flight after all.
Then it happened. My flight was ruined.
What started as a murmur, slowly grew to a yelp and disturbed my slumber. The ultra preppy gaggle of slicked back hair, tortoise shell colored glasses, bright colored polo shirt wearing mid-twenty “dudes” started speaking a strange languague.
Ehhhh. Uhhhhhhh. Uhhhhhh. We. We. We.
Dear Dios, this is a five and a half hour flight. Please, por favor, do not allow the men behind me to be speaking the language that I think they are speaking. Please. They made me throw away the candle that I attempted to bring on board, so I can not light one in your honor. Please, make them not talk. Please make them not speak the language I think they’re speaking.
We. Non. Merci Blah- Blah Blah.
It turns out that God does not answer my prayers when not accompanied by the lighting of a candle. The stupid people at the check in were not happy when they "confiscated" 7 of my candles from my carry on.
Angry Airport Man: Sir, what are these?
Candles, for prayer.
AAM: Are you aware that it is against federal regulations to bring any kind of flammable material onboard an airplane?
No. I am but a simple Guatemalan.
AAM: I'm going to have to go ahead and ask you to take out all the candles in your possesion.
Five and one half hours of the French language and no candles to make them go away.
Now, I never was one to jump on the hating of the French in general. I appreciate them for their wines and berets. Their language? Well, I could do without it. At first it didn’t bother me, but I kept hearing “We, We, We, We” and suddenly I had to go to the restroom.
I then started to play a little game to pass time where I was pretending to know what they were saying:
French Guy 1: You know, I really like to eat rabbit. Uhhhhh yes?
French Guy 2: Pierre, yes, I agree with you. Rabbit is good. Have you ever seen that cartoon Pepe Lepew? I hate it.
French Guy 3: I also hate that cartoon. It is so American to make us not smell good.
FG1: Ever notice how American women fall for our accents? I’m not even that good looking, but here I’m like a regular Tom Cruise.
FG2: I agree Jacque. In France I had to wait until 3 AM to be able to convince a woman to go home with me. Here, I say that I’m a painter and it’s a done deal.
FG3: God, I love being French. Have you seen my new beret? It’s so increi-bleh.
Yes, this became boring after a while. So, I did what anyone would do. I took an Ambien.
To be continued: