Leaving Las Vegas, Part II

Previously on “Leaving Las Vegas”: David took a little melon ball out of his finger in the Las Vegas airport, paramedics were called, stitches were required, flights were missed, taxis were taken, people waited, I got frustrated, David was administered to, Nancy almost fainted.

The person at the front desk of the clinic called us a cab to take us to our hotel. The cab arrived within a few minutes and we all climbed in the back seat. Our very well-dressed driver asked where we were going to. I told him, “The Double-Tree Club on Pollack Drive.” He stared at me blankly. “Near the Applebee’s on Warm Springs Road,” I said. More blankness. I called the Double-Tree Club and asked for directions. We barely found the place.

When we were still at the airport, the representative from the airline had given me a number to call, ensuring me that this would lead to a discounted hotel room in the Las Vegas area. I called the number from the waiting room of the clinic and got a quick response, from someone clearly not in Vegas, that the Double-Tree Club could be had for $54 a night. I agreed to the deal. When we got to the Double-Tree Club, however, they had no record of our reservation through the national – perhaps international – service I had called. Apparently, I was supposed to be given a voucher – a blue piece of paper with some special powers – by the airline. But of course! They had a room, but it would be $95 for the night. “Fine,” I said, resolving to deal with the airline when we got home.

We went up to our room and discovered that Trinity had busted out of her pull-up and was in need of new pants. We had a back-up in her backpack, so we quickly changed her into a new pull-up and new pants. It was her last pull-up. Had we been on our scheduled flight back to Indianapolis this would not be a problem. But we were stuck in Vegas until 3:30 p.m. the next day – not back home in Terre haute until midnight. And she’s not fully potty-trained yet. Certain disaster lurked.

Additionally, we had no luggage (it had made the flight to Indy) and thus no toiletries and no fresh clothes for either Nancy or myself. It was shaping up to be quite a fine (meaning uncomfortable, perhaps even sticky/stinky) 28 hours.

We were hungry. We went to the Applebee’s across the parking lot from the hotel and our waitress, Monica, a woman with long press-on French tip nails, innocently asked how we were. We told her the truth. She brought us milk for the kids and two giant beers for the grown-ups. We ate a large, if not particularly good, meal while Trin and Dave flirted with the couples on either side our booth. Dave told everyone about his “boo-boo” wielding his metal-splinted middle finger like something out of “Phantom of the Paradise.” I asked Monica where we might find a pharmacy nearby – say, within walking distance. She said that there wasn’t anything that close, but there was a CVS down the road. She offered to bring us some pull-ups when she got off work at 11:30. For some reason I declined.

We paid for dinner, gave Monica a healthy tip, and walked back to our room. I told Nancy I was going out to find pull-ups and toothbrushes/toothpaste. In her exhaustion she let me go.

My first stop was the front desk to see if they knew of anything close by. They suggested the “Rebel” station about 500 yards away. Apparently, they carry baby formula, so pull-ups were a possibility. And so I walked over there. It was chilly out – about 50 – and my coat was in our luggage, by this time safe and warm in the Indianapolis airport. When I got to the Rebel station it became immediately clear that I was going to be out of luck. If I wanted a package of Beef Jerky or one of any number of energy drinks or a lighter, I’d have been fine. But pull-ups were out of the question. Strangely, Depends were stocked heavily. I’m still not totally sure what this says about Las Vegas, but I think I can guess.

Feeling defeated and desperate, and imagining a scenario in which I am covered in Trinity urine for the rest of the trip, I ask the fellow behind the counter where I might find a pharmacy. I had already asked this question of 2 people and gotten the same answer. I don’t know what I was expecting this time. But, to my exhausted delight, he said, “Just down at the next light.”

“That doesn’t seem so bad,” I thought to myself. And off I went.

Being the West, of course, the next light is not merely a block away. I could see it, but it was a hike. Nothing I couldn’t deal with though, especially to keep everyone safe and dry. And so I started to walk in my thin sweater and my uncomfortable, somewhat stylish, but just-for-getting-through-security, slip-on loafers. As I got closer to the light, I could tell that I’d been misled. This light was merely for the on-ramp to the highway. The next light was at least another mile away. Plus, the 5-lane road that I was walking on, was suddenly without a sidewalk – just a small patch of grass bordering a curb. I was starting to feel truly abject and not just a little vulnerable.

But I trudged on, the lights of CVS, with its promises of dry sheets and minty-fresh breath, like a beacon in the distance, urging me forward.

And I walked….and I walked.

I called my parents on the way, just to let them know where we were. We talked for a while. I called Nancy, just to let he know what was going on. We talked for a while. I continued to walk.

Eventually, I got to CVS, bought my stuff (declining the generous offer of a CVS card), and made the long trek back, wondering all the while why we hadn’t just taken Monica up on her offer.

When I got back to the room, Trin was asleep in one bed, wearing a t-shirt and nothing else. David was still up with Nancy. I wrangled Trin into a new pull-up without waking her and settled in the bathroom with my laptop – checking email – while Nancy got Dave to sleep.

We brushed our teeth, Nancy took a bath, and we went to bed, dog tired. This was the worst of it, we assured ourselves. We’d survived. Tomorrow would be better…

Except for having to wear the same underwear.

To be continued…