Memorial Day Weekend.
I am lucky to say that, not only did I get to see the outsider “cheap” version of Vegas on our trip, but I also got another side, the one of El Dirt Bag-io. If you cruise around to the back side of the casinos you have the parking garages for guests, and then further still, the lots for overflow. Weaving in and out of the parked cars, following a chain link fence, we found our “Urban Campground”. The only way to know of its existence was the two other RVs holding down the fort alongside the fence. The rambling travelers had an unspoken agreement with the casinos. Hot Man spoke of his previous experiences here and that, at times, these fellow road wranglers would even set up their culinary arts outside, as if to test their boundaries with ‘The Man’. I felt proud of these fellow travelers. Not only were they not staying in these casino’s high dollar rooms, they were staying on their property, and hopefully, doubling their own travel funds.
We situated ourselves in our 80 foot parking space, opened the windows, pulled the curtains, and then Hot Man went on his way to join our fellow Dirt-Bag-ios in currency combat. As I had not magically gained any tangible gambling ability in the past few days, I settled into the van and set up my Beaded Earring Sweatshop. After Hot Man left, my first few moments of urban camping were spent spying out beyond the shades. Face pressed against the glass, I tried my best at enacting my sneakiest of sneaky ‘Ginga Ninja’ moves, peering out into the parked traffic beyond without letting anyone know I was inside. I will take this time to remind you that the van is not sneaky. A giant orange logo and colorful kayaks on the roof doesn’t just, disappear into the background, and as far as I am concerned, I have never had a sneaky action in my life, as that would actually require coordination of some kind.
I mostly looked to the other two parked Recreational Vehicles. Not a movement was made from either. No tilting, no light, no voices… I was sure that their owners were away. In a place full of so many people, I actually felt alone. No one cared I was there, no one even gave a second glance when passing by. I unglued my face from the window, and moved onto my earring manufacturing. The deafening monotony of sirens, passing cars, and screaming guidos made it difficult to focus on my craft. After selecting my Netflix date, The Hunger Games, the only thing I was battling were my girlish tears over my pixellated 3G streamed characters on my phone… Until it came, the overwhelming desire to pee. At one point I was shown where there existed a toilet in this beast, but I had yet to actually see it… and less of a desire to use it quite yet. I weighed my options. Pee in the parking lot and risk getting arrested? Or, venture off into the Memorial Day weekend madness and find a restroom in one of the casinos? Not quite feeling like spending the night in the clinker, I chose the latter.
HOLY CRAP THESE BLOCKS ARE HUGE. I mean, I knew they were big, but when you HAVE to pee, they become impossibly large. Weaving in and out of drunken guidos, I tried to incorporate my ‘pee pee dance’ into my ‘don’t touch me, I’m not kidding’ march, without too much awkward leg crossing, hip swaying dance moves. I don’t know what it is about drunk people, but they seem to have this uncontrollable urge to just, reach out and touch you. Maybe it’s for some sort of life stabilization, or maybe they just want to infect you with drunk, or maybe they just need some human connection, or BRAIINSS… but the touching… ahhhhh. And you can see it coming too. The hazy, cross-eyed, wandering eyes are a dead give away. You try to avoid eye contact, stiffen, use blocking body language, and send off laser death rays, but if they find you, it’s over. They will then zombie walk straight into traffic (somehow avoiding cars) if it means the completion of their mission. In this skewed universe, you have become the mushroom that Mario must have to gain another life. I probably should have covered myself in zombie guts (spilled beer) and broke out my aced zombie stagger (drunken Bambi wobble) to make myself go unnoticed. But alas, I had to pee, was not drunk, and was moving as fast as I was able.
Zombie Guido: “HEY, hey YOU, REDHEAD!”
Me: *Look away, pee pee dance shuffle faster*
Zombie Guido: “I like your hair, it’s red”
Me: *Shuffle, shuffle*
Zombie Guido: “Com’ere! I don’t bite”
Me: *Thinking* You are, in fact, a zombie guido, and I think that yes, you do bite.
Zombie Guido: *Blindly trudging though the masses into my ‘lane’* “I just want so say HEYYY!!” *Reaching out toward me*
Me: *Look up, laser death ray* “Don’t.Touch.Me.”
Zombie Guido: *Stops, confused, cocks head to side, lowers arms slightly* “Oh”
Me: *Shuffle, shuffle, grumble*
Zombie Guidos friends: *laughter*
After avoiding near zombie infection, I finally made it to Planet Hollywood, the closest available Pee Room. Sweet glory almighty! The simple pleasures in life; a place to pee that won’t get you arrested.
Gaining the ability to think straight, and to not have the desire to kill anything that might even have a nice thing to say, I returned to the van. Safely securing myself in its hull, I thought to myself, “Holy cannoli, who knew that Urban Camping in Vegas during Memorial Day weekend meant Zombies?” When Hot Man made it back to the van, he showed me this photo that he’d taken in the parking lot:
Of course, it all made sense now. I just needed one of these. Next time, I would be prepared.
I’ll take a machete permit please 🙂