I woke up at 11:50 a.m. and my hangover was still acute. An extra three and a half hours had dulled the pain, but not eliminated it.
I threw my clothes on, made sure I had not forgotten anything, and walked out and headed straight for my car. I was taking the walk of shame in my suit and slacks, and even if no one noticed, I had enough shame in my head to make up for it.
I got home at 12:30 and spent the rest of the day resting in my apartment, mindlessly playing video games and watching baseball. I didn’t even like baseball.
As the day drew to a close, I forced myself to exercise and went up to the basketball courts to shoot hoops. I texted Obi and asked him to join, and he agreed.
I then texted Ross for information on the kickball league. I saw the message was read, but after 15 minutes, with no reply, I knew no reply meant no. I didn’t blame him.
Last night, undoubtedly, would make for a great story, I thought. I won a lot, met some nice girls, and had a good time at the table, the club and after. It’s the kind of story I would tell people when they asked “what was Las Vegas like?”
If they weren’t close friends, or people who only cared about hearing a Vegas story that confirmed their preconceived notions of the place, I would leave it at that—win, club, girls. If they asked for further details, I would smile and say “what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.” They would love it, but they would be missing the meaning of the phrase.
“What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,” isn’t said because you do illegal shit. I hadn’t seen anyone snorting coke at the clubs or buying a hooker, though I wasn’t stupid enough to think that was a thing of the gangster era. Most people come to Las Vegas, have nice food, gamble a lot and find someone to hook up with—all things they could do with a quicker drive to a nearby casino.
No, the phrase is famous because it connotes a mystery to the place.
You want to know what happens in Las Vegas? Sorry, we’re not going to tell you. You have to come and find out for yourself. And when you come and find out for yourself, you’re going to have to pay for the hotel, pay for the club entry fee and pay to gamble to learn about what happens in Las Vegas.
But when you do find out, don’t tell anyone.
Because what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.
As a result, when the light did shine on Las Vegas, people knew what side to show. If you only had the spotlight shone on you when you wanted it, you could show nothing but the good side. I did that with my blog—it wasn’t updating automatically with my condition. It was updating when I wanted it to.
But it didn’t show the full side of Vegas, the side that was rapidly consuming my thoughts. The people I knew well, the ones who were invested in my friendship and my journey in Las Vegas, knew the truth. They knew a winning session could look bigger than it was because you forgot to include your initial buy-in. Walking out with $10,000 isn’t impressive if you walked in with $15,000. They knew a person who didn’t prefer one-night stands but went with one anyways was no different than a person trapped in a relationship they wanted out of. They knew a night like the one I just had would lead to a heavy hangover, and not just from the alcohol.
I turned around and saw Obi approaching with his own Minnesota Timberwolves basketball.
“What’s up brother,” he said. “How are you feeling?”
“Hahaha, I’ve been better my man,” I said. “The hangover isn’t as bad as it once was, but it’s still hurting pretty good.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “Would you do last night over again?”
