Around 9 AM, on the last day of our Vegas stay, I came down with a migraine. A horrible migraine. Trust me when i say that the blinking lights, ding-ding-ding, and Frank Sinatra Christmas music wasn’t helping matters…
Throw in the cigarette smoke, the fact that the temp outside was in the 30’s, factor in that we’d already checked out of our hotel room, and consider that our departure time wasn’t until 11:55 PM– and just trust me, again, when I say that I was suffering. seriously suffering.
All I wanted was a somewhat quiet, somewhat warm, non-smoking area to rest my weary head. And for a while, a very brief while, I thought I had found relief in the form of a wooden, Jimmy Buffet lounge chair “parked” outside the Margaritaville Gift Shop located to the right of the hotel lobby.
But, no!– according to H, this was not an “appropriate spot.”
He moves me to a small, draped-off room– apparently used for slot machine tournaments– located next to the hotel’s side alley exit/entrance way. The room contained two shabby, questionable couches along with 50+ old-school slot machines. And, while the air was relatively free from smoke, the speakers were blaring bad Vegas music, and there was a constant draft from the door being opened/closed by noisy guests, staff accessing the alleyway.
Niiiiiiiice…
I didn’t want to sit on the couch– let alone lay my head back on the couch cushions. When I expressed displeasure in the “arrangements,” my husband barked that he was doing me a favor because he, “didn’t want people pointing and laughing at me in the hotel lobby!”
In other words, the fact that I was leaning my head back on a lounge chair– with my eyes closed– in the side lobby of the Flamingo Casino was an embarrassment to my husband (and my country).
H would rather hide me away in some forgotten, unkept room for appearance’s sake– to hell with whether or not his beloved wife was comfortable…
Asshole.
Ever been to Vegas? Trust me– one last time– when I tell you that no one would point and laugh at a well-dressed, well-groomed, female hotel guest resting her head while seated in a lounge chair.
(except, apparently, my husband)
Double asshole.
In closing, I’m providing random shots of random people sitting in Margaritaville chairs. CAUTION: GRAPHIC IMAGES. You may want to shield your eyes… (just sayin’)–
Yeah, that would have earned him the “fuck off” from me. But… I’m not nice. Especially lately.