Ok, so I am finally ready to reveal ‘what happened in Vegas’ last week. My buddy Chad and I decided to go out for dinner one night after attending the MIX conference all day. But first we had to have some drinks. 3 hours and innumerable cocktails later we are famished and basically plastered. We walk outside, trying to swim through the mental fog, and think of a restaurant to go to when a real nice guy on the strip hands us a flyer.
Never pick a restaurant based on the street dudes on the strip that hand out those flyers. We did. The guy gives me the flyer and says “You gonna like dis joint- it a upper-comer”. Great I think- a hot tip on a little known Vegas restaurant with fantastic food- a hole in the wall that no one else knows about- lets go! So we hop a cab and give the address. Cabbie says ‘Ya mon- I take you to the Chicken Ranch’. Oh boy- even the local cabby knows about this place- must be good- I can’t wait to get some of that juicy, home-cooked style chicken. I would be salivating but the alcohol has drained my body of all water and my mouth is like sandpaper and my head is starting to pound a tad.
Just as the cab is about to go, the cabbie decided he first has to stop and chat with some friends hanging out on the corner- ‘A minute mon- got to get directions’. It appears the cabbie pays his friends for the ‘directions’ as he hands over money and they slip him something wrapped in tin foil. Odd- but I think nothing of it as I’m starving and drunk and really want to dive into that chicken.
Just as the cabbie returns and opens the door, police lights appear out of nowhere and we’re suddenly surrounded by cops. Maybe it’s time we left, I think, and head over to McDonalds. Cabbie says ‘take your money back mon since we didn’t go no where’ and hands me some cash. So I stumble out of the cab into the glaring lights and am immediately tackled by Vegas PD, handcuffed, and placed face down on the pavement. Mmmmm, chicken, I think as my face is squashed into something on the pavement that resembles rancid beef fat. ‘Whats this?’ the officer asks as he takes the money the cabbie gave me which upon closer inspection appeared to also contain the tin foil the cabbies friends gave him. It turns out the tin foil didn’t contain directions.
So now I’m starving, dehydrated, head pounding, handcuffed, face-down on the pavement in rancid beef fat, and getting busted for drugs. How much worse could it possibly get? Then they do the alcohol test on me- ahhh- public intoxication- that will look good on my record. The paper in my hand the guy on the street gave me as a restaurant recommendation- the police seem interested in that as well.
Turns out the Chicken Ranch doesn’t really serve chicken. Soliciting prostitution- wow- I am really, really loving Vegas. Starving, dehydrated, head pounding, handcuffed, face-down on the pavement in rancid beef fat, busted for drugs and public intoxication and soliciting prostitution. Jackpot! Seven-Seven-Seven!! Can’t wait to tell my Mom about the Vegas trip.
By the way, I don’t eat chicken anymore.