Bargaining in Vegas

My father loved going to Las Vegas. He, my mom, and my brother would go almost every year. On one occasion I took some vacation time and went with them. Actually, I flew out and met them. My father always drove. On this occasion we stayed at Circus-Circus. Not the most opulent hotel on the Strip, but it served the purpose. There are actually 2 stories that come to mind from this trip.

The first story involved going to get pizza for supper one night. We had decided to order pizza and have it delivered to our room. Most normal people would do this routinely. Our family was not normal! They said there would be a 10% delivery charge plus a tip involved. My father decided we should go get the pizza and bring it back to the room. So, off we went to find the pizza place. This was an adventure on its own. Vegas traffic was heavy and it took over an hour to get there. Once we got there the manger told my father that the price quoted on the phone was wrong and it would cost considerably more. Dad was fit to be tied. He said forget it, and wheeled to go out the door. At this point fate took a hand in the process. A young delivery boy brought in a load of undelivered pizzas which were going to be discarded. Dad seized the moment and made an offer on the entire lot. The manager realized he had been out maneuvered. He sold the pizza for pennies on the dollar. My father emerged victorious. He also emerged with enough pizza to feed the entire chorus line at the Stardust, but, no matter, all he could think about was he had gotten a bargain on the pizza! So we drove back through the Vegas traffic for another hour and dined sumptuously on cold pizza and warm soda. Another victory for my father and his trading skills.

The second incident on this trip also involved food. My mother and father played nickle slot machines exclusively. My father had a little trick he did which often caused some amount of irritation to those with whom he gambled. At the end of each session, no matter how much he had or how much anybody else had, it all went in the same bucket. Now this was normally not a problem. My father would usually have more money than anybody else and an equal split was usually acceptable. But, in this case, my mother had had a good day. So when it came time to cash in, she suggested we all just cash in our own nickles. Well, this did not set well with my dad. He put a handful of nickles in her bucket which was almost full of nickles and suggested an even split. Words were exchanged. Mom and Dad went their separate ways. Mom to the room to rest and since Dad never rested when he was in Las Vegas, he went to play another machine. I followed. Now one thing you need to understand about my dad was that he was truly one of the nice people in the world and anger only stayed on him for about a minute and then it was gone. It was usually replaced by remorse for having been angry in the first place. This is what happened in this case. He decided to placate my mother by getting her her favorite treat--Dairy Queen frozen yogurt. So, off we went into the Vegas traffic in search of a Dairy Queen. We found one and bought my Mother a frozen yogurt to take back to the hotel. Unfortunately, frozen yogurt on a cone does not have a long shelf life in heat that exceeds 100 degrees. It began to melt almost immediately as we got into the car. My father looked at me and said, "Don't let that ice cream drip in this car. Your mother will kill us both!" So, I did what anyone would do under the circumstances, I rolled down the window, held the ice cream cone outside the window, and let it drip harmlessly onto the pavement. It took about 30 minutes for us to get back to the hotel. As you can well imagine, by the time we got there, what had been a frozen yogurt on a cone had turned into simply a messy, sticky cone. I told Dad, "I think we'd better throw this away." But he was insistent that we would deliver it to my mother. So we did! And that afternoon my father delivered a peace offering of a wet, sticky Dairy Queen ice cream cone to my mother. I often wonder what people in Vegas thought when they saw my dad and I driving down Las Vegas Boulevard with my arm stuck out the window holding an ice cream cone. Oh, well, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

I've been to Vegas several times since then. Vegas has changed. I've changed. But, really, what's changed most is that it's not as much fun anymore. I think most of that has to do with the fact that I don't eat cold pizza in my room anymore and I don't deliver melted frozen yogurt. Dad really knew how to "do" Vegas!