Vegas Via Voce

When was the last time you saw someone who wasn’t drunk being happy in public?

That’s not rhetorical. I really want you to think about it. While a certain amount of fun may be acceptable in context, nowadays happiness is embarrassing. Sure, dour is cool, but that doesn’t imply the reverse.

Las Vegas rocks because – at least where we go -- even the rare sober people enjoy themselves.

We were at the end of another stupendous breakfast. The table next to ours was one of those big round ones. Only four women sat there, but they were having enough fun for a dozen. It was great.

That is, until the phone rang.

It wasn’t loud or rude. If we hadn’t been at the very next table and at a lull in our own conversation, we would never have heard it.

You could tell right away whose it was. She’d been sitting up straight, now her shoulders slumped a little. She hit a button. Efficiency and despair have never melded so perfectly into two syllables.

“Yes, sir.”

She wasn’t young when the phone rang, but you could see her face age visibly under her makeup. Her voice became elderly and quiet.

“Yes, sir.”

I wanted to punch her boss in the face. Her friends looked like they’d be happy to hold him for me.

“Yes, sir.”

By the time she hung up, she was completely deflated. This group, which had burst with jolly rollicking goddess-like exhilaration, was now a bunch of middle-aged hard-working serious Midwestern women.

But it was Las Vegas, and Vegas is magic.

Their breakfast arrived. Delicious and beautiful various savories and pastries and, yes, a round of mimosas appeared one after the other. By the time we left, they were laughing happy goddesses again, and I was happy too.

I still want to punch her boss in the face, though.