Pirates to Pyramids: Las Vegas Taxi Tales (5 page)

He: Yep. The supervisor tried to put the blame on me. But I had been seen sitting in the shop for a while, so I said, sorry about your car. I turned it over to the shop 20 minutes ago. Funny, though, how it's parked under that sign.

Me: Oooooh, you got away with that comment?

He: He had to laugh and even though it wasn't his car, I didn't see me working for them much longer.

Evidently, I was right. He must have retired, because I have not seen him since.

Good for him and good for the visitors of Las Vegas.

BIG CITY GUYS AND THE PORN QUEENS

Sometimes drinking plays only a small part in a much bigger drama that is Las Vegas. One
Sunday morning at 5:00 a.m., I picked up a carload of New York guys, but they could have been from anywhere and the story could have been the same.

It all started with the puzzle. There was something off about them. They were all too jolly for
this time of day/night. I asked myself what is different about them. Then it hit me. They were talking all at once.

This is odd because guys don't talk this way, especially tired, drunk or recently drunk guys who have been out all night. Girls can do this because they are congenial, convivial or whatever they are, but not guys. Guys are too competitive, derisive and bitingly funny. They like, no, they love to cut each other. They listen to everything said and then they pounce, one at a time. They play off each others' comments, unmercifully, whether in defense or offense. They don't care which.

These guys were different and it was obvious something had happened to them. So when one of them asked the others, "should we tell the cab driver?" my ears perked up and my mind said, aha I knew it. They agreed so I quieted down my suspicions, turned up my listening and heard one all-time Vegas story.

The pace quickened as he shared that they were from NY and they had a friend in the porn industry. Since the Porn Industry Convention was in town this week they had asked him for a favor: could he set something up?

The story went on that two female porn film stars came knocking on their door early last night.
The guys had offered them dinner, but the ladies declined. They had said they other plans.

The girls said, "So let’s get to it. Where do you want us? And how many guys are there?

“
Eleven", he said.

“
Eleven?" I said.

They had five rooms of guys. The two porn stars disrobed and called the boys in to consummate the "gift". Having been told to get moving the boys quickly followed orders and lined up in the one room.

Naked.

This is when the eleven guys found out the most important missing ingredient in their fantasy:
privacy.
Evidently, this would not have been a porn movie in any of their dreams because they were all "unprepared." And try as they did, they could not get prepared. They had never performed in front of an audience.

Now they knew why male porn stars got paid.

The cab went silent. They waited for me, their friendly, experienced cab driver to give them sage advice or words of support. Sorry about that. My mental rolodex of life experiences was spinning. I had nothin’. Big help I was. Not knowing anything else to say I heard myself ask sympathetically,

"None of you… could represent?"

Evidently, one stout fellow finally managed to "raise the flag" with the help of some friction.

One, out of eleven.

All I could manage was, “one day you will look back on this and laugh."

(Maybe just before you die, I thought).

A lone forlorn voice in the back seat said,
"To make it all worse, we sent one of the guys to get the camera; so now it's all recorded."

Blood came out of my cheeks where I bit down. This just kept getting better, I thought sarcastically. Stony silence took over the cab where there was a din of noise earlier. We all chose a different window to look out, wishing for our innocence again. One of them finally spoke.

"So, we are all sworn to secrecy and, after all, who is gonna talk about this, right?"

My mind screamed," that one guy is gonna talk."

I tasted blood again, from my tongue
 

As they emptied out of the cab at their hotel I sat there trying to erase the pictures they had put in my head. One guy came back for a last word.

"You know the moral of this story, right? “ Okay, I’ll bite, what?

“
Be careful what you wish for."

GIRLS' NIGHT OUT
 

About 3 A.M. one Sunday morning, I was at a famous topless club. Guys were streaming out stinking to high heaven of booze, smoke, cheap perfume and sexual angst. Not my favorite mix of smells for a winter's night ride with the windows closed.

But this doorman was putting four nice looking gals (not strippers) in my car. Are they lost?

No, but they did smell of booze, and smoke and perfume. To my surprise, on them it all smelled so much better. It was almost cute. This never happens. How was this happening?

They told me that as a birthday present to a gal in the back seat they went upstairs to see the boys strip for them. Okay, this made sense. And they said it was great, so good. Then the car went silent. I wondered what just spoiled it. More silence. Again I am asking myself, what just happened?

Then all at once, a shift occurred in my car, like a parallel universe opened..

One girl exploded, “I just want to say that was the most amazing thing I have ever seen.”

The others all screamed in agreement, a soft scream, but still. Something electric spun around them and was getting me and I was the only one who didn’t understand.

Their frenzy continued, “I never would have believed it.” The others agreed, loudly.

At that time my mind wanted to go crazy, coming up with some guesses; what did some guy do to them? Shut up, I told myself, you're gonna miss something.

Then silence, again, damn. I finally risked speaking just two words, "What? What?
 

“
Should we tell him? Why not? We'll never see him again, besides maybe he has seen this before." “Shut up!” I told my mind and holding my tongue tightly.

The story went that they were at this joint for a laugh, a lark, a Vegas story to take home with them, never imagining what would happen. They had a few drinks upstairs and stuffed a few dollar bills into a few jock straps or G-strings and enjoyed a little harmless flirting.

Time came to leave and while walking downstairs they decided to peek in on the regular topless club where some guys were having fun being foolish, their own way. Then, a wild unexpected thought popped out of one of the girls.

"Why don't we stop in here for a minute and watch this action?"

They found vacant seats next to one small stage and being female they were surprised that two strippers wanted to dance for them. They didn’t know a gal would strip just for them. In fact, the stripper totally ignored the guys. The dancing was so captivating and seductive it became sort of hypnotic and soon dollar bills flowed out of their purses into the g-strings. The stripper focused on her favorite female customer and offered her a personal dance and to her friends’ shocked delight, she agreed. And so the evening went until now they all sat in my car, spent and confused but alive in a totally foreign way. And me, too.

The brave one spoke up to declare, “I assure you all, I have never done that before tonight.” They all spoke at once to back up her statement. She went on, “I do have to say something came over me in there, I‘m almost shaking, No, I am shaking.”

Just when I thought tears were about to fly they all burst into laughter, lots of laughter.

Oh good. This is a good thing, then? Whew. They spoke to me.

"Have you ever had this in your cab before?"

"Me? Unh-unh.”

I kept it short. I wanted to hear more. This was hot. She went on.

“
Well, I don't know how to react to this. This is all new to me. I know I am not gay, but she was so hot! Did any of you feel that too? “

The whole car burst out in agreement. Apparently one other gal paid for a personal dance but the brave girl had had three. The others appreciated her doing it almost as much as she did.

“
But what if my John found out about this?” Another one answered, “Are you kidding, I am telling my Mike about this when I get home, he is gonna love it, he'll think it's hot! He wanted me to go with him, and now I think I might go!”

“
Well what do you think of us Mr. Cabdriver?” They asked.

(Are you kidding, you blew my thinker out a mile ago.) I thought. I stalled. What could I say or add?

“
No really, are we bad or what?” They insisted.

“
Definitely not; you're not bad. You just tried a teaspoon of bad.”

Welcome to Las Vegas, ladies.

9/11 TOUCHES VEGAS
 

Just like all of America and her friends, 9/11 affected Vegas very deeply. After all, what’s Vegas up to if not the celebration of life? Adults are almost always surprised that there is a place built just for them. The renewal properties of this town are known by people all over the world.

And so, we did not believe it that morning when the young female voice came over the taxi
radio.

"Attention all drivers, McCarran Airport is closed." My mind replayed her words and thought we must have a new gal on dispatch. She'll be right back on to eat those words before her job goes out the window. Who could say something as dumb as that, to a fleet of cabs?

Back came the voice and to my total surprise she repeated herself, "McCarran Airport is closed."

This was so unbelievable. No change or correction. I quickly drove off the hotel property and straight to the nearest TV. That was when I laid eyes on the World Trade buildings for the first of a hundred times.

The airport was closed and stayed closed for 3 or 4 days. Shock went on here in Vegas for months and months. People were now afraid to fly, and so, Vegas became a ghost of itself, a virtual ghost town. Most hotels had a layoff 40 per cent of their staff for almost of a year.

It was so eerie quiet in town that many cab drivers got only 6 rides in a 12 hour shift. Some cabbies chose this time to retire. Most hookers left town for 5 months for lack of customers.

That was never going to happen, but it did, after this horrible event.

I still remember being called a liar by cabbies that were standing around jawing.

I had just said, “I saw a hooker today."

They hadn't seen one in so long they didn't believe me. Who knew we would miss them?

Finally, people started coming to Vegas again. It was amusing and very encouraging that the first
were the Brits. Nothing stops the Brits, certainly not some terrorism. They have dealt with terrorists for hundreds of years. The Brits withstood the German Blitzkrieg which was essentially a 9/11 attack again and again leaving from hundreds to thousands dead after each bombing. How tough was that?

So the Brits arrived at the exact time we needed and brought their encouraging attitude. The men usually said,

"You can't let the bastards have one minute of your life. Don't change, otherwise they've won".

The Brit women usually said a similar thing,

“
If it's your time to go, it's your time to go, even in your own bathtub. But if it isn't your time you can be safe anywhere."

I needed to hear that so badly, and so did my fellow Americans. I shared that advice again and again and it always perked up my riders. So many travelers come to Las Vegas for fun and a renewal of energies or attitude and I'd be celebrating their fun with them, until we got to the New York, New York Hotel.

Approaching the Lady Liberty the whole cab's energy would sink to the ground and I would often hear sniffles. Sometimes I even felt my face wet too. We usually rolled along in silence awhile.

++++

It took me months, after 9/11, to trust my own emotions while I shared the story of the T-shirts. I can still choke up after all these years, but here goes.

The visitors to Vegas who choose to walk the boulevard are quick to notice little shops between the big hotels. Tens of millions, per year, stroll by these shops looking for low cost collectibles, like T-shirts and hats. Right after 9/11 something deeply touching happened.

Everyone who walked in front of the Statue of Liberty back then stopped and had a private moment. One such visitor reached into her bag and took out a brand new T-shirt souvenir and a felt pen. She then wrote a love letter to New York City, to those who perished and those who live on bravely. For what turned out to be the perfect place, she pressed the shirt down on the spikes of the fence rail and slowly walked away.