Sunday, December 10, 2006

What not to say in Las Vegas

Recently, I had to visit Las Vegas for a conference, at which I was presenting. The conference lasted for three days, was entirely based in a Casino, and I had precicely 45 minutes to stand up in front of at least 5 people and say my piece. Sometimes, life is just too hard.

On arrival in Las Vegas my travelling companions and I checked into out hotel, and arranged to meet later in a bar to generally eat, drink and be merry.

At the appointed hour I ambled in to the chosen establishment and concluded (mistakenly, as it happens) after a quick peep around the rather dim interior, that I was the first one there. Naturally, I took a seat at the bar and ordered a beer.

Soon afterwards, I was joined by one of the ladies in our party (who we shall call Jane, to protect the innocent), who proceded to order 'a beer that isnt Budweiser'. No doubt feeling that we had somehow slighted one of America's national treasures, the girl behind the bar handed over a bottle of Chimay Trappist beer and bravely managed to look only slightly disappointed when my companion professed its strong dark-brown contents to be most enjoyable.

With much to discuss, including the work week ahead, the recent journey, and not least of all the speculation as to where the rest of our people might possibly have got to (turns out they were hiding at a table that cant be seen from the bar entrance) it was rather annoying to be persistantly tapped on the shoulder by the straglly bearded individual who had chosen to sit next to us.

Having assured him that we:

  • agreed with this gentleman's opinions on the bar we were in
  • had also been to Birmingham,but did not in fact know the fellow called Jim that he met in a pub there
  • sympathised with the plight of the natives of Northern Wisconsin (of which he is one) who are accused by their southern cousins of being Canadian

my legendary patience was wearing thin so, when he tapped me on the shoulder again and askes "So buddy, what do you do?" I regret that I answered "I'm a pimp.". "She's very nice," he said, "how much for the evening?"

Which is how it came to be, when our colleagues rescued us, that Jane complained that I had tried to sell her to a pseudo Canadian. I really didnt have the heart to point out that had it been a deliberate attempt on my part, the transaction would have been rental rather than sale.

    No comments: