I'll admit it. I was scared of Las Vegas. Something about that city makes me feel like I could get drugged with some roofies like the wolfpack did on the Hangover, and wake up toothless and married to a stripper (wait, what?).
So this past spring break I went to Vegas with a bunch of my sorority sisters. There was something inside me telling me that I needed to have this last trip with them before I left for the WR, and that I would regret it more if I didn't go than if I did. This ruffled a little feathers, because "that just didn't make sense for a new Christian" and "why would you want to go to sin city." More than one person said things along these lines (okay okay, understandably). But you know what? I've learned that I need to listen to my own convictions as well and I am so thankful that I did.
About halfway through the trip, I got an infection on my leg. I wasn't really going to do anything about it but then my inner thigh started to blow up like a balloon, and then started to harden and get purple, so I called my mom and she said I should probably go to the hospital and get it checked out. That sounded pretty lame to me but I know she's not the type of mom to haphazardly send her kids to the hospital. So I put on a bright pink shirt, did my make-up, and put on my swimsuit underneath so that I didn't look like a hungover kid that couldn't handle a couple nights in Vegas…and because my friends were all going to a pool party and I planned on being back in time. I was going to be as peppy and non-spring breaky as possible, and brought my Obama's War book to offset the pink. (Which probably all made me look more spring breaky now that I'm typing all of this…but c'est la vie).
I went to the concierge desk with a big smile on my face and asked where the nearest hospital was. The woman kind of hesitated (yeah, you hesitate. I look 100% healthy thankyouverymuch), and printed me out directions. I took a taxi there, which ended up setting me back like $15, and walked in. The place was packed…but not with the people that I expected. I thought I was going to find a bunch of toothless people trying to find clues about their previous night's whereabouts. But no, these were regular people. Actual Vegas people. Old men with their wives. Moms with their kids. People trying to find a good spot to see the T.V. because they were about to announce the verdict on a court case on HLN, which was the only thing playing. I filled out my papers and turned them in, and the woman at the front desk told me that it would probably be a two hour wait because they only had two doctors on staff that day. Lucky for me I had Obama and General Petraeus to keep me company because this was going to be a lot longer than I expected.
Once I got called in, a soft spoken Latina woman took my vitals. She seemed really tired, and I tried to small talk with her but she was so distant I didn't want to distract her from the numbers she needed to record. This made me sad. My doctor came in, and I asked how he was and he said "overworked and underpaid." I told him I was on vacation, and he asked where I was saying. I told him, and he said he was about to buy a condo there, that they were selling them for 800 gs and he luckily ended up waiting because the market had brought them down to 250. He laughed at my Obama's War. He told me my vacation was "over" because I'd be on antibiotics and I couldn't touch anything alcoholic for the rest of the trip. He prescribed me what I needed, and told me to put heat compression on the infection so it would pus. This was all within about five minutes.
Thankyouuuuuuuuuu sir. May I have another.
I asked the woman at the front desk where I could fill my prescription, and she gave directions to the nearest Walgreens. It was about a ten minute walk, and within those ten minutes I got more honks and cat calls than I have in a looong time. One guy even turned into the nearest parking lot to watch me walk. These things don't really phase me, I mean I was on a busy street and if anything were to happen there would be more witnesses than its worth. Plus I'm this blonde girl wearing white shorts and a pink shirt…I don't necessarily fit in off the strip. But it made me feel bad for the girls walking out there. I know prostitution is legal there, and walking by myself, particularly waiting at the crosswalks, made me feel on display. I hate that feeling, and can't imagine what it must be like for the girls that aren't prostituting themselves (actually…and the ones that are) and are just trying to walk from one place to another.
Anyways, I get to the Walgreens, and the lady says they're backed up and it would take an hour. I saw there was a Starbucks next door (PRAISE GOD HALLELUJAH. Riddle me this: Why the heck aren't there Starbucks on the strip? Why aren't there Starbucks on every block? Don't people from Vegas know that people from Seattle visit?) and posted up there with an iced Americano and a chicken salad sandwich (my first meal of the day besides a granola bar from the hotel room). Deeeelish. I sat outside with my book, surrounded by normal Vegas people again. These Vegas people were large groups of ethnic men, one group of older black men on one side, and one group of Middle-Eastern men on another. The black men looked like they were having some type of old-school gentleman's meetings, like I'm pretty sure a couple of them had cigars, shooting the shit and whatnot (ps…am I allowed to say shoot the shit? idk how else you would put that). I'm not sure what the Middle Eastern men were doing, because they weren't talking in English, but I kind of hid my book title just in case. I'm sorry if that's a little racist but it's just how it happened. I have a wild imagination, okay? I don't need to be getting myself into heated debates with people from the countries where those wars are actually going on in (or maybe I should have. That could have been really interesting).
An hour later, I go back to get my prescription, and the lady says they have one of the two things prescribed to me, and that they transferred the other to the closest Walgreens. Which was even further from the strip (the strip doesn't do prescriptions I guess? I don't think I really cared at that point). So I got the intersection, asked for the general direction, and found the nearest bus stop going that way. I love public transportation so this made me incredibly happy, and I think it's really empowering to try to figure out public transportation systems in new cities. That might just be me though. I ended up walking the rest of the way at the transfer stop, this time getting a little bit less cat calls because I was definitely sweating through the back of my shirt. I wish I glistened when I sweat but I just don't. It comes in handy when you're trying to look unattractive. I also started to stick out my stomach so I looked a little pregnant…which is not only freeing but also a highly effective technique to reduce creepy man followers. I had to ask directions a couple of times, and everyone that I talked to was extremely helpful and nice. I got the second half of my prescription, and took the bus back to the strip (a 45 minute ride, concluding a six and a half hour hospital trip).
I was almost sad to leave. I liked the real Vegas. People were dirty, and rugged, and not all done up like the people on the strip. They looked tired and worn down, not shiny and polished. I wanted to stay with these people and chat, and hear about their lives. I worried that my pink shirt would have caused them to see me as polished and shiny, that I belonged on the strip and not on the streets. But I felt more at ease there than anywhere on the strip.
I realized that I was not afraid of Vegas anymore. I felt SO protected, that I saw Jesus all over that town (even on the strip). I was so worried of the dark, that I forgot about my savior and protector and the power He has over it all. I wore my loudest outfit that night, and ended up having the best night of my trip. I ran into an old friend, who is a notorious adventure-seeker and mischief-maker and just flippin fantastic (I'm pretty sure I practically peed my pants when I saw him, because he lives in Houston now). A group of us ended up just making mischief around town. We tried to get on our hotel roof (unsuccessful. The idea that they could've gotten a mattress on one of those is SO fake), moved and messed with sculptures around various buildings, and took pictures on the Venetian horse statues, which are in the middle of a pond.
We didn't get back to our hotel room until seven in the morning. It was one of the most incredible and life-giving days that I've ever had the pleasure of living.
My question is this: why in the world are we so fearful and loathing of cities like Las Vegas, when that is probably where God is working the most? The battle has already been WON. It's like in the story of Jonah, God asked him to go to Nineveh (probably the most dangerous city in existence at that time), yet Jonah didn't listen out of both fear AND loathing and went to Tarshish ("paradise") instead. I don't think it's any different…we ignore or suppress our calling to the "dangerous" places of the world just because safe places exist.
No.
I refuse that life, and pray for nothing but boldness and love for all people of ALL cities.
