I was in Las Vegas for my annual guys' weekend/fantasy baseball draft this past Friday through Sunday, and on Friday night, we saw something that honestly would've gotten cut out of any movie script I ever wrote because it "wasn't believable."
Around 2:00 AM, after returning to Caesar's Palace from a night of vodka-soaked excess, my guys and I all decided that we'd pay a steep hangover price if we didn't go pay $4.00 a bottle for water at Caesar's Convenius Maximus (okay, not the name of the convenience store... but it should be.)
While two of my buddies went to get the waters, I realized that I needed some lip balm, stat! So I ambled over to the "toiletries" section of the store and grabbed some Blistex. At the same time, a guy in his mid-20's came running (not jogging... running) into the store wearing a trendy "club" shirt and a desperate look on his face. He made a beeline for the section I was in and grabbed the first three-pack of condoms he saw, before hustling over to the check-out line, where he found himself behind my friends and another woman who was determined to get several price checks before making a purchase.
I rejoined my guys in line and found they were oblivious to the condom shopper behind us, even though he was literally bouncing from foot to foot like a third-grander who has been holding in a pee for two hours. By the time it was our turn to check out with our waters and lip-goo, he was nearly apoplectic.
Maybe it was the Belvederes in my belly, or it might've just been the fact that it all seemed so much like a "bad sex comedy" script that I assumed it was my role, but I started hurrying the cashier along.
"Ma'am, you've got to ring us up quick. The gentleman behind us has a much more pressing purchase."
At this point, my friends noticed him, the pack of rubbers in his hand, and the way he was dancing in anticipation.
We cleared the counter and he put his condoms down with a 20 dollar bill. That's when he finally spoke with a Eastern European accent tinged with good-old-fashioned American excitement.
"Thank you... you have no idea... I have worked so hard three hours for this... plus the 30 dollar cover charge."
The tortoise-inspired cashier seemed to downshift in making change, but my interest in the Euro-dude was now fully ramped up.
"Forget the change! He doesn't care about the change!"
"Actually, I do care about the change."
Apparently, whatever the night held, he was going to need those six dollars for something.
When the cashier handed him the money and the condoms (at least she didn't ask him if he needed a bag or a receipt), the amorous young buck grabbed them and began to run out the door. Without ever considering the appropriateness of our actions, we all followed, chasing after him for a good thirty yards while cheering, "Go! Go! Go!" as he disappeared into a bank of elevators.
I don't know if he went upstairs and had the best sex of his life with a complete stranger, or if he got up there and found that his Vegas dream girl and several of his designer shirts had already walked out the door.
I only know that I spent three days in casinos and sports books and didn't see anyone acting like they had more on the line than our friend from Convenius Maximus.