by Carlson, JJ
PIRATES TO PYRAMIDS
Las Vegas Taxi Tales
J J Carlson
Pirates to Pyramids
Las Vegas Taxi Tales
Copyright © 2010 by J J Carlson
ISBN 0-944-020-06-2
OPENING
For ten years I have been driving a taxi cab in one of the most interesting places in the world: Las Vegas. It all starts with the Strip. Ninety percent of rides come from the four miles of Las Vegas Boulevard called the Strip. The rest occur at the airport or downtown near Fremont Street which is where Las Vegas started. But far more interesting than this town are the people who come here. I am continually amused that they have such similar interests, from no matter where they come.
Most people come here to have fun. When they have more fun than they were expecting, which often happens, they really want to talk about it. And who better to share it with than their cab driver? Usually, if your cab driver speaks your language, he can listen better than a bartender and answer many of your questions.
What I find odd is how much people like to share with the taxi driver. I can discern at least five reasons for this:
1) They are anonymous, for what are the chances they will ever see you again
2) They want to confess
3) They want to brag
4) They need confirmation because they can't believe what just happened
5) They want to know if the cabbie can find more of that craziness because they liked it
Being a story teller as well as a story collector it has always pained me deeply when my audience arrives at their hotel, before I get to the end of the story. Don't ask me how many times I have offered to drive them around the block, at my cost, to hear the end.
So sit back and enjoy the ride. You're about to enter the world of the typical Las Vegas taxi driver.
MY START
I started driving a taxi cab in Nov. 2000. Business was so busy that I worked 12 hour shifts, 6 days per week. Rides poured into my cab as fast as I could empty the previous carload. Every hotel seemed like a boiling pot of stew spilling into my lap, each a different flavor, going to yet another hotel. These peak periods were great but sometimes things would go strangely quiet without warning.
At that time Vegas was returning to the "adult amusement" mentality after a mistaken marketing plan of inviting families. This backfired badly when they found that good parents did not leave their families stuck in the room to go gambling and dining. So there went an amusement park, a water park and several arcades leaving only a few things for kids.
Enter the larger and hotter nightclubs, expensive dinners by famous chefs and the new mantra,"What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."
The new millennium was here and it was popping fresh. More and more young adults were discovering Vegas' nightlife and bringing serious money to play. I met many "Generation X" people with fresh money from the new Dot-Com boom. They were joined by their counterparts, the waiters and waitresses of the new pricey restaurants in town. They ended shifts at midnight with fat tips and hit the Strip. Weekends were a prime time to blow off steam in the new hot clubs at The Venetian, Hard Rock Hotel and later the Palms.
As a new driver, I started my shift at 3:00 am and watched a sea of faces exit these new clubs. Rather than go to bed, they would start phase two of their evenings. Many clubs wanted to close at 4:00 a.m. but some clever entrepreneurs marketed directly to the Gen X'ers by opening after hours places. These clubs caught on and spread like wildfire and so did the cabs. We were soon taking riders away from The Strip sometimes great distances. This was heady business and it fit perfectly into our formerly quiet mornings.
What shocked us were the hours these kids kept. They often were at it until noon. Who stays out drinking until noon? Were they super human? We found out later that they were doing it by avoiding alcohol. Usually they drank only water, because they were into the newest drug of choice:" E" or ecstasy, which, they said was spoiled by alcohol.
Club owners did not panic; they just upped their price to $9.00 a bottle for water.
MY TAXI TALES
Drunken Stories
Celeb Realities
Just Driving Down the Street
Celebrity Sightings
Sex in the Back Seat
How Screwed Am I?
This Is So Embarrassing
Cocaine Lesson
Happy Drunks
The Old Cabbie
Big City Guys and the Porn Queens
Girls Night Out
9/11 Touches Las Vegas
Hockey Girl
Runaway Plane
Absolutely Anyone Can Surprise You
Hangover
Vegas Hospitals
The Night the Lights Went Out
Fear Factor Backfire
Driving Stunts
The Luxor Ghosts
Off a Perfectly Good Building
Three Brothers and Dad the Admiral
Hotel Crime
Movie Making In Vegas
Porno’s Are Movies, Too
What Was That Again
Poker Goes All In
More Poker Stories
TALES FROM LAS VEGAS PAST
Characters and Kooks
They Don't Make Them Like They Used To
Frank, Dean, Sammy, and Elvis
Bob Stupak
The Rest of the Story of Early Las Vegas
Closing
DRUNKEN STORIES
One Halloween, a night that literally howls in Vegas, people were pouring out of Mandalay Bay like a flash flood. A giant party had just ended and even before my doors closed from the last ride three new riders were into the back seat. I turned to ask the cliché question, “where to?" and found myself staring into the face of Elvis and two female companions in full costume with sequins. They promptly and proudly told me they were all gay and waited for my response. I said "I can't do a thing with any of you." Off I drove with Elvis singing his entire repertoire in perfect falsetto, and then all over again, as straight Elvis. He sang pretty good considering he was smashed.
++++
You may remember that Mexico had a President Fox, for a while during the Bush administration. One night his son got into my cab with his two friends who were completely and happily drunk. He was not drunk. They sat on each side of him and looked like bodyguards except they were embarrassing him unmercifully. At first, they tried to engage me in some verbal competition, but I didn't bite. So then they loudly announced that I had a celebrity in my car and did not even know it. Drunks will say anything, so again I didn't bite. This went on until they just had to tell me it was the son of President Fox.
I spoiled all their fun with my reaction, because I showed honest appreciation and respect for his father. I never expected the next thing these drunken friends said.
"Hey driver, pull the car into the alley where we can beat him up and demand a ransom."
I thought, “Some friends these are.” Thankfully, they started laughing. But they kept repeating it which was a little funny and a lot creepy.
I kept thinking," They have been thinking about this. Is this bodyguard humor or just drunk friends?”
When we arrived at their hotel, Mr. Fox apologized for his friends. I told him the truth.
"Don't worry, lots of young guys get drunk in Las Vegas. It is so common it’s almost expected and with no reflection on you or your family."
I hope he keeps a close eye on those friends. What if they get drunk at home?
++++
One day, two guys who were feeling no pain in their hot new Mercedes convertible
sports car pulled up to the red light at the intersection in front of the Caesars Palace. This car was so new and expensive that the admiring crowd still didn't know which model it was. But it was clearly built to go fast. And now the young driver and friend had to wait at the light for the pedestrians to finish crossing.
The light finally changed and these roadsters were more than ready to go. But now they were delayed by the last walker, a little old lady, feet crammed into old lady shoes who was moving so slowly. Try as she did, she could not move fast. Elderly people visit Las Vegas, too.
So the young driver threw up his hands in defeat and even pounded his steering wheel. His furious buddy could not stand this upsetting delay. He reached over and hit the horn for five full seconds. The people who witnessed this groaned at his cruelty. So he showed them by hitting the horn again.
The old lady stopped in front of their car and gave them a cold stare in return. Then she swung her purse backwards into a big roundhouse swing that went from behind her head and down onto the shiny new hood.
I wished I had seen their faces but I would have had to look fast because the purse hit the car in precisely the right spot to activate both airbags, smacking each of them in the face.
The crowd went wild. People cheered and the old lady just kept walking the same way, and without looking back. She disappeared into the crowd.
CELEB REALITIES
The second most asked question I get is about celebrities. "Who have you had in your car?" For five years I hated that question because the answer was, none. They were all taking limos, I guessed. Then, like a dam opening, I got four celebrities in my car in just two years.
First, I picked up a casually attired but very familiar voiced man from an elegant shopping center, the Fashion Show Mall, Tom Jackson. ESPN's expert football reviewer and former NFL player for the Denver Broncos was in my car. I loved chatting with him and hated letting him go. But he did share his picks for the Super Bowl that year, and he was very close in choosing the first and third teams. He is a really nice guy who knows his football.
++++
My second celebrity experience was a little sad because there was no conversation. Howie Mandel is a self-avowed germaphobe. And now his friends made him take a cab. He had just bought a new iPod and he could not take his eyes off the damn thing. So how could I find fault with him not using me for new material for his show at the MGM that night? I'd seen his show and knew he was talented and creative because he does not have an act. He performs without a pre-set, rehearsed act.
He ad-libs most of his show bouncing off audience responses after he tells a boring story. He plays with them and the more the audience plays with him the wilder it all gets. He is always in charge and is comfortable which ever way the crowd goes. He is so naturally funny you don't believe he could make this approach into a show but he does and this way it is always fresh.
He is a famously funny guy. Everywhere, apparently, except my cab. I blame it on the iPod.
++++
One memorable day, I brought a passenger to the posh Wynn Hotel VIP entrance and the staff was out on the driveway waving like crazy for me to follow them up to the ultra posh VIP Towers. “Okay. Okay. Keep your shirts on,” I thought. Then I motored over to that door and I saw there were no limos. The Wynn has something like twelve Rolls Royce’s, Bentleys and Maybachs. But now they wanted me and my Crown Victoria Ford, the one the police drive as well, and they wanted me in a big hurry.
Then I sat for the next several minutes waiting for, God knows who, to grace me with his or her presence. The mind wanders at a time like this. Who the hell was coming out of there that had these doormen holding my door, expectantly? I hoped it wasn't some CEO or other boring type. This was like watching someone open a gift that was saving the wrapping paper. Well, watch out what you wish for.
The doormen all started backing up as if royalty was coming which confused me because royalty definitely rated a limo. Then it happened, all at once. A blur of movement started then ended with a bunch of guys who peeled away until "Mr. Big Shot" got into my cab. Someone yelled, "Airport," and quickly shut the cab door, and off I went.
It was just me and none other than, Mike Tyson in the car. Mike (God, is he big) Tyson. Mike (there’s a tattoo is on his face) Tyson. Thank God he was talking on his cell because I was speechless. I overheard his every word. He spoke very sweetly and gentlemanly, evidently to some woman he respected, like a wife or aunt.
He sounded good. His voice was not high, like I'd always heard during interviews. He must have just come out of the salon in the spa because he looked all bronzed like a Roman statue. Wait, what was that? He was telling her he was on his way to Los Angeles to attend the BET Awards. Yeah, Mike. I am a fan of the guy, the boxer and the person.
After the call, he started to cut up with me. He said something funny and slapped me on the back, playfully. I feared, for a moment, he broke the seat. I said nothing but I damn sure laughed, to protect myself. No more jokes please, Mike, I said to myself. "Oh look, we're at the airport."
JUST DRIVING DOWN THE STREET
Las Vegas draws people from all over the world in staggering numbers. So why I am still surprised when I see things like:
A twenty-something stud walking down the street holding his little daughter's hand. Isn't that the cutest thing, just the two of them strolling along? She will probably remember that moment her whole life. But why has he dressed her in that short, short skirt? She looked a little too hot for a daughter. Just wait until his wife sees how he dressed her. Wait just a minute. Hold everything.
It's not a kid. It's a midget. Sorry. You can't say midget, I mean a little person. She was a perfectly proportioned little person. To hell with that, she was a hot babe, a little person hot babe. I guess I am really old school because I am shocked, now that I saw they were a couple, boyfriend and girlfriend. You could tell by the look, of how they looked at each other.
Wow. Let’s see. She was 2 1/2 or 3 feet tall and he was almost six feet tall. No, no, no I told my mind, don't even go there. I gotta drive my cab. Good for them. I think.
++++
“Knock, knock, and knock,” on my passenger window. Someone was ruining my nap on a dead quiet morning. I turned my head to the right and went straight into fantasyland. I was staring into the face of Captain Jack Sparrow. Johnny Depp was fully costumed and made up and staring back at me. My mind and I had an emergency meeting. This could not be true. Were there cameras? Was there a fourth movie? Could it be in Vegas? Why wasn't I aware of this? This wasn't Halloween or even close. Why was I getting angry? Is he speaking to me?
He was speaking to me so I began listening to what he was saying. He said he wanted directions but I quickly saw through him. He was having some fun like the character Captain Jack. His questions were all nonsense. He was having us all on, otherwise, why was he grinning so much and why choose me, the cabbie that was sleeping.
And why was he all made up like a double for Johnny Depp in full costume? He had his hair done, perfectly, for his close up. He had tattoos on his eyelids. Please tell me it’s not permanent. He was wearing the same pirate outfit. He was even starting to smell like a pirate. In his defense, 2010 saw many characters begin to appear on the Strip in costume for fun picture taking.
But at that time I thought “shouldn't he be down at Treasure Island confusing those guests or walking the plank? I bet he escaped from a mental hospital for the Hollywood impaired.
++++
Waiting at a traffic light I looked to my left and saw a motorcyclist who had a dog clinging onto his carpeted gas tank by its nails. This was a cliché now. As they say, ‘I been there, seen that and bought the t-shirt.’ But wait, just a minute. Where’s my cell phone camera?
This dog was wearing a tiny chrome helmet matching his master's. Okay, you get points for that, but wait. He had his own little shades copying his master. Very cool, bigger points but wait, there was more.
