Story Time – “Oh Big American, will you take picture with us?”
If you’ve ever been to the Fremont Street Experience in Las Vegas, you know it has the best and worst of what gambling and vacations have to offer. The best:
- Shit loads of places to gamble at in a very small area
- People watching opportunities at the highest level – you will not find a larger collection of characters on the planet
- GIGANTIC FOOTBALL BEERS
- Bright lights and loud music
- “Local entertainment” everywhere
- There are people literally everywhere during “The Experience”. Where the hell did they all come from?
- Some of the gambling joints are a little past their prime.
- Some of the “local entertainment” are past their prime too
- Did I mention the people? Well some of those people aren’t the finest citizens.
Well this story is not about the bad eggs in Downtown Las Vegas. This is about tourism at it’s stereotypical (and slightly politically incorrect) finest that could warm even the coldest and darkest of hearts.
On one of the many trips to the desert taken with Wingman #2 and”Jason” (the extraordinarily handsome and burly man from the Hall of Fame nomination), we made our regular trek to Downtown because of the reasons I mentioned above and, quite honestly, we were all getting killed on the strip and the $30 cab ride was a small price to pay for the potential change in mojo.
Turns out it, we might as well have burned that $30.
Once you go bust Downtown and can’t stomach another 3 foot tall Long Island Iced Tea or need to step away from the Glitter Gulch so you don’t end up in a poorly produced Brandy Love-knockoff video, you have to check out the Fremont Experience. A light and music show displayed on the canopy of neon lights that stretches 1,500 feet of awesomeness. It is the tourist trap numero uno in Las Vegas lore.
We parked our broke and drunk asses right in the middle of the street so we could see it all. They tell you not to stand in that area as you may get some nefarious character trying to play a little game of “what’s in your pocket?”. I was out of money so pick away hobo. And thank god we were out there because what happened next lives on as one of the funniest things I have seen in person.
The tiniest of tiny Asian couple is taking in the entire scene. Cameras are
out and snapping. Feverish pointing and photo staging is in full effect. But the one shot they were missing that obviously would make their entire trip was one with a lovably large Irish fella who just got his teeth kicked in at a craps table. Jim and Sue (they looked like a Jim and a Sue…somewhat) worked up the courage to meander over to our boozed up/broke crew and said to WM#2 “Oh big American, will you take picture with us?” in broken, highly accented English straight out of Takashi Toshiro’s dialogue from Revenge of the Nerds.
Lots of bows, lots of smiles, lots of shoving their camera in our direction, lots of pulling the Gaelic Giant towards their spot. Hand to God, this actually happened. Of course WM#2, the Fred Flintstone-looking, jovial attitude self teddy bear, said yes because he is such a sweetheart. Of course I was laughing so hard, I had to take a knee. And of course the stunningly handsome Jason composed himself long enough to take the picture of a lifetime. The smiles on Jim and Sue’s faces were so genuine it made your heart melt. The smile on WM#2’s face as he held those two happy as a clam visitors near his hip was priceless. It was Irish Shaq holding on to two little circus acrobats. Let that visual sink in.
The only thing that would have been better was if WM#2 picked up these two little dumplings like Andre the Giant did to the Geisha’s he would presumably bed six at a time on a nightly basis while in Japan – allegedly.
And then the moment was done. Jim and Sue went on to watch the light show, bowing and thanking the big American with smiles as wide as Destiny’s cleavage from the Glitter Gulch (like I said, some entertainment was a LITTLE past their prime). The moment was not gone. It is etched in our brains forever. No story I tell is as cute as it is politically incorrect. On a scale of one to ten baby kittens cute, this was a fourteen.
No story has had as much legs as this one has in my circle of of bonehead friends and for that I am grateful. God speed Jim and Sue. I hope that picture is blown up and framed on your wall like the fine piece of art that it was. That timeless masterpiece you have given us was a moment that will never be forgotten.