Nick Brown

In the early hours of Friday 27th May 2016, the USA Road Trip Croo (as we shall henceforth be known) were having a beer/cider and watching the end of The Hangover Part 2; an experience we'd begun late on the preceding evening following a watch of the superior and more contextually-relevant (given our travel plans) original.
Slightly later on Friday 27th May 2016, having each gotten a few hours' kip, we assembled and made the short journey to Manchester Airport. Second-breakfasts were consumed, Toblerones were purchased and pints of IPA/cider/bitter were poured, served, held aloft and clinked together before being slowly sipped away, the time of day not lending itself well to rapid glugging, in honour of the trip that laid before us.
Late-morning on Friday 27th May 2016 we embarked upon what was from my perspective, considering my personal phobia of air-travel, a notably un-terrifying flight across the Atlantic. Being an American-Airlines flight, they took their cultural leanings seriously and proceeded to feed us admittedly-delicious food with such frequency that we were bordering on obese by our disembarkation eight hours later in Philadelphia.
Early-afternoon on Friday May 27th 2016 we had to go through US immigration, and whilst I wasn't wearing a watch and couldn't check my phone for fear of being shot, I estimate that this took around a day and a half. We proceeded to the carousel to collect our bags (something that the bloody BA-rep on the customer 'care' line I'd contacted only four bloody days ago had unequivocally assured me we wouldn't have to do), but it was here that our luck changed. Noticing a wet-patch on the outside of my bag I opened it to find that my Lynx shower gel had somehow opened in mid-flight and leaked into the surrounding area, making several of my t-shirts smell rather nice but caking them in green stickiness. We considered cancelling the trip, but after looking at return-fares to Manchester determined it would be cheaper to purchase a new shower-gel so re-checked our baggage for the connecting domestic flight to Las Vegas.
Mid-afternoon on Friday May 27th we boarded the AA flight to Vegas only to find we'd been imbued with important responsibility. We would all be sitting in an 'Exit row', requiring us to confirm that should an emergency occur we would be willing and able to assist in whatever the hell an individual can possibly do to mitigate the dangerous consequences of an aircraft in distress. We considered the proposition; were we ready for such responsibility? Could we stay calm and effective in a crisis? Isn't this something they should be paying people to do instead of foisting it onto randomly-assigned volunteers? Given that sitting in an exit row meant there was no seat-in-front under which to safely stow my carry-on luggage during landing and take-off and I would therefore have to stand-up(!) and put it in the overhead lockers, shouldn't I be entitled to compensation for inconvenience?
After balancing the pros and cons and inevitable fuss it would cause to decline such a request, we each accepted the charge to become heroes-in-waiting and took our seats. Throughout a slightly bumpier but still moderately-pleasant flight we took our duties seriously, only each trying to get some sleep when we were absolutely certain an emergency wasn't about to occur.
We landed in Las Vegas 6 hours later on Friday May 27th 2016. After having admirably walked past the first bank of slot-machines, it was my decision to stop for a Starbucks coffee that permitted Luke the few moments necessary to double-back and try his luck on, like, literally the first one-armed bandit it is possible to find at Las Vegas airport.
After passing, seriously, three other Starbucks coffee places in the airport we collected our luggage and took the various trains/travellators/shuttle-buses necessary to reach the car-hire place. As I was the most caffeine-fuelled and also because the booking was in my name so fuck you I was to be the first driver of the beast of a car we'd booked. As a notorious petrol-head I can tell you that it's black and shiny and has seven seats, air-conditioning and a trunk big enough for all our bags and probably a couple of corpses should things turn awry. It's got a logo on the front, but that could be anything.
Early-evening on Friday May 27th we reached Railroad Pass Hotel & Casino, the longest-running casino in America. Interestingly, the border between Boulder City and Henderson apparently runs right through the casino-floor itself - which is especially interesting as casinos are illegal in Boulder City but perfectly legal in Henderson. That sounded more interesting in my head.
On the evening of Friday May 27th, the Croo sat at the casino bar and drank a round of Samuel Adams' Boston Lager. Time-zone fluctuations had made this a stupidly long day and we were all ready for some serious shut-eye. Still, we were in the longest-running casino in America so gambling was obviously on the cards (ha-geddit!). Luke and I plonked down some of our hard-earned on some $5 blackjack. We lost.Leia mais