Over the weekend in Las Vegas, I told strangers at a blackjack
table that I’ve never been a ladies man because abnormal growths
have always protruded from my ear. I told a Canadian guy he’s wrong
about his country lacking excitement, because they have elk. And
when my friend Steve walked away from a table, I told a bunch of
girls seated there he has multiple personalities
– four to be exact.
Over the weekend in Las Vegas, I told strangers at a blackjack table that I’ve never been a ladies man because abnormal growths have always protruded from my ear. I told a Canadian guy he’s wrong about his country lacking excitement, because they have elk. And when my friend Steve walked away from a table, I told a bunch of girls seated there he has multiple personalities – four to be exact.
Oh, Vegas, such a wonderful opportunity to make a jackass of myself to strangers without worrying about further damaging my reputation.
But I wasn’t there just to garner strange looks and a pitiful spattering of giggles. Sin City was the setting for a reunion with high school and college buddies – who made a habit of shamefully shaking and lowering their heads at my jokes, just as they did for eight-plus years of school.
I hadn’t seen most of them since leaving Wisconsin for Hollister in September. Their reactions when I arrived on Thursday summed up months of mounting anticipation.
“Kollin, you’re here?” said my friend Brian, now an engineer in Wisconsin. “I thought we told you we’d be coming to Vegas next weekend.”
He’s always been a joker, but for some reason he didn’t smile back when I laughed. He just kind of turned his head and walked away. I figured it was his new brand of comedy or something, though I’d never heard him swear before then.
At the casinos, we chatted with people from all over the country. Some of us, mostly just me, had a tendency to make occasional attempts at embarrassing the other guys, and myself, whenever possible. For instance, when a young woman sat next to my friend Don, I interrupted their conversation with, “Hey Don, how was the hemorrhoids appointment last week?”
He laughed, while she pretended she didn’t hear the comment. I know she did, though, because I said it really loudly and pronounced it clearly.
Each year since high school, a bunch of us guys have gathered for a highly anticipated poker tournament. Yes, we’re big dorks, but at least it’s acknowledged. We played the game on Saturday in our room at the Flamingo Hotel.
I’m the only two-time winner of our annual game, which I insist on bragging about every time I see the guys. This year, I took fourth place, after which I humbly said to the winner, Steve, “Now next year, you can try and become the second player to win two poker tournaments.”
Nobody laughed. Don, however, still hung-over and who, for whatever reason, had slept in the closet the night before, yelled from the bathroom, “Why do you have to reference yourself?”
I replied, “I’m not. I’m just giving Steve a goal to shoot for.”
That morning, Don actually offered a logic to sleeping in the closet. He thought it would shield light, as he came home at 9 a.m.
By the end of the weekend, I had lost about $100 at blackjack and had driven about 17 hours.
On Sunday morning as I walked to the room’s exit, I said goodbye to the two remaining friends.
They were so overwhelmed by emotion, they couldn’t speak, and one even pretended to snore.
Kollin Kosmicki is a staff writer at the Free Lance. His column appears every other Tuesday.
