Date posted: June 16, 2007

Leaving Las Vegas

When you’ve finally packed all your stuff into your bags and suitcase it’s 10am. You’re running late, again. You take a few last pictures of your room and then you leave.

Outside it’s cloudy and chilly. You want to take some more photos of Las Vegas before driving off to LA. You should have done that earlier. You know that. But you didn’t.

12am. You really should be heading for LA or else you won’t make it in time to your apartment. You don’t know what time reception closes. There are bound to be traffic-jams.

In front of you, waiting to enter the freeway, you notice a Mercedes 55 AMG with two girls inside. The car has a USC number plate. Once you’re on the freeway they pull off. You follow. But their car is faster than your stupid user vehicle.

A traffic-jam. By accident you find yourself next to the Mercedes 55 AMG again. You look to the side. They look at you. You look at them. They smile. They pull off. You notice some space in the right lane. The joy of driving in the US. You can overtake on both sides. You zigzag your way through the cluster of cars and trucks until the freeway lies open in front of you. You’re quick. You’re good. You look into your rearview mirror for the Mercedes 55 AMG. In your dreams you both make a stop in Barstow. You exchange email addresses. Telephone numbers. You decide to meet when you’re both in LA to go clubbing. They know the scene. They will show you around. They will take you to their parents’ house in Beverly Hills.

You slow down. You let other cars overtake you, but the Mercedes is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they have long overtaken you. You drive on.

In Barstow you take a quick break. It hasn’t changed since you passed through on your way to Las Vegas. But it is a different town. You get back in your car and continue on your way to LA.

Your apartment is in Marina del Rey so you decide to take the 10. Bad move. After only a few miles traffic comes to a halt. For more than two hours you are stuck in a traffic-jam. At least you’re not the only one. Some comfort.

When you finally get to Marina del Rey it’s already past 7pm. You drive straight to your apartment, except that this isn’t your apartment. You look at the address. It’s different from where you’ve stayed before. You feel your heart sink. Don’t panic. Not yet. It could be better. It could be worse. It is worse.

At reception they want you to sign numerous forms. A disclaimer that you won’t sue them because of the asbest they used when the building was constructed. You’re tired. No alarm bells start ringing. Not until you get to see the apartment. It’s old and noisy. It smells as if people have been smoking there for ages. The door to the balcony doesn’t lock. The apartment is at street level. You think of all your equipment and leaving it there during the day.

After a brief look around you decide to leave. It’s two minutes past 8. Reception has closed. You hear people talk. You knock on the door and when it opens you say that you want to leave. They explain to you that your previous apartment has probably been a sublet by the agency you had booked through. They tell you not to worry, that it’s OK with them and that they will reimburse you. You worry.

Now you have to find another place for the night. The best thing that you can think off is to drive to the airport where there are numerous hotels and to first check the hotel you stayed in when you arrived. They have one room. But only for one night. And it’s more than double what you paid for the weekend of your arrival. By now you’re so tired that all you want to do is lie down and sleep. Tomorrow is another day.