by Dana Jerman

Dang kids, I’m hot. Fussy, orange-sweating-tongue-lolling emoji hot.

After what would have been my parents 43rd wedding anniversary, I walk next to the highway and watch Friday traffic. So many people at speed looking down at their phones. The sick magic of this operable chaos astounds me in the shining late midday. 

I am one drink in (my shirt reads “hangovers are normal”) pausing at a new vantage point along Sahara Avenue, feeling gritty and irritable with 99 degree heat, wishing my apartment complex pool hadn’t closed early today for inexplicable reasons. 

Standing against an aqua blue wall under an awning with a found Juul in my pocket feeling messily modern, I know there are a lot of landmarks I already wish were still here. A whole lot of people who are somewhere between less than twice my age and born in the 90’s feel the exact same way.

The long-gone Stardust comes to mind as my gaze limps toward the red curving skyline imprint of shiny new Resorts World Hotel and Casino, what sits in its footprint mere weeks from grand opening.

Vegas can’t cease but remind you of its youth, its folly, itself. It reinvents to capture. To crudely ensnare.

I walk thru a portion of the casino floor at the Strastosphere that smells like burnt popcorn and diarrhea. Or maybe that’s just the Starbucks.

Seems like we’re back to “normal” the moment the suited-up on-site time-shart doofuses start to engage me as a tourist again. There they are with their complimentary-stay-helicopter-ride-flavored aggressive promises of player’s card points gone by. Bobble heads chatting out cash back bonuses on cheap joy. 

It’s all like some ramrod nostalgia, gone only to return another day. Trapping you so hard you either choke like a lover and finish immediately, or get hooked on the chase and never really leave. (Back in the parking lot the weathered guy, wearing too much Old Spice and blueblockers who just got out of his car and darted past me into the gambling hall bar, fits into the latter category.)

And then there’s always something about the “get rich quick” element that tickles folks imaginations in this corner of the known world. Plenty of innocent or otherwise well-meaning haphazardly entrepreneurial people arrive here to start businesses…

Not something I’ll ever do, but I can go along and conceptualize. For instance:

The Las Vegas Chapel Museum. Museums are breaking out everywhere here like a case of liver spots. The history of weddings and the wedding chapel carve their own storied path and perhaps deserve a permanent installation downtown somewhere. The most obvious spot being Benny Binion’s old freestanding dilapidated dude ranch out on Bonanza Road. Ample space for parking. That rundown two-story eyesore is just begging for some protected heritage status to revitalize both local and tourist interest. If not, then a solid rotating show among the small but strong gallery contingent present around town might do.

Or… something way more up my proverbial alley… The ‘DOUBBLE B’ BAR-N-BROTHEL. That’s a good name, right? ‘Doubble B’ for… Boobs?

Where would it be, in Caliente, NV maybe? Only counties with 700,000 or fewer residents can partake in Nevada’s newest and loveliest, freshest and finest. I dream up an edifice built to suit: Outbuildings exclusively for super and madam by the terraced and trellised garden patio. An open air octagon spa by invitation only with mani-pedi/massage technicians available. Dance and disco suite next to screening room next to a voyeur room with a wall of CCTVs next to a mini pole dance room with a sunken rail- kiva style- covered in mirrors and crushed velvet.

Think of a chintzy one-color logo and all the cool souvenirs: calendars, coffee mugs, wrapped cigarillos, sweatpants, a Nevada brothel board game, bottle openers, bottles of hot sauce, paper fans, personal care kits, magnets, smoochy keychains, air fresheners and SOCKS!

As madam, I’d institute a “pretend you’re in Japan and lose the shoes” policy at the 2nd foyer. This would be where customers would choose their lady escort from a wall of interactive monitors featuring a comprehensive profile for each with stats and pics and short video introductions. You could stand in the 2nd foyer and watch them all if you wanted for as long as you wanted. If you change your mind, there is a side exit so you don’t have to leave the way you came.

When you’re ready to choose the chaperone for your stay, simply type in your ticket number- issued in the first foyer where you submitted your ID at the surveillance window- and choose a drink option. Your escort, wearing any house shoes she sees fit, will then arrive to welcome you into the main room- the massive hunting lodge-esque open lounge with fireplace and bar- presenting your beverage while assigning your footwear and ticket to a ventilated cubby at the aforementioned adjoining exit.

Guests enter one at a time. Ladies arrive at 2pm for a 3pm opening. No further guests admitted after 3am. Soft close at 7-7:30am. No “sleepovers”, although secure parking is included in the $30 daily parking fee for up to 2 consecutive nights. Private parties of 7 or more can rent the entire space at a 5-hr flat rate with a 7-day advanced notice. All clients will be asked to sign a waiver. We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone at any time. Smile you’re on camera. Tip your dancer.

Out of the hideaway space during rotating evenings off, the ladies could participate in “ShE-Bay” a highest-bidder webcam service wherein said worker has assigned a date and length to her exclusive private viewing session(s)… Sounds fun, yeah?

Maybe I’d be a decent businesswoman after all.

Nah, who am I kidding. Must be the heat talking.