Stratosphere

For my last night in Las Vegas, after an amazing dinner of Filet Mignon and bleu-cheese scalloped potatoes, I did some research for something to do. I was looking for an experience. I found this shooting range called The Gun Store. You can try machine guns there and leave with a souvenir t-shirt. Unfortunately, it wasn't open 24 hours.

I settled for the stratosphere instead. The Stratosphere is the tallest building in Las Vegas boasting amazing views and three roller coaster rides on top. Never again.

The red beam on top of the building is the ride I experienced. The two smudges of red shooting off to the left of the tower are probably kids who've accepted a waiver of liability by purchasing a ride ticket.

Here's a closer look of the red beam on top of the stratosphere. The ride is called "Get Up." Buying a ticket at ground level, I was the excited junior high schooler going to Magic Mountain by himself. I contemplated getting the unlimited rides package but settled for one ride on all three deal. I don't know what happened between junior high and two nights ago. Somehow I aged in unexpected ways. Where I used to be fearless, now I wondered how much dairy was in the cream sauce in the potatoes I had for dinner.

The ride involves shooting straight up and free falling repeated times. During the first free fall, as I felt my body separate from the seat, I had a calm contemplative moment. Surprising, because to see my expression would have been to wonder if I was expressing terror or sadness or disappointment in myself. It was all three. Somewhere along life's journey thrill rides operated by high schoolers and sitting on machines that made sounds as if they needed to be oiled lost its appeal. I got off and walked to the next ride.

The next ride was called "Get Off." Appropo. The mechanical arm swings the passengers off the side of the building. When I saw it start, I said, "Oh, hell no."

You basically start swinging in a circle with such speed and force that you are practically parallel to the ground three miles below. No thank you. The third ride had an equally ridiculous premise and it made clicking sounds. A parent and I had a connected moment when we discussed the sounds of that ride beneath the screams.

On the cab ride back to my hotel, the cabbie and I talked about how las vegas used to be. He actually knew and I talked as if I knew. He spoke of people dressing up to go out, about how an amount of class left when corporations started taking over. The girl in this picture was probably in high school. A high school from the South judging from the shoelace pattern in the back. The bottom of her dress was long and jagged. She obviously took effort in putting together that outfit. And I acknowledge the effort.