PERSONAL ESSAY

The Weight of Weight

Observations from Vegas

NOT me: Photo by Fuu J on Unsplash

It’s not true. What happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas. Not if you’re a writer anyway.

This week I went on my first work trip away in eons. I attended a conference in Las Vegas, much to my chagrin. I found the experience to be lonely, enlightening, and — uh — chagrining. Yeah. Chagrining.

cha·grin

1. distress or embarrassment at having failed or been humiliated. “Jeff, much to his chagrin, wasn’t invited”

To recap quickly — I was a nervous wreck being in a situation that involved — you know — people. I didn’t start feeling like a functional human in a social situation until today. Now, I’m sitting here in an airport Tequileria horking down a quesadilla and writing to all you fine people while killing time until my flight in a couple of hours.

I’ve never been a Vegas person. Sure, I had fun drunken adventures in my twenties but it’s not really my scene. There are people, first of all. Second, I’m not a gambler. Sure, I’ll figuratively throw a few quarters into a slot, but that’s about it. On this trip, I had a ten-dollar voucher from the hotel. Once that was spent in 30 seconds, that was it for me. In an odd not-really-a-coincidence, Alanis Morrisette’s Hand in Pocket played in my Uber both on…