The Bride Goat

Ride share services have in general made me very happy in Vegas, because I've had so many terrible cab rides. Drivers that threw my luggage out of the trunk and drove off when I told them 'no tunnel'. Drivers that talked about nothing but how much they hated xyz people. Drivers that told me how a 72 year old buddy of theirs got a real nice bride in South America who was only illegal-teen years old. Drivers that have refused directions, drivers that have long-hauled me, drivers that have dropped me off at the wrong entrances to hotels, miles from the lobby.

So Lyft and Uber have been great so far, with pretty good people, and great rates. And I don't have to worry about some Robert de Niro wanna be asking me if I'm 'talking to him'.

However...

You know that when it comes to transportation, I am a shit magnet.

Let's look at some of the rides I took this trip - all Lyft. I took two from Main Street Station. Worked perfectly.

And actually, here's a savvy tip for those of you who like to stay at the California Hotel and Casino, a place that I may have mentioned briefly from time to time.


I think it is much better to summon a Lyftber from the Valet at Main Street, rather than the Cal. Not everyone knows how to find the Cal drive-through, and you might find yourself out on the street, trying to connect.

At Main Street, pickup is dead easy, and you can wait inside the doors if you are in increment weather. Which you can count on.

So, a couple of beauties from MSS. The third one between the Trop and the airport was a complete fail. I waited half an hour and finally ended up taking a taxi.

"I don't want the tunnel, I want Tropicana. Don't worry, I'll take care of you." Lucked into a nice, calm driver, and the fare was around $13. I tipped him $7, so $20 all in.

So picking up that night Funk and I were at the Linq, and he was shelling out $20 to hustlers in return for $300 in winnings... he'd had a snootful, and I'd had a snootful, and I was tired of losing, hell, I was just plain tired, exhausted, actually, and ready for the peace and quiet of my coming night of slumber... so we said so long, and I headed out.

"So long, Funkhouser," I said.

And then he said, "So long, Flusher."

Like that.

I wound my way through the Dinq casino, up half a flight of stairs, down a full escalator, across a catwalk, up a half escalator, along a walkway, through a foyer and down another escalator and I was in the Designated Ride Share and Tour Bus Lobby. Bully for me.

With 11% juice left on my phone, I summoned a Lyft... should be no problem, right? Within less than a minute, they'd picked out a bride for me, and the wedding was set for the next full moon. I was to bring a goat, and the bride, who I'm told was very good at basket making, would bring three pelt blankets and enough distilled pig's urine for both our tribes.

That's when I realized I was using the wrong app. I made a mental note to delete Tribal Bride from my piPhone.

Now at 10% juice, I summoned a Lyft, hold the urine. Within a minute I had a car assigned.

Lyft is great - you can see the little car on the screen for your ride - it tells you exactly where the guy is.

I could see the little pin where I was - at the Designated Ride Share, Tour Bus, and Child Bride Lobby - and I could see where he was... way the fuck north of me.

'YOUR DRIVER IS HERE - DEPARTS NOW' said the Lyft app, helpfully.

I yelled at my phone. "Fuck off, Lyft, my ride isn't here. It's over there."

There were a bunch of cars coming and going and I looked at all of them, squinting at licence plates, looking for the elusive Juanito in his boss 'ebony' Prius.

No Juanito. A few minutes went by and I got notified that my ride was cancelled. Fuck!

And because I had to have location services turned on to summon a ride, my piPhone was sucking down the juice like it was a rubby with a sippy cup full of Schenley Golden Wedding rye.

Maybe... maybe I was in the wrong place? When it comes to the ridiculous labyrinth of The Dinq, with it's ins and outs and parking garages here and there and towers sprinkled into seemingly random locations... the Lyft app didn't render it for shit.

I had a hell of a time figuring out where I should say I was. Using the GPS dealy, it wanted to put me at both Harrah's and the Dinq.

I pinched. I zoomed. I squeezed. I slid. I couldn't relate the on screen map features in any way to where I was. All I know is that everybody else was doing just fine.

As I summoned another Lyft ride, I was down to about 5% juice. Got a car assigned right away. Good. Saw the little car moving. Good. Saw the little car driving toward the Designated Ride Share, Tour Bus, Child Bride, and Goat Slaughtering Lobby... and then past it.

"NO! OVER HERE, ASSHOLE!" I shouted, out loud.

I noticed a distinct but subtle increase in my personal space.

Then the little car, maybe my last hope... stopped at what looked to be the Harrah's porte cochon de ville.

'YOUR DRIVER IS HERE - DEPARTS NOW' said the Lyft app, patronizingly.

Again, I scrutinized every stupid car that wasn't mine, just in case the Lyft little car map thingy was wrong.

I tried to send an email. I tried to phone. The Lyft app refused to recognize my cell number as validation.

And then, I got a notification that my ride was cancelled.

And then I got a notification that I'd been charged a no-show fee.

Lucky for them, the fee had been waived. Because I was ready to go ballistic.

With about 3% juice left, I tried a third time. I made as sure as I could that my little pin was in the right place.

This was ridiculous! I felt like that aquanot guy, Neil Angstrom, running out of fuel in the Moonar Lander as he searched for a place to call Tranquility Base.

With 2% juice left, a car was assigned, and the fine people at Lyft... charged me a second no-show fee.

I went fucking fat thumb piPhone ballistic on their asses as I filled out the most scathing price review you've ever seen.

I watched the cars coming in. I watched the people getting into the cars, the people with lives, and happiness, and charged phones, and goats.

I was down to 1% left.

I got an email saying my second bullshit 'no-show' charge was removed. Fuckin rights!

And my guy arrived.

I texted the Quad Queen.

"Contact light. Engine stop. Houston, DJ Tranquility Bass here... the Lunchbox has landed."

And, my guy had a spare charging cable.

And I made it home and walked into the Cal behind this beautiful bride.

A bride? In incredible red? With a goat?

It had to be a sign.

So, instead of going to bed, I went on tilt.

Vegas.