5 March 1998
One night Dennis and I were lying on his rented furniture in Sacramento when he got a bug up his butt to drive
to Reno.
"When?" I asked.
"Now! If we leave soon, we'll get there by 9 or 10 and we can stay overnight."
The whole idea sounded fabulous to me. A boy and his sister, only one of them employed, set out to while away the hours and dollars in one of America's biggest gambling cities.
I threw on an ensemble from Limited Express, determined to look fashionable as I played the ponies, or whatever one does in Reno. Dennis stayed in his jeans and sweatshirt. I didn't have time to pack a bag, but I did grab a t-shirt to sleep in, socks, a toothbrush, hairspray, and some deodorant. I carried these items in my arms and tossed them in the trunk.
We were off.
It was a long drive through scary mountains, but as soon as I saw the lights of Reno, I felt instantly ready to swing. I could taste my first Miller Lite already, just as I could see myself spending Dennis's first ten-spot on the slots.
Before we could even think about the drunken late-night phone calls to assorted friends and siblings we would surely make, we had to ensure that we had a place to crash. We went to Nevada Bob's, where rooms were cheap. After waiting in a brief line, we obtained our room key and headed up to dump off my armful of necessities.
I entered the room first, heading immediately for the big round table and chairs so I could set my stuff down.
"Look," I said, clearing space on the table surface. "They left us an ashtray and a dandy lighter!" Further investigation of the chairs turned up a pack of smokes as well. Does Nevada Bob's employ maids? I wondered.
Dennis began to explore the room. "Hey, they even turned down one of the beds for us."
"Yeah, but it looks kind of sloppy," I noted.
We both paused and cocked our heads, silent for a long moment.
"Is that the shower running?" I asked him.
"Is that a suitcase on the floor?"
Another pause.
"AAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEE!"
Not even wanting to know who was in the shower and what he or she would think of our act, I turned and sprinted towards the door of the room, hearty vowel sounds still streaming from my mouth.
"AMY! PICK UP YOUR SHIT!" Dennis ran in circles trying to scoop up the miscellaneous toiletries I had unceremonously dumped on the table. His haste made it a messy job.
Screw the deodorant. I was out of there!
The hallway was long, but I kept my eyes focused on the elevator at the end of it as I lurched towards it. I paused a few paces from the elevator to check for Dennis, who was just emerging from the room--still screaming--but juggling my luggage gallantly.
The elevator arrived, and I threw myself in the minute the doors opened, squatted in the corner, and wet my pants, crying and whimpering softly.
Dennis's arrival triggered a hysterical outburst, and by the time we reached the ground floor, we both had soiled trousers.
We were issued another room.
Smelly and damp, we gambled away about $20 and drank away about $50.
It didn't bother us until the next morning.
It was a long, uncomfortable ride back to Sacramento.