It is clearly too much to expect a bus driver to be sober in the middle of the day.

I arrived safely in Las Vegas where I was left to my own devises to get from the airport to Bill at the hotel. I figure that being nearly 32 years old, surely I can figure out how to get from point A to point B alone. After the morning I had though, I was regretting my decision to not have Bill come get me.

The flight had done very little for my foul mood and aching feet, so when I called Bill to find out where the hell the shuttle buses were I was less than friendly…But he understood completely.

Paying for my bus ticket was my first experience with the locals of Las Veags…I was NOT impressed. The woman was rude and nasty and acted as if I should be able to read her freaking mind. I found my way to where I had to catch the bus and had to push and shove my way through the crowd to find the bus that was going to my end of town. Still not impressed with Las Vegas. Of course it wasn’t the first or even the second bus to stop, but when the third bus arrived I was overjoyed to find out he was going my way. I took my seat in the very front by the window and waited. And waited. And waited.

FINALLY we were off.

Until we nearly hit the lady in the wheelchair crossing the road. The driver hit the breaks so hard that I went flying into the partial bulkhead that was in front of me. Leg and arm throbbing with pain I bite my lip to hold back tears. This day had just been too much for me at that point, and I was nearing mental breakdown territory. After yelling and cursing at the woman in the wheelchair we were off again. Out of the airport and into the Las Vegas traffic we nearly rear ended a taxi which sent me into the bulkhead for the second time. At this point I’m thinking that if I make it to the hotel alive it’ll take an act of God (who is still laughing at me by the way).

The driver starts making conversation with the unlucky souls he has been charged with taking to our destinations. Oh. My. God! This man is DRUNK! Or high. Either way he is not functioning with all his faculties.  This is it, I’m going to die on an airport shuttle bus.

I text and tweet the events as they unfold and I receive the fifty cent tour of the strip.

Finally, there are only two of us left on this rolling death trap with the slurring driver. Who’s off first, me or him? Of course it was him, the rest of my day was a disaster, why should this be any different. Now it’s just the two of us and I’m thinking there is no way I’m going to be able to run from this lunatic if I have to because my feet are freaking killing me.

He continues to point out the sights and fills me in about the “rich folk” who bought up those $250,00 condo were in the one percent and he hates them. Note to self, don’t get into home values back in the Philadelphia suburbs with this nut.

My drunken bus driver mumbles something at me that I cannot understand. Something about me going someplace with him. WHAT? He pulls in to a gas station with a convenience store and asks me to come inside. I decline. Now I’m sitting in a shuttle bus with the doors wide open in a strange city. This has bad horror movie written all over it. Thankfully my driver returns a few minutes later with a long, skinny bag in his hand and we were off again. Two minutes later I arrived at my hotel after one of the worst days in my existence.

I don’t think I have ever been so happy to see Bill and a beer in my life. I saw him, burst into tears (by this point I couldn’t care less what anyone thought), and hobbled into his arms. After a quick hug, I took the beer with both hands and chugged.

Stay tuned for more unbelievable stories from my life.

Note: These stories are all true and factual. I did not make up any part of any of the events you will read about in this series. 

If the trip just to get to the airplane is this bad maybe you should just stay home.

I had been waiting for months to get out to Las Vegas. This trip to the Golf Industry Show was to be my best yet since it was my first show since starting the amazingly successful group Wives of Turf. I had the gear made, I had trinkets to give away, I had an event planned and fully sponsored, I had bought a new wardrobe, I was ready to roll.

I was also nervous.

I hadn’t flown alone in about eight years and I’ve never had to worry about parking the car and getting myself checked in. I left the house in plenty of time and made it to the airport with time to spare. As per my marching orders I went to park in the B parking garage. It’s FULL. Deep breath. Thankfully there was a friendly woman standing there who told me to just park in the A garage because they are connected.

Something in the back of my mind was telling me to park in C, but I listened to the woman and entered the A garage. As I made my way up the dizzying spiral, level after level was full. Finally I found some empty spaces on the sixth level. If I remember where I parked the damn car it’ll be a freaking miracle.

My next task was to find the B ticketing.

I walked and walked and walked…I never did find where A and B are connected. My journey to B ticketing took me outside, dragging my 45 pound suitcase behind me with the blisters popping out on my feet left and right. Much like our K-9 friends, I do most of my sweating through my feet. Sweaty feet, new shoes and a lot of walking left me in excruciating pain buy the time I made it to ticketing.

There’s Band-Aids in that gigantic suitcase and I know exactly where they are…At the bottom, on the opposite side from where the zipper is. Desperate, I expose the contents of my suitcase to anyone who happened to be walking by. I didn’t care, I was a woman on a mission and in pain. I slapped a Band-Aid on the worst of my blisters, zipped up and went to check in.

Of course I got the checkin agent who hates life and wants to spread her misery to anyone she comes in contact with. She also spoke as if she had a mouthful of rocks. If she told me what gate I was at, I never heard her. Off I went to security. There is nothing like starting your day with a full body scan preformed by rude TSA agents, but I made it through.

Time to hit the gate and relax.

I checked the board to find out what gate I was at. I was only looking for a number since I assumed I was leaving out of B terminal. You all know what happens when you assume…

I got to the very end of the B terminal when I realized I was leaving out of the C terminal. I have now walked about twenty miles and it would have been a shorter walk if I would have just walked from home. The blisters are all gone now, it’s just raw skin by this point.

I finally get to the gate, where there is no space to sit. By this point I’m on the verge of tears and am about ready to find the car and go home.

Once on the plane I get stuck next to someone who clearly had no interest in me or my life but wouldn’t stop talking to me and asking questions. Seriously? Out of the 200ish seats here I get stuck next to this person for the next five and a half hours of my life. Somewhere God is laughing at me! The 10,000 foot ding went off and I put my earbuds in and tuned out the rest of the world.

Once my movie was over I figured I earned the right to WiFi, so I paid handsomely for it and it was worth every penny.

February 28th was a miserable morning and I’m shocked I made it through without losing my damn mind, but I did and now I can laugh about the events the lead me to Las Vegas for the very first time. I hope you got a good chuckle at my misfortune too.

Next time you’ll read the unbelievable tale of getting from the airport to the hotel. I swear, I couldn’t make this shit up.

Note: These stories are all true and factual. I did not make up any part of any of the events you will read about in this series.