The Man with Kind Eyes

I was descending in an elevator at the MGM Grand, in Las Vegas. Some very enormous ladies were in the lift-e-vator with me. When they got out, the lift rattled and the ground shook in protest. I waited at the back, fearing a sudden decompression of air once the ladies were no longer in the hanging box. Then I saw that the Otis Lift Company had a natty sign that mentioned that the elevator cable was good for 1400 lbs. I’m not sure how we got down in one piece.

Once the ladies left, I discovered at the back of the elevator, a little man about five foot eight; he had very kind eyes. He smiled as we watched the last of the “ All-You-Can-Eat-Club ” disappear round the corner. I motioned for him to go next and he offered me the same privilege. We bumped in the doorway and laughed.

Gamblers are hard. They are bathed in the gimme, gimme. Some wear silly hats to protect them from the sun; there is not much sun in the casino. The ones with the silly hats play poker. The ones with the loud voices play craps and the ones that have come to loose on the hurry-up, play the new style blackjack that only pays 6 to 5 rather than 3 to 2.

Some have moustaches. A moustache on a man is usually the sign of a hidden tyrant, a control freak. I’m not sure what a moustache signifies on a woman, there were quite few of those. I was too scared to find out.

In a world of hard people with no soul, the man with the kind eyes stood out; he was different to the others. He had a soft voice.  Americans usually shout at each other, even when talking from a few inches away. It’s not their fault. As kids they are raised with the TV blaring for fourteen hours a day. They have to shout to get fed. To accommodate this trend, fast food companies put a small microphone in a wall that is a few yards away. You have to shout at it to get your meal, it helps you feel at home.

A transvestite call girl hung off a chap’s shoulder at the bar. The he-she girl was whispering, she was after money not food. The guy acting as a human coat hanger was after one of those, “What goes on in Las Vegas stays in Las Vegas,” experiences. It took them ages to figure out the mathematics of the new tourism.

I looked for the man with the kind eyes but I never found him. I was sad. I missed him enormously. When you meet someone that really has a soul, it hurts; it evokes a spiritual longing for a long forgotten place that we all came from. It’s a heartland of some kind that we can’t quite remember.

© Stuart Wilde 2013 – www.stuartwilde.com