The first time the Wife and I came to Las Vegas, we rented a car. Now, the problem with that was, my driver's license expired between the time we left the house and arrived in Las Vegas. You see, we stopped over in Atlanta for two days. And, while in Atlanta, the license expired.
So, when we got to Las Vegas last time, the car rental place wouldn't let me rent a car. Something about needing a valid driver's license. Go figure.
Anyway, the Wife ended up renting the car. And she drove while we were here. She didn't like it.
This time, we didn't rent a car. We figured we'd be able to take the Monorail everywhere we wanted to go. Well, the Monorail and/or the city buses.
So, we've been getting bus passes or Monorail passes when we needed to go somewhere that wasn't walking distance. Or that we realized wasn't walking distance -- since most everything here isn't really walking distance.
Anyway, the other day, we took the Deuce (the double-decker city buses) somewhere (all-day pass) and decided it wasn't that bad.
Well, it wasn't that bad because it was morning.
That afternoon, when we went to the ballgame, we took an afternoon bus.
That's when it wasn't quite as pleasant a ride.
The ride started out unpleasantly enough when we just missed the northbound bus. No problem, though. Another would be by in just a few minutes. Or so said the schedule.
A southbound Deuce soon appeared, so that was a good sign. Then another southbound Deuce. Then another. And another.
Finally, after 4 southbound buses had gone by, another northbound bus finally appeared.
And it was packed.
We got on board, and stood in the doorway while the driver went to the next stop.
Since he told me I was blocking the door from opening, I stepped around the Wife (who was in front of me) and went as far as I could down the center aisle. Which was one position, the person, apparently, who had departed the bus at that stop via the side door.
As I got as far as I could, still near the front of the bus but facing the back of the bus, I heard a very unpleasant voice behind me. I turned around, facing the front of the bus, and some sawed-off little old Casper Milquetoast-looking fellow wearing a $20 suit was pointing at the Wife, running his mouth.
He was telling her to move back.
She was up against me, and I was getting way too friendly with the person behind me. And it was like that all the way back. Or at least as far as I could see.
He kept on running his mouth at her, and she had her fill of it in just a few seconds, and said she wasn't going to do anything he said since he was talking like that.
He got even more unpleasant, asking where she was from over and over. She asked him where he was from. Of course, he was from Manhattan.
She told him she wasn't moving, and that he could go to the back of the bus.
He muttered something as he walked by, and just as he passed her, shouted, "BITCH!"
Now, if you've been following along, just past her was ... me.
It took me a second to realize that he had indeed just called my wife a bitch.
So, since he had, by the, shuffled past, I gently placed my hands on his shoulders and spun him around to face me.
He looked me square in the chest, and ... then looked up.
I'm towering over this little old pipsqueak, and when we made eye contact, I informed him that it wasn't a good idea to say such unpleasant things about my wife.
Only, I didn't use exactly those words. And I may have raised the level of my voice a notch or two.
I politely informed him that I didn't know who the hell he thought he was, but he wasn't going to speak to my wife that way.
He wasn't sure who the hell I was, but I kindly related the fact that I was the husband of the woman in question.
As he backed away, he informed me that he would have me arrested. Of course, since I had my cell phone with me, I offered to call the police for him.
The Wife, by this time, had dug her fingers into my arm and was guiding me back to the front of the bus.
It seems, by the way, that suddenly, for some unknown reason, those in the back part of the bus found a way to make room. A couple of seats even came open. Hmmm.
Anyway, he kept running his mouth as he moved further to the back of the bus.
He stuck up friendly conversation with a fellow in the back. His new-found friend tried to inform him that the other fellow (me) was a lot bigger than he was, but Casper didn't seem to care. Liquor will do that to a man, by the way.
Casper's friend said if blows had been exchanged (I would not have struck him ... first ... by the way; he was just an old drunk in a bad suit), that, in the friends words "both of you would go to jail."
Casper said something back, and the friend said, "It doesn't matter who you know. You could know the Pope and you'd still go to jail."
Casper replied that he did know the Pope. And, about that time, lost a friend.
The rest of the passengers were beginning to feel the tension lift, especially after I asked the Wife, "Now, aren't you glad we didn't rent a car?" Or, possibly, the mood lightened with her look back at me.
Other passengers chatted up, laughing about it, though still a little nervous laughter. They may have thought I was going to kick Casper's ass or something. But I wouldn't. Like I said, I was a lot bigger ... and a bit younger ... than he. And I have no desire to harm an old drunk, loudmouth though he may be.
But I didn't appreciate him saying what he did.
Since that day, we've taken the Monorail every day, going to different places. But the Wife hasn't been too anxious to ride the bus.