The Prickly Pear

From what I've read, most airports request that you check in at the airport two hours before the flight for domestic trips. In Las Vegas they want you there two and a half hours before, I'm guessing to allow more time for going through security. Is it me, or are we being terrorized more by our own government than we are by the terrorists? When I fly now I worry that they're going to confiscate my things or hold me until I miss my flight. Or both.

Fortunately, our flights went smoothly both arriving and departing. We dropped off our rental car and got to the airport two and a half hours early, and sailed through security. Whew!

Now we had two hours to waste at the airport, and after perusing the shops (Brookstone!), we took a table at the airport's Prickly Pear Cafe. My chicken was tender, juicy and well seasoned, and the french fries were wonderful. The service was slow, but the place was packed and we were in no hurry.

In addition to our meal, our time at the table afforded us time to people-watch. We love watching people and trying to figure them out. The day before, Debbie's boyfriend and I entered the elevator at the hotel with another couple. The guy had muscular calves, a bigger watch than I wear (and I wear a big watch), and seemed very fit. I was guessing he was a jogger, bicyclist or dancer, but the watch made me think jogger or bicyclist. Dancers don't time themselves. I enquired and it turned out he'd run a marathon that morning. (Debbie's boyfriend was impressed by my detective work.)

There was an interesting couple seated next to us at the Prickly Pear, waiting for their flight as we were. He was a gentleman in his sixties or older, I'm guessing, who said he was from the Bronx. His companion was a younger woman with long, straight hair and a stunning figure. Showgirl quality. I guessed from her accent she was Puerto Rican, which he confirmed when she was away from the table.

They had stayed at an expensive hotel, and eaten at many of the town's best restaurants. (I wish I'd asked what his business was.) During the meal, she spoke of buying gifts for her mother and sister. He asked her at one point how she kept her figure, and if she attended a gym. When she was away from the table, he told us she'd been a lot of fun (or something to that effect).

So I'm thinking to myself, just what is this relationship? She didn't mention her sister by name, which leads me to believe he wouldn't know the sister's name. He spoke of her more crudely than I would, but maybe that's just him. Was she an escort? Do wealthy men hire an escort and fly them to Vegas? Why not just hire one locally? (I'm unschooled in these things.) Was it like a first or second date? Anyone got any guesses?


Posted by Dave    Blog Tag: Chatter