“Bubble Does Vegas”: A Short Story by a Short Author

“That’s it!” I exclaimed, after walking in and out of the same three rooms for the 4,213,012th time since last March. “I’m getting the hell out of here!”

Patrick’s my name. I write greeting cards. I’d like to write the funny ones but so far all I get assigned are the “heartwarming” variety. At least I have a job, and a place to live, and so on and so forth. As a matter of fact, I recently got an influx of cash after selling the last 5 years of my greeting card rhymes to a Canadian company. I’m not sure how good that stuff will translate into French but it’s their problem now.

Anyway, I needed to go somewhere. Somewhere fun, like Las Vegas. And I wanted my best friend Darol to come with. Travel is always more fun with a friend. But Darol is exceedingly careful about not getting the coronavirus. I admire him for that. And I know he is immovable on this issue. So I went to our mutual friend Grant.

Grant is an inventor and I knew he could figure this thing out. “Grant,” I said, “I need you to make me a bubble.” “Presto!” he replied. “You’re a bubble!” No, really, that’s what he said. Yeesh.

I explained to Grant that Darol would need to be sealed in a plastic bubble for us to go to Las Vegas. Grant needed to design a safe, durable enclosure and solve a myriad of problems. “Ha! Bubble?” he chuckled. “I’ve made more plastic bubbles than you could possibly imagine! I’ve built them for educational use, corporate functions, even show business!”

I left Grant’s workshop feeling super confident about his ability to keep Darol virus-free. Now all I had to do was convince Darol. I fired up my Portal for a video call.

“Darol! Guess what! We’re going to Vegas!”

“Dude…it’s not safe.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been safe for ten months. I think I wanna be stupid for a while. And Grant is building a plastic bubble for you! You will be in a clean, sterile environment for the duration of the trip!”

“Wow…I really would like to go on a trip…are you sure it’s safe?”

“Absolutely.”

“So I’m gonna be inside this bubble for the whole trip? How do I take a shower?”

“You don’t. But you’re the only one who’ll have to smell the bubble stank so it’s okay.”

“What about….uh….going to the bathroom?”

“Have you ever watched the commercials that air during reruns of ‘Murder She Wrote’ on the Hallmark Channel?”

“God no.”

“This would be a lot easier if you did. Uh….look, you’ll be able to relieve yourself. Now please ask no follow-up questions.”

“Okay.”

The trip was on! I had to book four round-trip plane tickets: three for Darol’s bubble, and one for me. When we landed in Vegas things were a little iffy…Darol’s bubble almost got sucked into an escalator. Fortunately I was there to save him. The bubble showed no signs of wear!

We got out to the taxi lane and I realized there was no way the bubble was going to fit in the backseat of a taxi. Quick thinking won the day, as a cabbie helped me use a belt I’d packed to half-assedly strap Darol to the roof. “Drive really slowly, mister. I’ll pay the fare!”

We checked in at the fabulous Flamingo Hotel, and prepared to hit the casino. Darol could not operate the machines, being in the bubble and all, so we had to take turns making bets. This led to a conversation we’d had on previous gambling junkets, best expressed as “Darol is a wuss at gambling.”

“I think I’d like to bet one line,” Darol would say.

“There’s no way you’re gonna win any money doing that! There are 9 lines, you have to bet all nine lines to have a chance to win big!”

“That’s 45 cents! What do you think I am, made of money!?”

“Oh my God! Talking to you is like….talking to you.”

We had to stop arguing when a little old lady came up and smacked me with her purse. She said I should be a more compassionate caretaker. Darol enjoyed that quite a bit.

We went to the all-night buffet. Grant had designed a little flap in the bubble that could be briefly opened to put food in. So we both filled our flapholes with freshly-carved turkey and mashed potatoes. We wanted to grab a plate of french silk pie for dessert but we had tickets to a great show and had to get moving.

At the marvelous Mirage Hotel is a Cirque du Soleil show called “Beatles: Love”. I got Darol a seat in the handicapped section (the only area with enough room for his bubble) and I tried to get a seat as close to him as I could. I was trying to be a compassionate caretaker, you see.

The show started and it was fantastic! The classic music of the Beatles set to incredible feats of physicality on a huge stage. Just awesome. And then….the darndest thing….as “Octopus’ Garden” played on the soundtrack 17 people came rolling out on stage in giant plastic bubbles. Behind me I heard a kid mutter, “I bet that guy in the bubble a few rows down is part of the show!” Before I could do anything the little snot-nosed punk kicked Darol’s bubble in the butt, and Darol went sailing down a ramp onto the big stage.

What happened next was like some kind of drug-fueled nightmare. A guy on huge stilts came out and started bouncing Darol’s bubble like a basketball. Some of the other circus people in their bubbles started bouncing off Darol. By the time I finally flagged down an usher they were loading Darol into a giant cannon for the grand finale.

For accidentally endangering Darol’s life, Cirque du Soleil gave us “Beatles Love” T-shirts and tickets to see the show again.

For our final night in Vegas, we walked–well, I walked, Darol sort of rolled around–looking at the incredible views. We went into a White Castle and I shoved 6 sliders down his bubble-hole. It was a wonderful vacation. Grant’s bubble proved a marvel in engineering. Even though it almost got sucked into the escalator again at the Vegas airport on the way back home.