My cab driver in Las Vegas was pretty forceful in his denouncement of the wealth of cabs on the street. "Not enough people are here for the show," he said, meaning the Consumer Electronics Show. "Last year it was 130,000, but this year it's only 80,000. And we got 750 cabs driving around. That's too much! Monday I'm retiring and going on Social Security."
Yikes. That's not the best way of driving in from the airport. But he was right. The show this year seemed quiet. There were plenty of things going on, though, but people walking around seemed to be on automatic pilot.
That is, with a few exceptions. I met them in the hallway by the Sands Convention Center. There I was, leaning against the escalator and consulting a map and trying to find the monorail, when I looked up and saw two of the most surgically enhanced, freakishly bombastic women approach. Holy smokes! They lurched across the floor, balanced gingerly on their foot-tall high heeled shoes, the weight of their mountainous blonde hair (and other things) constantly sending them off-balance. The map I held would have covered more of their bodies than their own clothes.
"Must . . . avoid . . . looking," I mumbled. But it was a train wreck, and no matter the threat of being turned to stone by their pirate-eye makeup stares, I was forced to look again and stand agog.
Behind them strolled a broad-chested fellow, wearing nothing but a floor-length white fur coat, sparkly sunglasses, and a tiny speedo, usually worn by European tourists in Orlando waterparks. I could tell he also collected tube socks, employing them not only for his feet.
And then two other conspicuously short-skirted women (by this I mean they were wearing at least two inches of fabric) rode the escalator upstairs, one woman kept tugging at her skirt to hide, I suppose, the cheekiness of a waxing full moon. She was unsuccessful.
I know now they weren't participants in CES, but rather they were there for the other trade show, the one down the hall where products are kept wrapped in brown paper, and you need at least two tattoos just to get in the door. I know this because the next person I saw was a tubby, short little guy with a ring of quasi-fro hair, a 70's style mustache, aviator sunglasses, a leisure suit with a wide open collar, and three gold medallions draped over his furry chest. He was marching quickly, his short legs pumping like little pistons, so he could catch up with the talent (as he was, undoubtedly, a Producer and very self-important in his chosen field).
I did learn something at this year's CES show: there is a Munster family slot machine. I saw it in my hotel. I would have taken a picture, but I feared the casino cameras and the burly people who operated them.
My brother goes to the CES every year and I enjoy hearing his stories of the "other" groups there as well.
Posted by: Cheryl | January 22, 2009 at 10:40 PM