Avoid Vegas, Avoid Depression

Last Thursday’s issue of USA Today quoted National Health and Nutrition Surveys statistics which, according to a report by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, said the use of anti-depressants in our country has jumped nearly 400% since 1988.

Worse yet, less than one-third of Americans taking a single anti -depressant and less than one-half of those taking multiple anti-depressants have sought the help of a mental health professional, according to the report.

Like I said in my last post, I suspect many people who are depressed are looking for help at the gaming tables and other, uh – venues - in Las Vegas. I spent five days there last week while my wife was taking some computer training. I went along for the ride because it didn’t cost that much extra and I’d never been to Sin City before.

I’m pretty sure I saw lots of depressed people in Vegas – from the guy puking in the street, to the young Japanese guy yelling angrily every time he lost a hand of blackjack, to the old guy panhandling on the sidewalk with his little dog. The dog looked like a Yorkshire terrier. Its owner had tied pink ribbons in its hair and hung pink sunglasses on its nose to make it look cute. The dog’s owner was asking people to donate money to him for a picture with his dog. That little dog sat there so patiently it broke my heart.

What a human zoo Vegas is. It is nothing more than one large vacuum cleaner set in the middle of a rocky, barren moonscape void of any real purpose except to suck every cent it can get out of you.

I almost learned to hate Starbucks too, which is all over the place in Vegas, because I got tired of standing in long lines for over-priced coffee and treats (I guess I don’t mind so much here because the lines aren’t that long most of the time). It really teed me off that the Luxor hotel where I stayed didn’t furnish coffee makers in its rooms so I had to take an elevator downstairs from my 10th floor room to the casino area to stand in a long line at Starbucks to get coffee. There were three Starbucks stores in the Luxor within steps of each other and every one had a line way out the door almost all day long. It was far easier to obtain an alcoholic beverage from an automatic vending machine. Trouble is a decent-sized vending machine margarita cost at least $7. Still, that was cheaper than a restaurant margarita which cost $12 or more.

Possibly the most depressing thing about Las Vegas though, was the loud, incessant noise, most of it in the form of piped in music everywhere 24/7 – in the casinos, in the hotels (even their lobbies), in the public restrooms, in the restaurants, in the pools, out on the street, even in the airport. The only place you could get away from the racket of rock and roll, hip-hop and rap was in your room, and I’m surprised you could do that. I noticed a speaker in the wall of my room and I suspected the Luxor could have blasted me there too if it really wanted to.

Las Vegas definitely is not a place where you vacation for quiet time. If my wife gets sent there again, I think I’ll let her go without me. It’s so depressing I might have to take drugs and seek therapy. Three bags of Sam’s poop on that.