It has been one of those Vegas trips.

When I talk about Vegas, I am not talking about activities and experiences in small doses.

Lads group trips on Instagram be captioned ‘Vegas aint ready for us’ – as if they are the first men in the world, to ever think they will be ‘the coolest people in Vegas’. When, they are the ones waiting in queues for 3 hours to get into Hakkasan, and once inside sip on warm beers for the next three hours before going back to the Excalibur (sorry if you are uncool and don’t understand this, look it up).

You wait in queues for three hours. I am on the guest list.

We are not the same.

So when I talk about Vegas, we are not talking about small scale. In fact, these trips will make you feel like a character out of ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’.

So, if done properly, it is not for the faint hearted.

Anyway to cut a long story short, I need drugs to get through the Vegas days.

I love drugs.

When I say I love drugs, I mean the type that come in brown paper bag(s) from my pharmacist. I take them everywhere and on all my trips. This sounds like a random statement, but, it plays part in the story. I am not a rambling drug addict, I promise.

3 days fly by in the great desert and now we are waiting to board our flight home.

And bitches are tired.

When I say bitches, I mean me.

And when I say we, I mean myself and my boss, David.

David seems quite perky and happy, after winning a large sum of money at the casino the night before.

I see his wallet bulging and I am wondering, how can it possibly be, that the rich, just get richer… and so on. Anyway, anyway here we are clambering onto the flight, my legs feel like tree stumps. I am wondering if I will die of exhaustion and if I will ever feel human again. I haven’t felt human since our first trip to Vegas years prior. I am basically just a Zombie now.

We get to our seats and I sit down, pull out my table and start to count out my pills.

One for anxiety, one for skin and nails, one for depression, one for Vitamin D because, I can hear my mothers voice asking me if I am getting enough ‘sun vitamins’ ‘and other important vitamins’ because despite the fact that I am almost 30, she thinks I might die of scurvy or lack of sunshine from living in the UK. I eat fruit and vegetables, mum. Only a few nibbles but I try. I am not exactly eating crack sandwiches.

Still.

Anyway, unpacking my pills, one by one. I am very happy to bring out the Urbanols and Adco Zolpedien.

For those of you who are not pill popping maniacs, these are anti anxieties and sleeping tablets.

I bring them from my third world, home country, because the UK Dr’s are stingy and you will have to be dying or have your arm half chopped off for anyone to pay attention to you.

I am conscious that David is staring at this curious case of pill unpacking.  

What are these and can I have one? He asks.

I think about it for a second.

Should be OK really, I mean, no one really died from just taking one Urbanol or Adco? Even if I give him a little one.

Surely?

I am wondering if I have read any stories about people dying from just ONE tablet…

Nah.

Should be fine, I tell myself.

I am ABOUT to count out for him, half a sleeping tablet and half an anxiety tablet…

I think it will just help him sleep a tiny bit, maybe a few hours, so that we don’t have to be forced into weird talks about the weather, followed by awkward silences.

Did I mention he is also not very chatty, but somehow I feel awkward not being chatty back, and then, before you know it, I am just chatty Cathy talking absolute BOLLOCKS for hours, driving everyone insane, and then they are like ‘well once I was talking to this absolutely LOONY who didn’t shut up for one moment and now I am in the psychiatric ward’

Anyway, anyway,

I am not in the mood for chatty Cathy today. No Sir!

I look away for JUST ONE second, turn back and the pills are gone.

David, I say, (feeling like I am talking to a toddler) what did you do with the pills?

Oh I took them! He seems pleased, swigging on his red wine.

Who has a wine at 10 am and mixes this with pills? (Aside me, obviously).

But, you were meant to only take half! I feel a slight sweat come on. I am not sure if this is sheer panic or just sweating out the toxins from the last few days.

Well what’s a whole tablet going to do me? Can’t be that bad!

He laughs out loud, like a loon, on loon tablets. I am wondering if this is the pill kicking in.

Once I took these pills and hallucinated, seeing Dumbledore at the end of my bed, with carrots as fingers.

He has taken the entire sleeping tablet, along with the Urbanol and mixed it with the wine.

I have a freak image of myself in court, trying to explain how my boss magically died on a flight.

Okay, well it’s too late now. I reason with myself, maybe in his free time, he does a lot of drugs? I am sure his body has been through worse.

I go to the toilet to start my ‘long haul, in flight routine’ (cleaning my face with a flannel, taking my bra off and so on).

I return to my seat to find David slumped over, in his seat, like a rag doll.

The flight has not taken off yet.

We’re still on the tarmac.

Shit.

I poke him.

Hello. Hi.

wakey wakey, I am feeling a little more sweaty now.

I try tell him that he can have a toasted cheese and he should wake up for this.

He loves toasted cheeses.

Nothing.

At all.

Is he dead?

Oh my god this is some CSI shit.

Jesus, take the wheel!

What if he IS DEAD and WE HAVE A DEAD PERSON ON BOARD, how long will the body take to decompose? When does it start smelling?

I come to my senses and figure I can just check If he is alive, by checking his pulse and I also realise I need a hobby which doesn’t include serial killer murder documentaries.

I realise I am a dummy too and have no idea how to check this properly, where do I even press?

I get a tissue and dangle this in front of his mouth, the tissue flaps a bit.

OK HE IS BREATHING

and I should really learn to check this kind of stuff.

I make a mental note ‘learn how to check pulses properly, in case you accidentally think you have killed your boss’.

What if an actual emergency happens one day and I can’t do a basic task like check a pulse? I bet cats can do this. Cats are doing everything these days, they are all over You Tube, those rich fuckers.

Shut up brain! Lets focus on the positives, that he is alive, thank God, I don’t have to go to jail today. But also damn, I could have been heir to this company throne and COO.

I realise I am extremely dark and laugh to myself. I am probably a sociopath.

The air hostess comes along to check everyone has their seatbelt on.

Does your husband have his belt on?

I want to cringe that she thinks we are married.

I laugh nervously, ha, um no, I tell her.

She asks if he is OK.

She looks concerned.

He is looking a little extra ‘raggy-dollish’

HE IS FINE, I tell her. We have just had a heavy week in Vegas (she probably hears this all the time from those ‘Vegas ain’t ready for us’ guys)

He needs to be strapped in, she scolds me.

She is annoyed at us, but dutifully helps.

We are both faffing around now and awkwardly trying to jab the seat belt closed. I think I just brushed his penis.

Is this sexual harassment? Where does this fall on the scale of inappropriate behaviour?

I have an intrusive thought flash through my brain…

Me in the court room and the Judge says “You drugged your boss and then touched him inappropriately while he was passed out’. 100% looks believable to the Jury people and I will say ‘I was trying to help’! Yeah right. SURE. Off you go to jail now. Bye. See you never!”

PLEASE STOP BRAIN.

We eventually manage to buckle him in.

The air hostess wonders off now, giving me a shady look.

We start off on the longest 8 hours of my life.

I used so many bits of tissue to put under his nose and in front of his mouth to check that he is breathing, the floor around us looks like an ideal snowy Christmas day, bits of white fluff everywhere.

We land at Gatwick and suddenly, David is wide awake.

OH WOW he exclaims, I feel AMAZING, so rested, I can’t believe we’re here already! I don’t even remember anything!

I am in disbelief.

Those pills were amazing. You have invented teleportation! Although, you do look terrible. Did you not get any sleep?

No, I tell him. I did not SLEEP A WINK

You really shouldn’t have any Vodka, he says. It makes you all pale the day after, like a salamander, you should try relax more, you’re sooo stressed all the time. BTW can you organise me a script for these?

No, I cannot get you a script, I tell him.

He looks disappointed but simply says:

Okay, well bye, see yah (and I quite literally, will only see him next year).

and wanders off into the UK ONLY passport aisle.

I wait 2 hours to be let through the NON EU/UK passport aisle.

I get to the front.

The border control man says “Ahh, you’ve been in Vegas! I can see that, you should get some sleep”

I can’t believe I pay tax for this shit.