First Day of the Public Safety Writer’s Association (PSWA) Conference
I just returned from Las Vegas where I attended the PSWA conference for the fourth year in a row. Like many of my trips, it was an adventure.
I got into Vegas on Thursday around noon. It took me about an hour and a half to get from the airport, pick up my rental car and check in to Binion’s on Fremont Street. I was sitting in my room flipping through the “What’s Happening” magazine you find in every hotel when I spotted something awesome. That night, The Palms was hosting the 2009 NHL Awards. NO, WAY!!! My mind screamed. My favorite hockey players were actually in the same city I was. I had to go. I called Ticket Masters or whomever holds the monopoly on getting into events and after listening to the recorded voice who just kept politely asking me questions, I found out that the event was sold out. Of course. And, besides, would I really be able to get into an event like that on an author’s salary??
Against my common sense (yes, I do have some of that), I threw on some jeans, jumped into my teeny, tiny economy Mazda G3 (remarkably roomy inside, I must say) and headed towards The Palms. I figured I wouldn’t even get close enough to park. After sitting through 35 minutes of rush hour traffic (I love living in a rural area), I made it to the hotel. Parking was a breeze. I went in and found the theater the event was going on in. Outside were two big screen televisions showing the live action inside. Alexander Ovechkin was thanking everyone and looking every bit the scruffie, hockey hottie. I had been sitting back by some slot machines but this incredibly rude group of guys in red t-shirts (hope they weren’t Wings fans) stopped and stood right in front of me. So, I moved closer to the red rope. Not two minutes later, a gentleman in a suit walked up behind me and said, “Any hockey fans here?” In my typically, quiet and reserved way, I shouted, “ME! ME!” He looked me up and down and asked, “Do you have a dress?” After all, this was a formal affair. My mind raced. I was 45 minutes away from my hotel and the closet full of dresses I had brought. BUT, he was holding a ticket!!! “I’ll get one,” I replied. He handed me the ticket and I raced through the casino. There had to be a clothing shop. There always was one or two and this was The Palms home of the Playboy Club.
The first shop I raced in to, I told the girl I needed a dress. She started (slowly I might add) going through dresses. I explained my circumstances and told her my price limit. She immediately stopped looking and said, “You might want to try the other store.” WHATEVER. I raced out and towards the other store–The Playboy Bunny store or something. I explained my circumstances to the girl at the counter and she pulled down a strapless, way-above-the-knee black number. I tried it on, stuffed my clothes into my purse, asked about my panty-lines and bought it giving her a 10% tip. I know–cheap, but someday I’ll have the money to be a big tipper. Of course, my shoes left a lot to be desired (black, velcro Birkenstock-type to be exact). Regardless, I raced back to the theater, handed over my ticket and found my seat. I was all out of breath, looked a bit strange, but I was there. All my boys were there. Malkin, Datsyuk, Ovechkin. I was in heaven. I got a few good photographs too.
Afterwards, I rolled into the PSWA reception (still wearing the Playboy number) exclaimed all about my good fortune and then raced to the bathroom to change back into my jeans. What a way to make an entrance and begin a conference. Guess this was an omen about completing my young adult novel, eh? This was only the first day.
