Mother's Little Helper goes to Vegas

We were looking for something edible in Vegas airport. Plenty of slot machines to while away the hours, not a lot to eat. Well, that's not strictly true. Shitloads of stuff to eat, but none of it edible.

We settled on a shop that sold fresh baked cinnanmon scroll thingies, plastered in a sticky toffee-like substance and really thick white icing that at that hour,before we had managed to find a coffee, looked vaguely terrifying. Still, to only alternative was Starbucks, which we refused to patronise, and the small young woman (who looked about twelve) behind the counter very helpfully offered to bringing us a bun fresh out of the oven before she put the icing on, so we stayed. We were hoping that the lack of icing make it palatable, but it was soaked in a thick chemical-flavoured syrup. It was kind of like sucking on a syrupy kitchen sponge.

We took our seats and tried the coffee, which was unfortunately on a par with most of the coffee we encountered in that little patch of the US - i.e shit (more on this later). Still, we were in an airport. Nothing else to do but play the slots, but the coffee was dispiriting enough without compounding the disappointment by posting parcels of cash to an unseen strangers who gave you nothing in return but tacky coloured lights and unpleasant beeping noises.

So, we staying where we were, watching while the small woman worked away baking and icing and serving behind the counter, while four of her colleagues sat on the table next to us, wolfing down the heavily iced bun thingies as fast as their desultory conversation would allow. Each one of them was about three times the body mass of the little one working away behind the counter. Three out of four wore the same blue uniform. The fourth, who seemed to be the boss, wore beige.

A fifth arrived (we will call her #5) said "hi" as she passed the table, and disappeared through the doors at the back. Eventually she joined the small one working behind the counter, though whatever it was she was doing it didn't seem to involve either making the buns or serving the customers. This went on for 20 minutes or so, until one the uniformed Bun-eaters (we shall call her #1) got up with a huge sigh, and with five or six very slow and laboured steps, joined her companion at the counter.

Having arrived at her destination, #1 sighed, looked at something behind the counter, sighed again, and then bent down and emerged with a pile of about ten baking trays. The same routine was repeated, and this time a stack of pre-cut baking paper appeared. She began joining the two together. Picking a piece of paper off a pile and putting it in the baking tray did not appear to be a complex task, but it seemed to take a great deal of contemplation. Pick up paper,look at it, put paper in tray, look at it. Sigh.Put hands on tray. Sigh. Pick up tray. Look at it. Move arms to left. Put down tray. Look at it. Sigh again. Move eyes towards paper. The process was hypnotic without being in any way calming.

Anyway, turns out she didn't acheive that glacial pace without help. (In my own defense, I would like to point out here that I wasn't actually trying to eavesdrop, but it was hard to avoid becoming unwilling witness when a conversation is being hollered half-way across a stark shiny linoeum floor):

#5 - You okay?
#1 - Yeah. I jus' tired. (lengthy pause) How you doin'?
# 5 - I doin' good. Oh yeah. I got these new ones. I feelin' fine.
#1 - Are they red? I got red ones.
#5 - No, they blue. Blue with, like, yella in the middle. Right roun' the middle there.
#1 - They got a hole in the middle?
#5 - No, they blue with this like yella bit. They not like pills. They like...what's the word (she looks over to Ms Beige). Capsula? Capsula? What's that?
Ms Beige - Capsules.
#5 - Capsula?
Ms Beige - Capsules. That's right. Its 'capsules'.
#5 - Capsules. Blue and yellow.
#1 - Oh. Right. Okay.
(#5 leaves)
#1 - (to Ms Beige)I got these red ones.
Beige - Yeah?
#1 - Yeah. They red.(pause) They help me relax. Like for stress, you know? (yawns)They help you relax? (long pause) But they make you tired. (pause). I tired.
Beige - Okay.
#1 - I real relaxed, though. (long pause) I guess.

Well, there are worse ways to spend your minimum-wage working day than heavily medicated. Possibly even paid for by your job-linked health-care plan. I predict a bright future for the manufacturers of the blue ones with the yella stripes.

Invest now.