Only in Las Vegas. Among all others in that waiting line at the Pair-A-Dice Buffet, the Bride stood out in her satin and sequined white gown. Like the rest of the hungry crowd, she patiently inched her way through the switchback fencing there to purchase her meal ticket.
The rest of the Bridal Party, as well as the family and friends, were less conspicuous. The Bride’s Parents stood attentively behind her and were the only ones who came close to matching her formality. Momma, in a stylish, cream-coloured dress, clung to Daddy’s supportive arm. Although he had removed his tie, his suit still looked freshly pressed. Both were subdued however, and when they occasionally raised their gazes, I saw pain and embarrassment in their eyes. I also saw resolve. Even though they had likely imagined a finer setting for their little girl’s matrimonial dinner, they determined to make the best of it for her sake.
The Groom was farther back in the line, ribbing with his buddies. I could not differentiate his own parents, but his Best Man endeavoured to catch the attention of the management: “Hey Buddy, do you think you could get us some seats together?”
A few of the celebrants had already imbibed of many matrimonial Margaritas and loudly provided wedding details. It was Janice and Ricky’s big day, I learned. They had thought it would be neat to get married in Las Vegas, with an Elvis recording to prompt their vows. So invitations were extended, and with very little additional planning, this day had come to be. The entire party paraded to this casino sector from one of the many wedding chapels on The Strip’s seedier side. They believed that the crowd at the Pair-A-Dice Buffet signified a good place to eat.
They were wrong. That evening’s cutting board features were beef brisket and sausage and the other main dishes were fresh from freezer boxes, soggy in instant sauces. Under the sneeze guard, the lettuce was tinged brown and buns were desert dry. In dirty smocks, staff listlessly cleared tables, swiping surfaces with grungy rags.
Despite the circumstances, everybody put on a show of good cheer with encouraging words about the food. Even Elvis seemed to further bless the occasion when his “Viva Las Vegas” came on as background music. That cheer lasted only until Janice spilled a ladle of spaghetti sauce down the front of her once-in-a-lifetime gown. Momma burst into tears. Daddy comforted both this wife and daughter. Ricky was nowhere to be seen. “I think he’s over at the desserts,” said a Bridesmaid.
I toted my plateful to a far booth in the seating area of the cavernous Pair-A-Dice Buffet, and that was the last I saw of the Janice and Ricky marriage celebration. Yet the recollection of it gurgled in my gut afterwards along with the faux Salisbury steak. A less promising start to a lifelong union was hard to imagine. Even Las Vegas odds-makers would never touch this one.
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