Want to know what the hottest ticket in Las Vegas is right now?
No, it's not Marquee at the Cosmo. Or XS at the Wynn. It's not Pure or Tao or any other mono-syllabic night club with a celebrity DJ or outdoor pool area.
Nope, it's not even a night club. It's not a show or a restaurant or some silly rave in the desert with a weird sounding name like "the Electric Daisy Carnival."
The hottest ticket in town, folks, is...
...10:30 Storytime at the Windmill Library.
I'm not joking. And today, Scotty and I were denied at the door.
Ouch. It still stings a bit.
This is seriously the hot spot for the 3 and under (jet) set. The doors to the library open promptly at 10am, and Storytime begins at 10:30. There is usually a snaking line of toddlers and their parents wrapped around the building by 9:55am. I've seen it; the first time we went, under serious advice to get there early, I was shocked to see the throngs of people lined up. Was Elmo making a special appearance? Was Thomas the Train DJ-ing?
Nope, it was just your average Thursday morning Storytime. And for whatever reason, it was a big deal.
We've attended - and gotten in - the last few weeks. But today we were running late. I didn't pack up the Bear until ten, and we parked in the lot at 10:16am.
Then the "slow burn" commenced.
(i.e. Scotty walking to the door by himself.)
Why is it that everyone else's toddler runs away from them, yet mine takes the long way, every time? The kid picks up rocks, touches the flowers, pats the sidewalk. He kicks at stuff, points to things, and expects me to offer a running commentary on everything we see. It's exhausting and frustrating, particularly when we are running late. And then when he does take a step, it's a quarter of mine. I was trying hard not to push him, but at one point, I think I yelled, "Pick it up already!"
Scotty just looked at me and blinked. Slowly.
By the time we reached the librarian's desk after the very long walk through the atrium, I knew it was too late. The clock was approaching 10:22. The librarian, whom we shall call Ms. L, looks nice but there is a steel glint of cold unforgiveness in her eyes. As I approached the desk and feigned stupidity, holding my hand out to collect our two precious admission tickets, she didn't even smile.
"Sorry. We're all out of tickets."
I smiled again, this time trying to disarm her. I mean, she's a librarian. This whole drunk-with-power thing was really getting old. She runs Storytime like we're prepping the kids for the bar exam; she has even gone so far to ask parents keep their children sitting for the duration of the hour.
Did I mention the entire program is geared for kids 18 to 36 months? Sitting? Really?
I don't think Ms. L has children of her own.
Anyways, I smiled again, shrugged, and asked, "Really? We can't squeeze in? There's only..." quick estimate "one point five of us. We won't take up much space."
Again, no smile. She actually stood up and started to walk away from me. "It's fire code. We can only have so many people in the room at once." She was now engaging another librarian in a conversation, clearly letting me know she was not budging.
Hmph. I'm not going to argue with fire code.
I managed to get in a passive aggressive "Wow, you guys are hard core" before I huffed away. And while Scotty sat and played with the other kids, I tried not to pout. When the doors opened and all the ticketed children were ushered in, I shot Ms. L one last nasty look before we headed to the back.
Scotty and I ended having a great time, despite the fact our entrance was denied. I don't know what games were played or what stories were read. I don't really care. I do know, however, that several board books were not put back on the shelf, which may or may not have been intentional.