Sequins at 3 AM and My First Night Alone in Vegas
July 16, 2025
By Tammy Davis
Departure
For years—maybe even decades—my college roommate invited me to join her family’s annual Vegas getaway, but I always had an excuse: too broke, too single, too many people relying on me. And, truth be told, I didn’t think Vegas was my kind of place. Too flashy. Too wild. Too indulgent. Too much of everything that I’m not. But, the curious part of my personality made me want to experience Vegas one time. Once would be enough, I thought. So, this year, I finally said, “yes.”
Arrival
The caffeine buzz wore off at some point. Several blurry airport hours and one uneventful flight later, the plane began its descent. From above, Vegas looked like a strange little oasis plopped in the desert. The Sphere shimmered and shifted with LED magic. The Stratosphere needle towered above it all. Then came the miniatures: a golden pyramid, a scaled-down Eiffel Tower, a knockoff Statue of Liberty. It all felt unnatural. But also… exciting. Kind of like sequins before noon.
I knew I wouldn’t join Regina’s carefully planned itinerary until Day Two. Everyone else had tickets to Kenny Chesney at The Sphere. I had no ticket—and no real plans—for night one. No itinerary. No expectations. Just me. After decades spent raising kids, tending to students, trying to heal a foot that just does not want to cooperate, and taking in my aging mother, I found myself free. No responsibilities. Nobody needing me. Nobody but me.
I shifted from “I’m all alone in Vegas” to “I’ve got Vegas all to myself.”
At first, I thought I’d hang by the rooftop pool—but that felt too… ordinary. I could sit by a pool back home. And besides, my sequin bomber jacket didn’t make much sense as a swimsuit cover-up, even in Vegas.
Still in my travel outfit—sparkles on top, compression socks below—I perched on the hotel bed and Googled: “Things to do in Las Vegas—besides gambling, shopping, and shows.”
It’s taken me almost sixty years, but I’ve gotten good at knowing what I like. Learning something new always tops the list.
So I refined the search: “Things to do in Las Vegas for history lovers.” When I saw that reformed mobster Frank Calabrese Jr. was speaking at the Mob Museum, I didn’t hesitate. General admission was $35—a fraction of what I’d lose in a casino in ten minutes.
My practical, safety-conscious friend didn’t try to stop me. She just made sure I had the hotel address saved in my phone and offered three stern rules: “Do NOT make eye contact. Do NOT take any flyers, samples, or gifts. And most importantly, try to use good sense.”
Final Destination
My Uber arrived almost instantly like another Vegas illusion. “Mob Museum?” the driver asked, with either confusion or concern—I couldn’t tell. I was worried my voice would sound high and tight the way it does when I’m nervous, so I simply nodded.
As we pulled away from the glitzy heart of the Strip, the vibe of the city shifted. Less Wynn and MGM Grand, more cheesy wedding chapels and the faded Circus Circus. From shiny city to seedy underbelly. My friend’s warnings echoed louder.
When the driver turned onto a side street, I almost asked to go back to the “boring” rooftop pool at the hotel. But then, the car stopped. Destination on the right. The stately neoclassical building with its limestone columns and elegant symmetry stood in sharp contrast to its shady surroundings. Everything around it looked flimsy in comparison. Quality counts. It always does. In people and in buildings. Drew Holcomb sings of finding your people. Me? I tend to find my places. And this one felt right.
I blame my foot, but truth be told, I’m probably at the age where I should never go up or down steps without holding on to the rail. But the desert sun made this one too hot to touch. I was already living on the edge as I made my way to the entrance like a young person who never thought of stumbling over a missed step or turning an ankle.
Map in hand, I paused in the shade and read the building’s backstory. Built in 1933, the structure had served as both a post office and federal courthouse for over seventy years before its transformation into a museum. The building and I already had something in common. Transformations and transitions. I was starting to think Vegas might be more my kind of place than I’d imagined.
I took the elevator down to the basement to the speak easy, but I couldn’t just walk right in. What’s the fun in that? A museum docent posted by the door asked me for the password.
“Pinot Grigio?” I offered, like a student who knows the answer is wrong but tries anyway.
She might’ve been a retired schoolteacher, too. “Try again,” she said, with a sigh that probably came out louder than she intended. She knew I was drawing a blank, so she softened a bit and offered a hint the way all good teachers do. “Think Prohibition,” she said with encouragement in her voice.
With a little too much excitement and volume I answered, “Whiskey!”
“No! Moonshine!” she said flatly, “but go on in.”
And in that moment, I knew she didn’t miss teaching school one bit. But I did. I always do. The classroom’s behind me, but it hasn’t let me go. Not fully. But this trip wasn’t about looking back. This trip was about being present. And looking ahead. And, that’s exactly what I was trying to do.
The speakeasy was moody and atmospheric, the menu unexpectedly interesting and almost educational. I ordered the Mezze plate and learned about how vegetarianism evolved alongside kitchen appliances in the 1920s. I was tempted by the Bee’s Knees and Giggle Water, but decided to stick with what worked for me: a glass of wine and a glass of water. A bit boring—but safe.
I sipped, nibbled, and silently thanked the universe for bringing me to that quirky little spot. I wasn’t just killing time or chasing an interesting speaker. I was creating happiness on my own terms. There’s power in that hard-earned skill.
Maybe it was the wine on an empty stomach, but I felt deeply content. Contentment is an underappreciated state—and one of my favorites.
The waitress interrupted my deep reflection to see if I wanted another glass. I did, but the time had slipped up on me, so I handed her some cash without waiting on change. Somehow the exchange of money already felt different in Vegas- even though I had only been in town a few hours. Oh, well. Whether you lose it at a craps table or overtip a waitress, it’s still money spent on experience. I was okay with my choice.
Because I had to go.
Frank Calabrese’s story was about to begin.
And—though I didn’t know it yet—so was an important chapter in mine.
Coming soon: “Focus, Interrupted”
Sequins might have helped me get into the spirit of Vegas, but it was a former mobster who helped me find my focus. Sin City had already surprised me once—turns out, it had more lessons to teach.
Tammy Davis is a teacher and a writer finding lessons in everyday life. Go to www.tammydavisstories.com or @tammydavisstories
