I moved to Las Vegas last week. And I lived there a total of six days before I concluded that perhaps moving to Vegas sans car, job or apartment probably wasn’t the wisest of decisions. I’m now a little broker, a little wiser and back to sleeping on my parents sofa bed in California.
I know. Crazy, huh?
I don’t know how normal people relocate but judging from the “What do you mean you moved here without a job?” comments people threw at me, I’m guessing they find a job before they do so…or at the very least a car.
I’ve discovered that Las Vegas is one of those American ‘cities’ that doesn’t have reliable public transportation. Nobody rides the bus unless they’re 12 or sweating out a DUI suspension. And it’s easy to see why, considering the buses only run every hour and a half! Las Vegas is also located smack dab in the middle of a desert which means that it’s freakin HOT. 120 degree Fahrenheit hot. In other words, too hot to be trudging two miles to the bus stop and back.
People tried to warn me about this. But I figured that they were car people, so what did they know? They’d never taken a bus in their lives. I, on the other hand, had lived most of my adult life in places like Europe or New York City or Japan where cars aren’t only unnecessary but in an inconvenience.
So why did I move there, you ask?
Probably for the same reasons thousands of other broke and unemployed people move there…it’s cheap. I figured that Vegas would be a good place to save money. And I’d heard stories about friends’ neighbor’s third cousins’ who lived in three bedroom condos with a swimming pool and a two car garage for under 1,000 dollars a month. So even though I’ve always found Vegas to be a cultureless wasteland, I decided that I could handle living five hours from the ocean if it meant that I’d be able to save a bit of money for grad school and live like a rock star in the process.
But as I quickly realized, all of the apartments that are within walking distance from the casinos and resorts where I’d be able to find employment, were super sketchy, over-priced crap. I mean, 600 dollars for a studio with bars on the windows and a blood stains on the carpet! Are you kidding me?! I’ve lived in pretty impoverished conditions in the past (I once lived in a sleeping bag in my friend’s kitchen), but I totally refuse to share a building with shirtless, toothless crack heads and their white trash prostitutes.
You gotta draw the line somewhere, I guess.
So now the new plan is to only apply for jobs in American cities where you don’t need a car…which really limits me to NYC, San Francisco, Boston or Chicago.
It’s funny because everybody’s reaction to my predicament is: “So…Tell me again why you left a perfectly good job in Japan for THIS?” And by THIS, they mean a life as a broke, unemployed couch surfer.
To which I reply: I don’t know. What the F was I thinking?
If someone were to make my life into a movie, this song would be the title theme of the soundtrack.