Hot August Nights, How I Hate You

Let me count the ways.

Since this years’ event started, I have been stuck behing old clunker vehicles that have needed to be pushed out of the way. I’ve also dealt with finding streets unexpectedly closed to accomodate visitors, while making it more than difficult for locals simply trying to get to work.

Each year, I have to put up with people who think that because they have been invited to Reno-Sparks, they can disregard safety. I have lost count of the blown stop signs and traffic lights and near-collisions in the last quarter-century because of visitors, both out-of-town and local.

There’s also the noise, which can be pretty exciting, but not after 10 at night. That’s when I wish I could find the culprit and stuff a potato up their vehicle’s exhaust pipe.

Finally, when all is said and done—not one penny has been added to my pocket because of Hot August Nights. Oh, sure, the casinos, the hotels, the motels, the Reno-Sparks Convention and Vistors Authority and HAN organizers are making money, but they have yet to drive business to my bride’s two sandwich shops.

I count six