How I Met the Ghost of Elvis Presley in Las Vegas

I may be a bit superstitious. Sometimes I throw spilled salt over my shoulder, or cross my fingers when I buy a lottery ticket. That's as far as I go. I don't believe in psychics, space visitors and, especially know there's no such thing as a ghost.

At least I felt that way when I drove from Los Angeles to Las Vegas a couple of weeks ago. I didn't get out of work until after seven, so by the time I approached the outskirts of the city, it was just about midnight.

Running out of gas, I didn't want to have my car stall on the Strip or downtown Vegas. It happened last year, when I was there with a bunch of other guys. We were right in the middle of Highway 1-15 at drive time, and it cost us a 500 buck fine when the cops had to haul us off.

I pulled off the road at a big gas station, and went to the self-service area. Mine seemed to be the only car there, until a big yellow convertible pulled up on the other side of pumps. It was a pink 1950s Cadillac, and gleamed showroom new. As the driver got out, I could see by the dim light that he was wearing some kind of costume with sequins on it.

Then I saw his face! I couldn't miss the big hair, sideburns and famous sneer. It was Elvis, and because the time was just the stroke of midnight, I knew I was seeing a ghost. He was humming something as he filled his tank, and didn't even seem to notice I was there.

I dashed over to the station office to tell the attendant. We both ran out to the pump, but by the time we got there, Elvis was gone, along with his glitter and convertible. The attendant gave me a disgusted look, took my money and went back inside.

Feeling like a jerk, I drove back onto the road. Just about ten miles later, where I could already see the bright lights of Vegas in the distance, I noticed there was a car on the side in the dark ahead of me. It was another 1950s Cadillac convertible, this one a bright shiny blue. The driver was outside, leaning down, shining a flashlight on a back tire.

I pulled over and asked if I could help. He straightened up, and I almost fell out of my car. It was Elvis again, and I couldn't mistake the face, hair and car's glitter reflecting from his flashlight. When I could talk, I asked, "Can I help?" He smiled and said, "Thought a tire had gone flat, but it looks O.K., But, thank you, thank you very much!"

Of course, it was the ghost of Elvis. The last sentence he spoke was the famous sign-off for every Las Vegas performance he ever did. With a wave and a smile, he got into his car, and was back on the road toward the bright lights. I knew his ghost would forever haunt the city he made famous.

That did it! From then on, I knew I would believe in ghosts, at least friendly ones who thanked me very much. When I got to the Vegas hotel parking garage, I just had to tell someone about my two encounters with the ghost of Elvis. As the attendant was about to take my car, I blurted out the story. He listened politely, then pointed to a poster on the wall behind him.

The big title brought me suddenly back to reality, and with much regret about losing my illusion:

LAS VEGAS WELCOMES ELVIS IMPERSONATORS TO THEIR ANNUAL CONVENTION!