Friday, July 6, 2007 | 6:54 a.m.
It's hot. Very hot, darn hot, eye-stinging hot. One hundred sixteen degrees hot. So hot sweat evaporates before it soaks through clothes, a hot that's both a temperature and a judgment, the pillar of salt kind - just unbelievably hot.
Hot hot.
But really, how hot is that?
Hot enough to send a reporter to the airport to witness people getting their first taste of The Hot and ask them how it makes them feel.
"And you just heard me say I can't breathe?" says Ashley Columbo of San Diego, standing at the baggage claim exit. She is a bridesmaid in town for one of those 7/7/07 weddings. A fellow bridesmaid, Kimberly Wold, is hanging back inside, in the air conditioning. Both of them have tropical-like drinks in their hands already, heavily iced and almost empty.
"I could never live here," Columbo says, and takes another sip.
Ha, ha, ha. The great joke is that it's not that bad at the baggage claim exit. Good deep shade, plus a nice breeze from the air conditioning leaking out of McCarran International Airport's open doors. This is baby hot, heat with training wheels still on, and nothing compared with the toaster-melting heat that awaits the tourists in the Las Vegas area. They should welcome the gentle introduction.
"Oooooohhhhh (unprintable)," one guy says.
"Wow, oh, it's (unprintably) hot," another says.
"At least it's not hot," a third says. "God. (Unprintable.)"
People's eyes peel open and their heads rock back like freshly pithed frogs. Some try to let out low whistles. One guy keeps panting "Hot...hot...hot..." and when approached for an interview just shakes his head with his mouth open.
Descha Greene walks out and clutches her chest. Within seconds she is brushing sweat from her temples. Can she answer a couple of questions?
"Quick ones," she says.
What's she going to do in town?
"Hopefully, find some air."
Did she know it was going to be this hot?
"I was made aware of it, yes," Greene says. "It just takes you aback."
OK, so she knew, but what about everyone else? This is a week with no big concerts, no real conventions , the Fourth fell in the middle of the week, and the outside temperature approximates what plasma physicists tell us the first moments of the big bang were like. Why do they come? Did these people miss the memo?
There's one middle-aged guy wearing camouflage shorts with a pink polo shirt tucked into them, is all I'm saying.
One guy sweating into his polyester says to his companions, "It's supposed to be the hottest day of the year."
"How hot do you think it is?" a woman with him says.
"I dunno," he says. "One hundred five? Maybe hotter."
A second one pipes up: "It can't be worse than Cleveland."
Everyone nods.
For the record, Cleveland was 77 degrees with a light rain Thursday.
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