Surviving Las Vegas - pt III
Free piece today. Because why not? I want you to subscribe though. Please?
Part 1 is here.
Part 2 is here.
So far I’ve shared thoughts on my recent Vegas trip at the above links. It’s a bit messy and disorganized, but then again Vegas lends itself to this sort of thing. Vegas is a mix-tape of the good, the bad, and the ugly. And since it was my first time, there was loads of incredulity thrown into the mix as well. That and stepping over prone bodies. Never quite got used to this part. Maybe next time.
So what follows is just a series of random observances from a first time visitor. These are in no particular order because like most people there I lost track of what time it was, or even what day it was.
Escalators. They are all over the strip. They are all over the casinos. And almost none of them work. The busiest men in Vegas were the escalator repair guys. They are crawling all over the place, like ants. They all look very confused, are laden down with serious looking tools, but seem to be in no hurry whatsoever. It’s like they’ve never actually seen the inner workings of an escalator before, and are just taking it all in as the world trudges up the steps around them. It got to the point where if you came across an actual working escalator you were stunned and ran towards it before it conked out. If you needed one to go down, only the up one was working. If you wanted to go up, only the down one was operational. And if it rained, they turned them off completely. And speaking of….
Rain. It rains an average of 4 times a year in Vegas. They get something like 5 inches in total. Did it rain while I was there? Of course it did. On our last day we had to venture out into an absolute deluge to get to the airport….and that’s when we were reminded that, glitz aside, we were still in the middle of the fucking Mohave desert. There is absolutely no place for rain to go…so it just rises and rises on the streets and sidewalks. I was sloshing in rain up to my ankles. The rain was the lead story on the morning news. Vegas drivers drive in rain like Texas drivers drive on ice. There was 11 accidents that morning during rush hour, and a few were life threatening. At one point water was pooling on the hotel lobby floor. I doubt rain has ever pooled on the floor of the Mid Valley Motel. A quick YouTube search showed previous rains cascading through the televisions on the walls of a Casino Sportsbook. I’ve never seen a place so utterly unprepared for sudden downpours. I’ve seen port-a-potty’s with better drainage.
Slot Machines. I wasn’t used to this. I thought everything was like the Joker’s Wild on TV and you’d clearly know when you won or lost. Three of the same across and all that. But even people who have been playing slots for years seem to have no fucking idea what any of the gibberish on the screen means. There’s tons of different combinations. It either tells you if you won, or if your “spin” just cost you cash. And that’s it. You jam a $20 in there…..and in 3 tries you’re down like $6. Then you win a few dollars. Then you lose $6 more. And so it goes until it’s gone. Even if I won, if the machine decided to tell me I lost I’d have no idea it was lying to me. The only thing that makes giving your money to large multi-national corporations a tad easier is being able to drink for free while you’re doing so….but finding an actual waitress can sometimes feel like wishing on a Bigfoot sighting.
Cops. As in, there are none. I didn’t see one official cop the 5 days I was there. Plenty of dubious looking Casino security lurking around, packing mace and making sure you weren’t fucking with the blackjack dealer or trying to deface the Gordon Ramsay sign, but outside you were pretty much on your own….hoping the catatonic guy you just stepped over at the front door at Planet Hollywood didn’t suddenly awake and decide to shank you with a sharded bottle of Modelo. Even during the Stanley Cup celebration, cops were nowhere to be found. That being said, while Vegas seems on the verge of anarchy 24-7, it seems to know just how far to take things. The trouble I saw was pretty minor all things considered…especially since sobriety makes you feel like you’re walking around naked.
Prices. They are uniformly outrageous, but if you dig a little and walk around a LOT you can find some deals. Inside the hotel where I paid $13 for a pint of Guinness and $23 for scrambled eggs there’s a place buried in the innards where you can get a full breakfast for less than $10 and a bar that sells every beer you can possibly name for $3 each. The problem is that word spreads fast, and by the time you find out about these cheaper places their lines are wrapped around corners. Your best bet as always is to leave the hotels, but their genius it to make it incredibly easy not to. Use your common sense….that is if you have any left after losing half your money to slot machines you do not understand.
Maid Service. We stayed 4 nights. We requested maid service for our entire stay. After the first night? They went into the ether. Ghosts. Gone. Nowhere to be found. Like cocktail waitresses. We took to stealing towels and soap off any rig we could find. Left our garbage and towels outside our door. No matter how many times I called down and said the room wasn’t made up, they just laughed at me and insinuated it was because I had the “do not disturb sign” on. I didn’t. Later a maid pulled me aside and told me they were woefully understaffed, and routinely skipped rooms. Lesson learned. Once they got you in the joint, unless you were a high roller, you could fuck right off. Make your own bed, Bubba.
Traffic. The Raiders play at Allegiant Stadium. The As apparently will be playing in a new park close-by, after they demolish a historic hotel to fit them in. The U2 residency is at a brand new place called the Sphere. All of these places are jammed alongside the strip, which was already completely fucked traffic-wise before they even existed. Whatever traffic planning meetings these people hold must be filled with stoned, drunk civil servants with wicked senses of humor. To make things ever worse, at any given time half of the strip is under construction, although you’d be hard pressed to see any actual work being done, other than the bored looking guys laying down traffic cones. In short, it’s a complete and utter shitshow that you’re left to deal with on your own, since Vegas cops aren’t allowed to respond to minor strip accidents anymore. Your best bet is always a cab or an Uber…..with the caveat that both drivers will fuck you bone dry if they think they can get away with it, which they always think they can unless you announce yourself as Lucky Luciano’s grandson or something. And even when they’re on the level, it could cost you $50 to go 4 miles. There’s a reason that one day we walked over 15 miles.
It was a financial necessity. Wear comfortable shoes. That’s my advice.
Shows. They are everywhere. All kinds. Comedians. Wayne Newton, who I assumed was dead, is still there, singing for underwear at the Flamingo. Donny Osmond is 10 feet tall on a sign in front of Harrah’s. There are magicians. Bruno Mars and Usher were coming. Keith Urban was at our hotel. Adele was opening at Caesars Palace the day we left.
But you know what? Sod all of them. We went to see the Beatles LOVE at the Mirage….which featured circus stuff and a pretty unintelligible story line, but reminded me for 90 minutes how great a drummer Ringo Starr was (and still is). It was wildly enjoyable and I found myself thinking to myself “$15 for this 32 oz beer is not a bad deal”….and when this happens it’s time to leave Vegas, because it’s gotten to you.
Final thoughts. I don’t really have any other than Vegas is wild and fun and infuriating and exhausting and a place that will fleece a rube to within an inch of his Fruit of the Looms. Put your wallet in your front pocket, buy your drinks at Walgreens, revel in the greatness that is Ringo, and ignore the shit out of anybody on the strip trying to hand you anything.
You might just enjoy yourself.
In a bit..
—tf