Friday, January 15, 2016
By now I was quite sick of Subway sandwiches but I knew the other dining options in the hotel were needlessly more expensive so I again made a breakfast of a sub, this time a rather lackluster steak and cheese. For the second morning in a row the sandwich "artist" who made my meal was some bonehead guy who just rubbed me the wrong way for some reason. He was not only an incredible moron who needed explicit direction on how to do everything but he was trying too hard to "impress" me with his fancy condiment bottle tosses and what I'm sure he felt was wicked cool knife skills. And, of course, like everyone else here, he was chatty as all fuck. He also had what I can only describe as a Vegas speech affectation...every word he said just blended lazily into each other like a subtle slur or someone who doesn't know English just repeating vowel sounds without any idea of what they're saying. Everybody talked this way. Maybe they were all drunk? It was just irritating as fuck.
While I munched on my already cold grey meat sandwich and sipped my weak, probably instant coffee I got at the hotel's "fancy" restaurant Seigel's 1941, I tallied up my week's expenses - all tolled just under $700. Not bad for five days (since I'd forecast the remaining expenses into this figure) including parking for my car back at the Orlando airport. But would I do it again? I don't think so. I think I've experienced enough of Vegas so I probably won't ever come back.
After checking out, I decided to wait for the airport shuttle by playing ONE LAST TIME. I chose another video poker old school machine, this one was even a CRT. Unlike most in the house, this actually still dispensed coins too! I let it suck up my twenty and within a couple of minutes I was down half my stake. Figures. I was about to hit CASH OUT when I decided to let it ride one more time. I got two pairs, nervously held them, spun, and held my breath. I came up with the third number 10 card for a Tens over Kings full house. Whoo Hoo! The quarters came gushing out into the tin pan clanging and clinking and making a general commotion. I was a winner! I filled my bucket, took it to coin redemption and got back $21.50. I was ahead by a buck fifty. Good enough for me. I walked over to the exit and never looked back. I imagine the desolate dealers standing guard at their empty card tables nodded slowly in appreciation. "That's the way to do it, man. That's the way to do it."
I rode with a very chatty driver on the free shuttle to the airport. Another hotel guest on the ride revealed she'd won $1000 at the slots only to have the bulk of it stolen out of her purse while she let her guard down momentarily. This sad story REALLY summed up Vegas. Even winners become losers when it's all said and done. Sad to say, I really wouldn't put it out of the realm of possibility that the hotel themselves may have arranged for this theft to occur. Does a notorious mob run facility really turn over a new leaf entirely in the age of the modern Vegas?
I was ready to go home. I arrived at the airport around noon. I was scheduled to fly out at 11:55 pm, almost 12 hours later. Needless to say, the hours crawled slowly by. As the sun set on the Nevada desert landscape outside the large terminal windows I welcomed the night in with one last visit to one of the airport bars: Wolfgang Puck's. I plunked down over $50 for just four beers and one shot of Petron Silver.
As I was listening to the airport sound system muzak, I heard what sounded like the B-52s singing about Las Vegas, I never heard this before but it sounded like one of their early works, most of which I was very familiar with. I looked it up on my phone and indeed there was a song called "Queen of Las Vegas" that they wrote in '83, the year after I fell out of love with them. Well go figure. What a perfect way to rock out for this travelogue:
By now I was quite sick of Subway sandwiches but I knew the other dining options in the hotel were needlessly more expensive so I again made a breakfast of a sub, this time a rather lackluster steak and cheese. For the second morning in a row the sandwich "artist" who made my meal was some bonehead guy who just rubbed me the wrong way for some reason. He was not only an incredible moron who needed explicit direction on how to do everything but he was trying too hard to "impress" me with his fancy condiment bottle tosses and what I'm sure he felt was wicked cool knife skills. And, of course, like everyone else here, he was chatty as all fuck. He also had what I can only describe as a Vegas speech affectation...every word he said just blended lazily into each other like a subtle slur or someone who doesn't know English just repeating vowel sounds without any idea of what they're saying. Everybody talked this way. Maybe they were all drunk? It was just irritating as fuck.
While I munched on my already cold grey meat sandwich and sipped my weak, probably instant coffee I got at the hotel's "fancy" restaurant Seigel's 1941, I tallied up my week's expenses - all tolled just under $700. Not bad for five days (since I'd forecast the remaining expenses into this figure) including parking for my car back at the Orlando airport. But would I do it again? I don't think so. I think I've experienced enough of Vegas so I probably won't ever come back.
After checking out, I decided to wait for the airport shuttle by playing ONE LAST TIME. I chose another video poker old school machine, this one was even a CRT. Unlike most in the house, this actually still dispensed coins too! I let it suck up my twenty and within a couple of minutes I was down half my stake. Figures. I was about to hit CASH OUT when I decided to let it ride one more time. I got two pairs, nervously held them, spun, and held my breath. I came up with the third number 10 card for a Tens over Kings full house. Whoo Hoo! The quarters came gushing out into the tin pan clanging and clinking and making a general commotion. I was a winner! I filled my bucket, took it to coin redemption and got back $21.50. I was ahead by a buck fifty. Good enough for me. I walked over to the exit and never looked back. I imagine the desolate dealers standing guard at their empty card tables nodded slowly in appreciation. "That's the way to do it, man. That's the way to do it."
I rode with a very chatty driver on the free shuttle to the airport. Another hotel guest on the ride revealed she'd won $1000 at the slots only to have the bulk of it stolen out of her purse while she let her guard down momentarily. This sad story REALLY summed up Vegas. Even winners become losers when it's all said and done. Sad to say, I really wouldn't put it out of the realm of possibility that the hotel themselves may have arranged for this theft to occur. Does a notorious mob run facility really turn over a new leaf entirely in the age of the modern Vegas?
I was ready to go home. I arrived at the airport around noon. I was scheduled to fly out at 11:55 pm, almost 12 hours later. Needless to say, the hours crawled slowly by. As the sun set on the Nevada desert landscape outside the large terminal windows I welcomed the night in with one last visit to one of the airport bars: Wolfgang Puck's. I plunked down over $50 for just four beers and one shot of Petron Silver.
 |
| Even airport window blinds become interesting after a long day of waiting. |
As I was listening to the airport sound system muzak, I heard what sounded like the B-52s singing about Las Vegas, I never heard this before but it sounded like one of their early works, most of which I was very familiar with. I looked it up on my phone and indeed there was a song called "Queen of Las Vegas" that they wrote in '83, the year after I fell out of love with them. Well go figure. What a perfect way to rock out for this travelogue: