Although never discussed on this blog, my meeting planning resume has been light until this week. Lots of skills and experiences are necessary to be considered an experienced meeting planner--You have to have had a fight with an AV company, you have to have complained until amenities have shown up in your room, you have to have been upgraded to a suite at least once, you have to have barged your way into the back of the house to get what you need....and you have to have done a show in Vegas. Until yesterday, I was not complete; I had never been to Vegas (okay, yes, I should point out that my dear father, whose sense of wanderlust is as great if not greater than mine, did drive me through Vegas at the age of 12. But other than that, I'm a Vegas virgin).
Sure I've put together meetings that took place in Vegas, I've even planned on staffing a few of them. But something has always interfered. A conflicting meeting, a colleague who was just dying to go, and even the dreaded MRSA. But finally, the stars aligned, and here I am.
As a disclaimer I should mention that in general, I'm not attracted to the idea of Las Vegas. I'm not a gambler (I'm cursed with terrible luck), I don't particularly like buffets (who needs THAT much shrimp cocktail?), I'm afraid of old people (I always feel like they are little ticking time bombs -- ones that go off and leave you with a .... well, I'll leave that alone), and Cirque de Soliel scares the shit out of me (how do they contort themselves in that way?!?). Even the Cher, Bette Midler, Barry Manilow angle doesn't work for me, as even though I love them, I would not pay the amount of money they are asking to see "If I Could Turn Back Time" and "Mandy".
That being said, I promised myself that I would come to Vegas with an open heart and a positive outlook. And so, as I sat listening to my cab driver tell me that I should get the half price ticket to "Love" I pictured a different side of Vegas -- the twinkling lights, the mafia, the gleam of hope in some one's eye as they pictured themselves winning a fortune, the excessive drinking, the renting of prostitutes -- the American dream, right here in the desert, and it made me happy.
I checked into the Palazzo and found my room without incident (and only had to walk through one casino to get there.) My room is very nice -- all the rooms at the Palazzo are suites and I was impressed by the sunken living room and the sheer amount of televisions. I had some time before my pre-con and so I ventured out to see what the fuss was about Vegas hotels. An hour and a half later, I returned to my guest room, which it turns out is was my only refuge from the labyrinth that is the Palazzo/Venetian property. While roaming, I noted the following things:
1.) The place is massive. After walking for 15 minutes, I had to e-mail a friend at home and admit that I was lost (thank god for blackberries). She gave me over-the-phone bread crumbs to set me straight.
2.) There are a LOT of old people here. I noticed them all at the airport with their floral suitcases and fancy wheelchairs but seeing them wandering the hotel I noticed that the percentage of them is higher than in the general population. Maybe they like it because it's the only place where things are loud enough for them?
3.) No matter where you set out to go, you will end up in a casino. The design behind this is relatively obvious but I thought I could outsmart it. I couldn't.
5.) People in Vegas really like to get their pictures taken in front of stupid things. I'll try to get a collection of pics of people getting their pictures taken to prove my point.
After my adventure, and near Hansel and Gretel experience, I was excited to return to--hell, I was just excited to find--my room and was delighted by the thought of ordering room service, putting on pj's, watching a movie and drifting off to sleep with the twinkling lights silently shining down on me.
That's when things got awkward. My room service came and a man brought in a huge rolling cart. With much flourish, he spread a linen table cloth over my dining room table and began to set my place. One plate on the table, two plates, a basket of bread and with the final plate headed to the table, his body sprang forward as he tripped, mashed potatoes flying all ... over... everything. He was immediately flustered, intimidated, and embarrassed and began apologizing repeatedly in successively higher octaves. I assured him that it was fine and not to worry. This seemed to only worry him more, as though my attempts at comfort were a sign that I was secretly going to try to get him fired. He scooped everything up (including the plates of food that hadn't spilled, and promised a speedy return.
He came through on the promise, with new food, and an ice bucket of water which he placed on the floor, knelt beside, and began scrubbing my carpet. All the while with me standing aside watching. I kept blurting out "no, you don't have to...", "it's really ok....", "please.....it's not a big deal" in an attempt to just get him to leave and let me eat in peace. He finally excused him self after placing an apology present on the table -- an ice bucket full of bottled water. As he left and I was finally alone with my pajamas, movie, and dinner, I couldn't help thinking that having mashed potatoes tossed about your room should at least be worth a bottle of wine. Which brings me to my 6th observation--for all the glitz and glamor, and comped rooms, and casino drinks, nothing in Vegas is really free....
