Caesars Palace: The VegasTripping Review 2012
Finding Faith In The Deluxe Palace Tower Room
As you might expect, I spend an obscene amount of time planning Las Vegas trips. Between my own jaunts and fielding questions from friends, family and strangers, I've sorta become a bit of a Las Vegas travel agent. I'm sure most of you are "the Vegas guy/gal" in your family or workplace. It's a great job, but the pay sucks. I most certainly relish debunking Vegas myths, uncovering hidden gems and handcrafting advice tailored perfectly for the situation presented.
Or at least I did. Somewhere along the line, I lost the script. No, they don't pipe oxygen into the casinos. No, prostitution isn't legal in Las Vegas. No, your friend's guaranteed system to win at roulette doesn't work, I don't care what he told you. Then there is the bachelor/ette party question. And don't get me started on the fucking $20 trick nonsense. At some point, my Vegas trips transitioned into a quest to find answers to questions, not a frenetic dash in search of epic fun. Thus began a series of botched stays - two at ARIA, two at Cosmopolitan and one at Sahara - coupled with the economy induced casino cost cutting and the heartbreaking slow motion out of control skid of Wynn & Encore into the ditch alongside the luxury highway.
I was Vegas homeless.
With resort fees piling up, comps being cut everywhere else across town, maintenance being deferred yet again and being on the receiving end of bad employee morale caused by pay cuts, elimination of benefits and increased hours while casino bosses played ignorant and took home monster salaries, I did the math. For me, Vegas didn't pencil out anymore.
I wasn't Vegas homeless, I was Vegas detached. Done. Finito.
One day my lovely wife phoned to tell me that her company was sending her to Las Vegas for a week to attend a conference and asked if I would like to go. An odd question. Normally, this wouldn't even require a question, but she's been in the eye of my Vegas hurricane as it leveled everything surrounding my mind.
"Yes. Where is it?"
"Caesars Palace," she replied, her words twisting the name like a sliver of lime over a measure of ice cold tequila.
"You know, they've got that new tower there - Octavius," I responded, Pavlovianly.
"Yes, but the conference has rooms reserved in another tower and they're cheap."
I thought about the tequila and buttoned my lip. Up to this point, I've wrecked the family Vegas truckster, it's high time I let Miss Monkay take the wheel.