Why Your Vegas Trip Sucks
First, you're late. You get to your hotel at about 4 pm, just in time to wait with all the other yokels dragging their luggage in one giant line of the damned. You're stuck anywhere from 1-3 hours, covered in travel dust, waiting to start any of the super fun, cool things you know you're going to do. You check in with your online reservation for the cheapest room. You don't tip the front desk clerk.
When you get to your room, instead of feeling like a Fun Vegas Tourist, for some reason you feel like a kid too easily impressed by the cheap marble in the bathroom. You have a big, shitty view of the roof of an adjacent administrative building and half a parking lot. Also, as soon as you step foot in your room, you realize you're starving but surrounded by capsules of tiny, cheap snacks you can't afford. After relaxing, which includes turning on the TV for some reason, you hurry back downstairs to "beat the crowds."
You go to the casino. You sit at the first $15 minimum blackjack table you see, a 6:5 continuous shuffle machine covered in sidebets you don't understand. You tip the cocktail girl a red $5 chip and ask for $3 change. On your biggest hand, you split two 9s against a 7 and get mad when you lose.
You go back to your room and get dressed in wrinkled clothes then go down and wait in line for dinner at the most popular restaurant where you're staying. Maybe you did some Reddit research on "best steakhouse in Vegas." It doesn't matter. You wait 45 minutes to be seated in the Den of Hell, surrounded by drunk bachelor parties shouting at the top of their lungs and grey, skeleton men clinking glasses of wine with their daughters. You order the steak with the Chef's Star next to it, specifying rare so they know you know.
You see a group of girls who don't look twice at you. Whatever. It's late enough that you go to a strip club, using a Vegas Insider tip that you can get limo service for free. You tell yourself you won't get scammed. In the strip club, you immediately go to a private room for with the first girl who talks to you. You spend $1,200 for an hour without getting so much as a high five in return. You lie to your boys in the group text. In the Uber back to your hotel, you text your ex.
Maybe you hate yourself and spread this out over a 4-day weekend. On your flight home, you write something pithy about how Vegas sucks. The whole city is overrated.
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