Las Vegas Reminds Me Of Trump's Toilet

I really don't know if there's a more perfect metaphor for Vegas than Trump's gold-plated toilet bowl.   Judging by what goes into his mouth, what comes out the other end must be straight-up hellish.  It all falls into a toilet bowl the same as we all use, but painted gold to cover up the the stains he leaves I guess.  A true example of you can put lipstick on a pig, but that don't mean you'll want to take it to the county dance. 

I spent five days in Vegas last month, and trust me, not willingly.  No, I wasn't kidnapped by sex traffickers, though I've no doubt they are crawling all over that town...I'm a bit out of their age range.  

I was on a business trip.  

Is there anything  more American than a Las Vegas business convention?

And people love it!  Being in sales and marketing my whole life, believe me I know many men who hotly anticipate these trips. 

Me?  I practically have to be dragged kicking and screaming.

Sure, I was at a five-star hotel, The Wynn, yet every time I left my room and walked through the smoke-filled casino, all I could think of was the iconic Star Wars quote:

"You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy."

And let's not forget what shit Steve Wynn is.

"The Wall Street Journal publishes disturbing — and at times graphic — allegations of Wynn's sexual misconduct against Wynn Resorts employees over decades. Accusations include sexual harassment, coercion, indecent exposure and an alleged sexual assault case that he paid $7.5 million to settle. Many of the allegations were made by salon and spa employees at the Wynn Las Vegas, the luxury resort where Wynn primarily resides."

Of course he's also a huge Republican donor, and former finance chair for the RNC, so that tracks. 

Still, the feeling I got walking around there had nothing to do with that degenerate, because Vegas has degenerates to spare. 

You would never know we are still in a pandemic either.  I mean, that's not totally true, you would because some people do wear masks walking around, but once you are in any of the packed restaurants or bars you are pressed into a crowd of maskless people.  I am pretty sure the only reason I didn't pick up a breakthrough case was because some unvaccinated Trumpster fuck had already given me one earlier in the month when I was going out a lot on Long Island.   Long Island is no Vegas but that doesn't mean it's a bastion of sanity either. 

One night, I managed to break away from clients and colleagues and was happily anticipating an evening by myself.  I thought I was in for a treat, not having to be "ON" at another expensive dinner,  and I went to a bar in the lobby.  I wanted to order some regular food and have a couple of drinks.  You may be wondering why a bar and not a restaurant and that's because you simply cannot get reservations at the hotel restaurants right now.  Vegas is hopping people, and companies hold reservations at all of the restaurants, sucking up the tables. 

So I was stuck with the lobby bar, which is nice enough looking honestly.  But after only a few minutes two different guys had aggressively and separately hit on me to the point I asked the bartender if I could take my drink to my room.  Because I mean, they were fucking aggressive about it.  Probably on business trips themselves, panting to get some "strange" so they could face their lives back home.  But that makes them sound pathetic, and they're not.  They're dangerous.  More likely they just want a story to tell their stupid friends back at the office. 

The bartender answered that  in Vegas I could do anything I want, including walking out of the bar with my drink.  That's great but it seems the men have the same idea, you know? 

He asked me my room number to charge the drink, as if I was actually going to say it aloud.  Why are men so stupid?  I just paid cash, went to my room, and ended up ordering room service. 

Did I have any fun?  Well, I was there on business not to have fun, and the business part went well.  But I would say that the night I went to a dinner at STK in The Cosmopolitan Hotel I did have a very nice night.  I hadn't been there long and wasn't yet exhausted, and The Cosmopolitan, or what little I saw of it at the restaurant, felt more like the places I am used to in NY than anything in The Wynn did. 

I also discovered Japanese bourbon there, and that was a lot of fun.  I do like my bourbon. 

I am supposed to be going back to Vegas in January and God help me I really don't want to.

I am desperately trying to figure a way out of it.  It would be my 6th trip to Vegas, and I am someone who hates flying.  Why do I have to be tortured this way?  If I am going to fly cross-country, I want to go to California, yet somehow I always end up just short, and in Vegas.  It's like a reoccurring nightmare. 

I always think, well this time I'll take a few extra days and fly to California after Vegas.  But I never do, because I never have the time, or sometimes, the money.  There's always work to rush back to, bills to pay.

Isn't that the dark underbelly of the American Dream, though?  Promised sunshine and streets paved with stars, you end up with a salesman from the Midwest squeezing your ass in the bar hotel of yet another famous sexual predator.

And guess what the view from my hotel window was?


And no, I'm not kidding.  Oh how I wish I were.  So that's Vegas.  Gold plated like Trump and everything he owns, and with the same malevolent, Pennywise the Clown energy throbbing underneath. 



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