Quest for the World's Biggest Guitar Store

Our first full day at Main Street Station, and we started bright and early with on our favorite bank of four slant tops. I love slant tops. They are just so much better than the horrible uprights at the Four Queens. The buttons are reliable, and your drink, notepad, pen, compass, dental floss, sewing kit, waterproof matches, quarter to call home, candle stub, fish hook, line, backup flint, and kindling can be placed on the playing surface, all within easy reach.

Notwithstanding the fact that the Four Queen’s uprights cough up Royals for me.

Speak of Royals… now it can be told.

I am pissed off at the Goddam Nugget. They used to have some secret machines back by the convention hall that had full pay 8/5 Bonus on them in quarters. It was a fantastic place to play, quiet, away from smoke, excellent drink service.

The best part is, I hit a Royal on the same machine the last two trips. And I was ready to go for the trifecta. But no, we visited my lucky machine, and sure enough, the Golden rat bastards have downgraded the pay table. Play ‘em while you can…

Mrs. Flusher started the day off with $100 Aces and we alternated quads until the Queen put together a streak of 3. All the scratch cards (8 of ‘em) were for $2.

We enjoyed breakfast at the MSS buffet and then headed out to the Vegas Club for our daily $500 Deuces pilgrimage. We didn’t hit it but the Slot Queen won some bucks on a dollar coin dropper slot.

Gratuitous Golden Gate shot.

Back to MSS to get more rated play towards our food costs. We were booked in on a slot tournament offer but had to bookend the tourney with some extra nights at casino rate. There was some food included with the tourney but not everything was covered. I like the tourneys where you get the little Aloha food coupon books – those are worth a lot.

The Queen continued to play well, getting dealt straight flush and I switched to 50-cent VP just in time to get four 4s for $100. (Hmm, that’s only 3 fors.)

Since we’d paid for the rental car for a few days, and hadn’t even ventured out of downtown, I suggested a tour. I wanted to go to the World’s Biggest Guitar Store, which I’d seen so many times from the freeway on previous trips over the past 15 years. Somehow, I’d never made it there. They were bound to have a fine selection of electric ukes to drool over.

“Let’s get out of downtown, hon, and see the strip again (and the World’s Biggest Guitar Store),” I implored.

“Can’t. Gambling.”

“We should make use of the car, we paid for it…”

“Gambling.”

“I’ll be lonely without your – “

“CAN’T. GAMBLING!”

I was clearly on my own.

“Pick up some liquor for the room and duty free,” were my sweet’s parting words.

Okay, fine. I grabbed the car and headed off.

I was pretty sure I knew just exactly where the guitar store was – on the west side of I-15 somewhere.

Deftly, I swung east on Stewart, made a left, and swung onto some road, swung right, went straight, feinted right again, but then swung left onto some ramp, and swung my way down Interstate number 15. I liked the sound of Tropicana so I swung off the I-15 and swung onto Tropicana.

I knew I was nearing the fabled WBGS when I saw Dean Martin. (The drive, not the singer.) I deked onto Dean Martin and drove south, looking for the huge signage which would herald the WBGS. I ended up way south, past Mandalay Bay. Too far.

Okay, I turned right and headed west, then right again so as to circle around. This turned out to be a dead end. I doubled back, went west some more, then south. It was good to be seeing some of Las Vegas’ finest industrial areas, replete with loading bays, and greasy-looking offices up front. (There were also some very, very large Adult Novelty Warehouses. I guess when it comes to sex toys, size matters.) Finally I made it back to Dean Martin, north of where I’d joined it. I turned left.

This took me smack into some construction and through some fucking tunnel which landed me on the wrong side of I-15. I pulled a u-turn, risking my, and several others lives in the process. The Jump off the Stratosphere Erection was starting to look very safe in comparison to driving in the Industrial Heartland of Las Vegas.

Going south on Dean Martin, I knew that the WBGS had to be in the next stretch, since I’d overshot it on the previous attempt. Well, I ended up back where I’d started.

Conclusion. The fucking WBGS wasn’t there anymore.

Okay fine. I’d tour some more of industrio-residential Vegas looking for a liquor store to buy cheap liquor. I went west, then swung north.

Do you think I could spot a single liquor outlet? NO!

Then I spied Walmart. Surely they would have the best, lowest, cheapest prices around!

I pulled into the parking lot and walked into a Wal-Mart the size of the Hindenburg hangar. (And inside the Wal-mart, some of the people were the size of the Hindenburg. Other of these people were just plain scary.)

Never mind. I hiked to the back of the grocery section, looking for the liquor area. I found some drinks, including beer, but no hard stuff. So I hiked back to the front and asked. I was told go to Aisle 22 to get the liquor – but you can’t go in there.

Huh???

I hiked along the front of the store. Found no liquor. WTF? I ended up doing a complete circuit of this approximately 300 acre Walmart. You could run an Indy-car race inside this mammoth store.

Back where I started I asked again about the liquor. And for good measure, I also asked about the World’s Biggest Guitar Store.

Back to Aisle 22. Finally I got it figured out. The booze was kept in an ‘employee’s only’ area, which I promptly stepped into, so as to find out what I wanted to buy.

“YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE!” came the rebuke from a nearby blue-aproned Wal-drone.

“So how the hell am I supposed to know what you carry, what the prices are, and what to ask
for?”

This seemed to stymie her.

Fortunately I could see what I wanted from outside the Liquor Compound. I got in line at the Aisle 22 cashier.

“So, do I just ask you for what I want and you bring it?”

“Yup. Or you can ask any cashier and they’ll come down here and bring it back to you.” Naturally, nobody had pointed this out until now – although they had helpfully pointed out
“YOU CAN’T GO IN THERE.”

This has to be the weirdest, most anal, fucked up liquor buying situation I’ve ever seen. You have to psychically know what they have in stock, and the price of it as well, then plead to the Wal-drone to go and get it for you.

Well, at least I knew I was getting the best price around.

Exhausted I drove back to Main Street Station, parked, and brought the booze up to the room, where I found Mrs. Flusher, who examined my purchases.

“The Crown Royal is $2 cheaper at the gift shop downstairs.”

No.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

It couldn’t be. I marched her down there. We left the elevator, swung right into Elevator Lobby, swung right again into Hotel Hallway, and then swung right into Giftshop.

Not only were the MSS gift shop prices better than Wal-Fuck’s on liquor, you could get a further 10% discount by using your slot club card.

Well, at least my hours in the car hadn’t been totally wasted.

Oh. Right.

Actually, yes they had.

Addendum:

I am informed by a very savvy gamblester, C.K. (not his real initials) that:

...the cheapest place to buy booze is at the gift shop in the Gold Coast Casino. It's located on the south east side near the check in desk. The wife and I always make our first stop there to purchase our adult beverages for room consumption.

Thank you for the heads up and the bottoms up, C.K.!!!!!!