If a blogger falls in Las Vegas, and there is no blog to read, does anyone hear it?
As you know, I've blogged all of my trips to Vegas for a decent number of years now, some live, some after the fact, in incredible detail, uproarious vulgarity, and of marginal entertainment value.
It just so happened that for Grommet Con 2016, I was again chosen to travel to Las Vegas to provide something called 'drayage' - also known as dumb mule labor. I arranged to have some remote grommet line monitoring work to do right after that, so I stayed on and worked remotely, unbeknownst to the Pesky Belgians and Crafty South Koreans who lovingly run Royal Canadian Veeblefetzer, where I mindlessly watch size 7 grommets firing off the production line like teeny tiny vulcanized donuts.
I made a conscious decision not to blog the trip, in the manner to which you have become accustomed.
(And it's just as well, because I took a Royal Asskicking on said trip.)
And why would I reveal the outcome at this early stage?
Well, as I said, this will not be the typical blog of every flight/hotel/meal/quad/royal/gripe/rave that you have come to know and put up with, if not love. For one thing, I spent most of my time working, except for two long weekends where I booked off Friday.
But there were enough notable instances to write up a few posts, so you will definitely get the gist of it.
Consider this a thumbnail sketch of a trip barely taken.
I had to book this on short notice, and ended up on Air Fuckyou Canada's Rouge service aka Slaveship. The good news is, I got a decent rate, and I had a 15% dickscount code from the time they screwed me around last year.
It looked like this - leave Flusherville late in the afternoon. Leave Toronto on the 8:40pm Rouge flight that never leaves on time. Arrive (hopefully) at about 1:30am Toronto time in Vegas. And the return?
The Dread-eye. Leaving around midnight Vegas time. Hopper to Flusherville.
What would (hopefully) make this a little more civilized was the two Maple Leaf Lounge passes I managed to lay my hands on, thanks to a generous donor. (Thank you Donor!!!).
My Flusherville flight left more or less on time and I had a few hours in the Lounge with which to play 'how can you make dinner out of chick peas, saltines, soup, and an open bar?'.
I played it well, making about sixteen trips for food and drink.
|The shiny walkway to Lounge Comfort.|
|More shiny walkway.|
|Behold! The Bar o' Plenty!|
|Behold! The lounge of not much protein. Because salsa.|
|Behold! The view from the Chair o' Comfort!|
Here's what I had:
- Mechanical Delay Chicken Noodle Soup
- Canadian Flag Tomato Soup
- Politically Incorrect Chick Pee Salad
- Newfoundland to Vancouver Island White Bread Ends and Fresh Quota Creamery Butter
- Justin's Own Popeye Spinach Dip
- Tarmac Dip (some other fucking dip)
- Short Landing Salsa
- Three, maybe Four Glasses of Go-Around Red Wine
- And a Couple of Backpack Apples to go
They are damn lucky there weren't any portable cheese out. I would have cleaned them out. I'm a sucker for portable cheese.
|Extra points for the watermelon neck pillow.|
The flight to Vegas was tiring and interminable. Some mooks tried the 'hey, give up your window seat for an aisle seat so my wife can give me a handjob midflight' trip, but I wasn't biting. No matter, they scurried up to an empty pair of seats two rows up the moment Captain Turbodick of the Overly Confident Voice closed the hatch.
This left me with an empty seat beside me. Nice. It was still a long flight though. We left the gate half an hour late as usual and then had to get de-iced with a round of Wing Freshener.
But, we arrived, and I headed out to the Belltrans desk for the VIP Share Limo thingy ($28). Usually a deal.
This time, a disaster. Waited half a fucking hour. Finally got my ride and the driver drove like it was his first week on the job. This guy was sitting up, back not touching the seat, white knuckling it at ten and two, signalling every turn half a mile ahead.
It was his first week on the job. This is why he fumbled the pickup - he was actually at the airport the whole half hour, looking for the pickup point. I was glad I found this out, it helped dispel my rage - he also took half an hour to make it from Terminal 3 to T.I. - and I even tipped the guy. I thought he was going to cry.
T.I. booked on an offer, three nights and $250 freeplay, based on our previous showing last fall. How could I refuse?
The $20 trick with obviousness option and upper pocket looky looky flair worked its magic - I netted a nice corner room right on the strip, windows on two sides. And champagne service (which I never took advantage of). Great room, great views.
A quick dump of $100 in the Killer 50 Cent Machines of Death, and some bartops, and I was ready for bed at about 3:30am my time.
|Get used to this.|
Welcome back to Vegas!
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