One Fine Day at the Tropicana

Let's head to the Tropicana Las Vegas!!! Yeah? Sure! Why not!

This trip report, as you might have noticed, is not in chronomalogical order. It's been more storytelling, jumping around in time like I had too many Flux Capacitors at the Tipsy Robot.

Part of the Lost Weekend was spent at the Tropicana - and just like that, I found myself checking in, with my license, credit card, and a $20 bill at the ready.

Even though I didn't play too heavily last trip, the Trop is forking out the room offers - 3 nights comped, no resort fee, each month - way more than a Canuck import from Flusherville can use, but I feel so loved!

Luxor is still offering me 2 nights (which will cost about $80 in retort fees and taxes) and $10 free play. Luxor is dead to me until I find out they have renovated every stinking pyramid hotel room, and completely changed their clientele. It's really, really, really hard for me to be the classiest guy in the casino - but at Luxor... I am.

Anyway... I decided to be ridiculously brazen about bribing the counterling providing a pourboire to the front desk staff for excellent service.

My target was a younger man, a fine looking gent, resplendent in Trop-provided sportcoat, named Don Martin.

Perfect.

I found the ideal place to interject into his motorized check-in spiel and told him, "I would like to know if you have any complimentary upgrades to a room that I might find more comfortable. I have heard that there is an excellent pool area here and suites that feature actual, real, live mermaids, for backrubs, and bartending."

The poor sap. He didn't know what hit him and tried to take the tangential path to try to find me some instances of mermaid figures or related mermaid artifacts so that he could put me into "this guy is a little off, he must have meant the mermaid statues at Mirage" category, instead of the "holy shit this guy is sarcastic-tastic funny!"

He blathered on as best he could, trying desperately to keep the convo square out of kooky-town. I let him.

Note to self: counterling is humorless, but still ripe for the plucking.

Where Don Martin would have been working if he wasn't at the other counter to the left (not pictured).

When he'd settled down, I brandished the $20 bill like a light saber, waving it slowly back and forth. (I restrained myself from making electric humming sound effects.)

"Do what you can to find complimentary improved lodgings, kind sir. I always tip very generously for excellent service."

No secret handshake. No folding the $20 bill and stashing it between license and credit card. No sticking the Jackson to my forehead with a bit of chewing gum from under the counter.

I kept the bill in my possession and dangled it, like a plump catfish dancin' on the end of my line.

The counterling typed. He tapped. He looked at the screen, down at the keyboard. Tap, type, tap, look.

Type, tap, type, tap, look, tap, look, type.

Typey tappy typey tappy lookey mousey look fwa-dap. Mousey looky mousey tappy, typey tappy fwap sha-DAP!

And just like that, Don Martin had moved me from a complimentary handicapped accessible room on the second floor of the Paradise tower, with view (probably) of some roof top air conditioners, and maybe if I was lucky, the staff smoking area, where they smoke and make fun of us, to... a Junior Suite on the 203rd floor of the Paradise tower, only 3 floors shy of the top floor, the 391st floor.

Vegas is very loosey-goosey when it comes to floor numbering. Just ask Steve Wynn.

I got my keys, and a chocolate chip cookie, handed over the $20 bill, watched as Don Martin ruined a perfectly good property map, and listened to a spiel that I didn't need to hear, since I'd stayed in the Paradise tower before.

I hauled my crap along the walkway to the tower - people say it's a long haul, but it really isn't that bad - it's just carpeted. Which makes luggage wheels turn hardly.

The tiles are actually 1970s purple.

My suite was at the end of the hall. It wasn't super nicer or bigger than a regular room, but it was on the end of the building, which you might have noticed has two sort of pointy parts to it.

And the best part of this room was the pointy view - 180 degrees of windows... that open. Okay, they open about 4" but still - you can get fresh air.

It takes some doing, but you can position the shutters just so to get a pretty good view through Robert Irvine's building wrap asshole.

The worst part of this room was the pointy view which was fucking obscured by those God-awful building wraps advertising their new restaurant - Robert Irvine's - which I will review in a future post.

Airport view.

Titters view.

MGM Green view.

MGM Green and neighbor's Junior Suite view.

All in all it was twenty bucks savvily spent, and a pretty tasty cookie.