Sinners of the City.
In my humble opinion, Las Vegas can be a very polarizing place. You either love it or you hate it. I don’t know a ton of people who “like” Vegas and that’s okay. I happen to fall into the pro-Vegas camp. I’ve been there a thousand times for about a thousand different reasons, typically two to three times a year since I turned 21. Bachelorette parties, work conferences, getaways with a then-boyfriend, birthday weekends, concerts with friends, client trips, New Year’s Eve. You name it, I’ve done it.
For those of us who love it, there are a lot of things to love. The restaurants. The vibe. The gambling. The spas. The live entertainment. The shopping. But let’s not forget the most important thing that makes Vegas the place we all know and love. That’s right, the people.
There’s no real need to talk about the obvious ones – the bachelor and bachelorette parties. They travel in packs, there is usually a few who are way too drunk, one who is way too uptight and all of them are clad in black dresses and “Bride Entourage” sashes. Been there, done that. Grateful my friends have passed that phase of their lives.
But like I said, no real need to talk about those groups. They’re there, they’ve always been there, and they’ll always be there; a Las Vegas staple. Instead, let’s talk about the unsung heroes of the Las Vegas strip.
First up, the way-too-serious roulette player. Now don’t get me wrong, I love roulette. Roulette and blackjack are my games of choice and I have a legitimate strategy when I sit down at the table and hand the dealer my hundred-dollar bill. In return, he slides me five stacks of colorful chips that will eventually litter the entire table, just to inevitably get swept away when Black 35 hits, one of the only numbers I’m not on. So, one could argue that I am that way-too-serious roulette player. But I’m not. I know the minute I sit down at that table that I’m paying for my entertainment for the evening and there’s a strong chance that money is going to be gone forever. The way-too-serious roulette player I’m talking about is the guy in the corner seat, smoking a cigarette and sipping Redbull-vodkas. He’s grumpy, doesn’t like the chatty old fellow who’s spinning the wheel for us, is thoroughly unamused by my quips and endearing remarks, and dramatically stands up every time he puts his last few chips down on the table in preparation for his exit in the event that one of his numbers doesn’t hit. Calm down, sir, I know those small pale purple chips are causing you a lot of stress, but I’m here for a good time and to watch the little white ball spin in around a wooden wheel full of numbers, not to watch you huff and puff like toddler when you don’t get your way.
And then there’s another Las Vegas classic, the newly minted 21-year-old. This man-child has most definitely had too much to drink, as if all the drinks need to be consumed within the first two hours upon his flight’s arrival into Sin City, but hey, what good is your 21st birthday in Vegas if you’re sober the entire time? Surrounded by family and a few family friends, his group has dinner reservations at one of Gordon Ramsey’s restaurants and plans to spend the trip at the pool and walking through the Forum Shops at Caesars Palace.
There’s also the trio of friends who’s just there for a good time. In this situation, it’s a married couple and their third wheel best friend. They are there for the good food, some roulette and blackjack and maybe a show. In the weeks leading up to the trip, they place bets with one another, and the loser has to be the one to roll out of bed and go to the hotel Starbucks and pick up coffee and breakfast for the other two. They stroll the casinos to find the best penny slots and enjoy Moscow Mules while figuring out where their agenda-less vacation will take them next. Be envious of this trio; they have a damn good time.
Up next is everyone’s favorite, the drunk pair of guys hitting on the group of six women. Without fail, these men will spot the women from across the bar and will notice when two of them get up to use the restroom. Dumb and Dumber then swoop in, help themselves to the women’s recently vacated seats and strike up a conversation. “Where are you from?... What are you guys celebrating?... Where are you staying?...” And then, like clockwork, they always hit you with this one – “Where are we headed next?” Sorry fellas, “we” as in the six of us, not the eight of us, are headed back to our hotel and going to bed. It’s 1:15 in the morning and we are tired.
Next is the blackjack dealer. In his early 60s, has a name like Mikey, is relatively stoic, but friendly enough if you can get him to crack a smile. He’s been dealing cards for 28 years and puts up with all sorts of characters five nights a week. He has pretty good rapport with the pit boss, a short blonde woman named Sharon who has also been in the casino business for three decades. He’ll tell you what the book says to do if you ask him and scolds you if you pull your phone out at the table (rooky move).
We can’t forget the family of five, inclusive of three children under the age of 12. Taking up their time for this trip includes a visit to the massive M&M store, the hotel pool and the New York New York roller coaster. Here’s the thing; I get it. Vegas is bright and glittery and has lots of noise and things to look at. And if your children are well-behaved, then fine, I don’t mind them being here. I have friends who’ve taken their kiddos to Vegas and I have no doubt they had a great time. But the second your minions start to wreak havoc in my general vicinity, including the lazy river, my fun Vegas mood will start to sour, and my jolly demeanor will fade. There are several reasons why many of the places in this city are 21+ and let’s be honest, it’s not a cheap place to visit, so maybe consider leaving the rugrats at home for this one trip?
And finally, the bartender who puts up with exactly zero bullshit. You met a very similar bartender in the “Barflies” post that I wrote in 2022. Bartenders across the world are pretty similar, but the Vegas ones especially are no joke. This one is used to screaming over thumping music, running a tab with her left hand while pouring a drink with her right and holding four Bud Light bottles in the crook of one arm and with a speed that can only be compared to lightening, opening each one of those bottles in one smooth motion. She’s not interested in being hit on and doesn’t think your joke is funny. Probably best to just order, preferably using as few words as possible, pay her and back away slowly.
As a frequent Sinner of the City, I certainly couldn’t leave this blog post without bestowing a few recommendations upon you. In no particular order:
Hotel of choice – Aria. Food of choice – Grilled Cheese Dumplings at Beauty and Essex or the creamy French onion soup at the Eiffel Tower restaurant. Show of choice – Absinthe at Caesars Palace. Concert of choice – Adele. Always Adele.
