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Vortex of Marketing

Casinos/hotels - or hotesinos because they are, in fact, one in the same - in Vegas have mastered the unique scientific feat of creating buildings without exits. Well, technically they have exits, but force fields fueled by raw marketing power continually repel you from those exits and increase in strength the harder you try to get to those exits. You can't get out. It's a scientific fact.

Curt and I tried to leave our hotesino to walk the area. We dutifully head toward the nearest "exit here" sign. 5 blocks later led by a trail of exit signs, through twists, turns and hoardes of shops, buffets and slot machines we found we had passed through our hotesino, across an overpass and into the next hotesino now one level higher with even less clue how to get out. In a panic we realized that the only "exits" we could find were emergency exits with huge warnings stating something like 'the world will end if you try to use this door.'

Finally we ditched the exit sign approach and headed for what seemed like the edge of the building on the lower floor. And I say "seemed" because buildings in Vegas don't operate on the same scientific principles as they do in the rest of the universe. There is exponentially more space inside each hotesino than the actual physical space it occupies. If you don't believe me... try to get out of one.

Another block or two of roulette, craps and buffets and we finally found the a sidewalk bathed in the dank, alcohol rich air of Vegas' great outdoors. The panic calmed and we set about our task of avoiding the multitude of drunks and "all girls, all live" pimps as we walked up "The Strip."

After we'd had our fill of blinking lights, video billboards and many other technical feats created with the express purpose of wasting money wantonly, we decided we were too tired to walk the entire way back to the hotesino. We headed for the huge sign on the front of another hotesino labeled "Tram to South Strip." This would drop us off a mere two blocks from our hotesino and the bed we were so ready to sleep in. We headed into this hotesino with the promise of a nice ride back because, apparently, we hadn't yet learned our lesson regarding the spacial anomaly that is a hotesino.

To reach the tram we traveled several blocks winding our way through shops, blackjack, drunks and a plethora of cigarette smoke before we even saw the first semblance of a tram. We could have been half way back to our hotesino by then. Once we got off the tram - in yet another hotesino not even remotely our own - we were fighting back anxiety attacks and determined to find the nearest exit even if we had to create it ourselves by chiseling our way through the floor with a rusty penny and a stick of gum.

We surprisingly found an exit right away only to discover that it fed into a busy street that bascially promised certain death. I have to admit that we contemplated that option long and hard before heading back into the fray.

Just when I was about to turn into a sobbing mess and succomb to my fate of being the eternal bitch of the hotesino buffet gods we turned a corner and came face to face with huge picture windows which deceptively made it feel that there was indeed a world outside of this glittering existence. Staring at the thing I wanted most in the world with only a thin invisible wall keeping it from me, I lost all grasp on sanity and things became a blur. I think Curt must have torn me away from licking that oversized glass barrier, hoisted me over his shoulder and jumped through it because somehow we ended up back at our hotesino.

I still have nightmares about being chased by hungry slot machines screaming "ALL LIVE! ALL THE TIME! ALL LIVE! ALL THE TIME!"