...are you sure you're not a hobo, sir?

[alanj]

Walked over to Flamingo to check in to a room, which I won't use, and pick up $400 "travel reimbursement", which I will use. On my way over, noticed that I forgot to bring my Harrah's player's card. So I head over to the player's club, and naturally, skip the line by going to the l33t desk.

"Hi, I'd like a replacement player's card." I flop my ID on the counter.

The two clerks give each other looks. "Did you get lost?"

"Huh?"

"Are you a platinum or diamond level player, sir?"

OK, I'm not dressed like much, but this is ridiculous. "I would like a replacement diamond card, please." I put a little bit of venom into it - the trailing ", bitches" is unspoken but implied.

They get my card for me, and I head off to VIP checkin, shaking my head a little. I'm standing there, getting out my credit card and offer letter, when I realize two things.

First, I'd just been walking very quickly, dodging and weaving through Strip crowds, and I'm both out of shape and somewhat short on sleep. I probably looked flustered and disoriented.

Second, not only am I wearing a plain beige $5 T-shirt from Target, but I'm wearing it inside-out.

OK, fine. In retrospect, I'll give them a pass on the attitude.

Comments

[songmonk.livejournal.com]

At least they said sir. And provided a good story. :-)

But seriously, surely they must be used to high rollers who don't necessarily look all that?

[fich.livejournal.com]

Heh.

One time, I was on my way to New Orleans for a BARGE-like event. It was about noon. I stopped by the Copa, where I played at night, to score stuff from the gift shop to use as door prizes. They called a host to give me a comp. She showed up, looked at me in my jeans, T-shirt and old sneakers, and gave me attitude about how hard they are to get. She took my player's card and looked me up in the computer.

Her transformation was like the T1000 in Terminator 2. After that, she couldn't be more obsequious. I maintained my bored detachment...

[evwhore.livejournal.com]

I think Sabyl has a story about getting a steakhouse comp somewhere that goes similarly (or is that your story?)

A while (5+ years ago) I went up to the players club at the Mirage once to ask "Can I get a line pass?" and got a cold "it depends on your play" and witnessed the same attitude transformation.

For a fucking line pass, mind you.

[leora.livejournal.com]

Isn't part of the point of being rich that you can dress however the hell you want?

[evwhore.livejournal.com]

First, I'd just been walking very quickly, dodging and weaving through Strip crowds, and I'm both out of shape and somewhat short on sleep. I probably looked flustered and disoriented.

And sweaty?