Heard a fellow bar patron who recently brayed “Las Vegas is too big to fail!” Yeah, he’d been overserved. In other cities, the bartender or server would’ve cut him off. But this being Las Vegas as long as this patron had cash and regularly slid twenties into the bar top video poker machine and steadily kept losing, he was golden.
What might it have taken for the bartender or server to have acted responsibly? That is firmly deny further adult beverages then suggest the player take a taxi home where he could’ve slept off his toot.
Living in Las Vegas these almost 12 years, it’s a question through which I really don’t challenge myself.
In other more conscientious cities that patron would never have exceeded this point of painless inebriation. His limit would’ve been determined earlier. And had he driven, his car keys confiscated. But it’s guys like him who keep Nevada insurance auto premiums hellaciously high for all drivers.
His kind also enriches countless personal injury attorneys.
The drunkest I’ve ever seen anyone in Las Vegas? Excluding the scholarly amateurs who once flooded the Big Mayberry for Spring Breaks, particularly the coeds who were never too blasted to pull their hair back before puking in garbage cans, were visitors who’d attended music festivals at the racetrack. By the time they’d reached somewhere proximate to whatever hotel they’d reserved, their locomotion had so failed them they sat down on Strip street curbs. Thus seated, they succumbed to Nod. As opposed to the homeless who laid down on pavement then snored on it.
The funny part about those pre-Covid nights and early mornings is, police wouldn’t jostle people who appeared likely contributors to the city’s coffers. In Las Vegas that’s the desired profile to fit. But the latter? They’d righteously be rousted, if not tossed into the county hotel. Keep Las Vegas Beautiful, indeed.
So, the drunkest person I’ve ever seen in Las Vegas was inside a gentleman’s club. He played video poker. From what I saw on his screen, he must’ve had an in with the betting gods.
Feed the machine enough, the drinks are free. Win enough and drinks flow in an assembly line.
This fellow must’ve been steadily slugging before my arrival. My appearance did not deter him in any way.
Somewhere along an incalculable number of cocktails, he fell off his bar stool. Let’s gather he’d lost his balance. Or maybe the earth’s gravity shifted catching him unaware. After a moment he realized his position horizontal, not vertical. The fellow clambered to his feet and resettled his posterior onto a seat cushion.
Several hands later, the floor again summoned him. His body obeyed.
Silly me thought his first fall a gimme by management. Surely the second would occasion his dispatch from the higgly-jiggly jiggle joint premises. Since relocating to Las Vegas, I’ve rarely been wrong. Here was one of those instances.
His winnings kept him among us. He’d won over a thousand. As I came to understand it, management did not want him cashing out if possible. Plastered as he was, smashed he was going to get, there was a fine chance he’d feed it all back into the machine. And this being Las Vegas, afterwards throw in additional amounts from his pocket in belief he’d regain what had been lost as well as pile more atop of that.
Yes. In real life it seems farfetched. In Las Vegas, it’s holy grail. By the time I left an hour later, he was still defying management’s odds. He was also still nicely way up.
Had he been sober it’s likely this bettor never would’ve won anywhere near as he had.
Enough about drunk luck. Time for unreal life.
Thanks to the arbitrary economic nonsense issuing from the short-fingered vulgarian soiling the Oval Office, a mother of all hold-my-beer moments may challenge Las Vegas’ financial invulnerability. While the Great Recession staggered the Mojave Mecca and Covid shook then slammed it shut for months, what portends now in March 2025 has the potential to restructure closely held and fervidly wished beliefs.
After the Great Recession the Las Vegas that then revived itself remained an inexpensive metropolis. Truly, all those stories younger generations scoff at about only one job necessary to sustain an individual or whole family still existed at that time.
Rents were cheap. Real estate purchases didn’t require king’s ransoms. Food and consumer goods didn’t task budgets. Yes, there was even enough money for discretionary spending. Of the wagering kind. This inside Strip establishments if locals were so moved.
Strange to believe the pace of life. That era barely concluded several years ago. It’s as if Las Vegas went into warp speed to catch up to what the rest of the nation already demands of residents.
The effects of the imminent recession will poleax Las Vegans. Well, those who’ve been here a while and have endured previous busts then booms. In fact, recent transients who thought they could bring a stake to this part of the Mojave and build on it may come out of the possible future better than many Las Vegans passing as long-time locals.
Already there are alarms of economic torpor.
Las Vegas is in the middle of what’s usually its most lucrative convention stretch. The first five months of any year are steadily scheduled with events that draw fat expense account conventioneers. Inflation aside, despite climbing price points which reduce attendance and shorten stays, hotelier and casino profits either remained level or didn’t dip appreciably. But that accounting was on borrowed time.
Astute local observers have noticed clear signs of decline. Casino floors don’t bustle as they did during flush times. Hotels are now running the sort of loss-leader promotions commonly offered during summer months.
Between mid-June and in these climate change days sometimes deep into September or early October, the Mojave’s unceasing triple digits transform Las Vegas into a big broiler. Sure, because of steep drops in summer room rates, tourists brave the scalding outdoor temperatures. Sidewalk heat sears feet if the footwear worn has insufficiently thick soles. In budget conscious minds, the bargains offered make sweltering days and sultry nights tolerable.
Of course, guests sequestering themselves in cooled hotels or performing station-to-station ventures among other properties’ air conditioning aren’t really saving on room rates. They still must contend with amenities fees and tourist taxes. And unlike mob rule days, current hoteliers are stingy as hell on comps.
As another local pointed out to me, establishments on the Strip aren’t craving Las Vegans’ business. The flagrantly priced meals and cocktails aren’t for us. Those are for travelers seeking to fulfill what may be their one-time Las Vegas visit. At current prices without an expense account or lengthy saving to build an expansive budget, there must be a lot more of these “bucket list” stays than had been previously.
Las Vegas thrived best as a value destination. Volume consistently delivered healthy profits.
Throughout mob rule and extending into a good portion of today’s number-driven gaming operations, the idea was that Las Vegas was an urge. An easily scratched itch, simply scratched.
Nothing particular going on during the weekend? Hop onto a cheap flight or, if close enough, burn rubber to arrive in a cost next to nothing hotel room. Then, hyped restaurants didn’t demand bales of cash for meals. Moreover, the portions were human sized, not artful presentations. And if gourmet offerings didn’t excite, plenty to gorge at buffet troughs.
Furthermore, visitors who wished could have more than one drink. And not nurse these. Running a tab then didn’t necessitate a credit check. Or a bank loan afterwards.
Most impressive, though, were the gaming floors. Crowds jammed around the tables. Happy hopefuls filled the rows of slot machines. About the latter, mob guys knew psychology. They knew loose machines that paid often and noisily attracted, enthralled, would mesmerize bettors at them. The illusion of winning, say, the machine returning 92 cents of every dollar wagered, kept gambling multitudes immobilized yanking handles or jabbing buttons. Thereby thickening bottom lines.
The only stronger enticement might’ve been open casino doors blowing out air conditioning onto melting passersby on 100° nights.
Now, in the midst of the 2025 season’s big money portion, some Strip casinos have announced short-shift workweeks or layoffs. Be assured all are looking forward, contemplating the same. Businesses and attractions have closed.
But city diehards who believe “Las Vegas is too big to kill!” possess Pollyannish optimism. Yes, they know boom and bust. It’s accepted in Las Vegas. They’re informed by that past. Today is different, though.
The next recovery may bring jarring bounces after a hard landing.
During prior lulls, low prices enabled people working on the Strip and its ancillary services to get by on reduced wages or – shudder – unemployment. God help them! No one should ever want to be unemployed in Nevada. If the Silver State’s meager unemployment compensation isn’t enough motivation to hurry and find another paying job, what the hell is!?
That was then. Costs of living have risen so high in Las Vegas that positions which once amply provided for individuals or even families now may result in considerably thinner margins. The Nevada safety net has always had a wide mesh. Today that weave is wider, the cushion one may land upon after tumbling through it is thinner.
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