How does half of Buena Vista Games (and a few random stragglers) end up in Vegas you ask?  Here’s how it all unfolded: There I was, casually strolling into the Buena Vista Games men’s room to resolve the open issues I was having with a half-gallon of iced tea … when from nowhere, Luigi comes bounding out of the production cubical labyrinth in a full gallop towards the men’s room door.  Naturally, I freaked.  Oddly, my immediate impulse was to stop, drop and roll, but soon realized that such action was the appropriate response to the lesser crisis of being caught suddenly engulfed in flames.  Now, without a backup reaction, I had little choice but to carry on with my little scheme and proceeded inside knowing that all hopes of having a moment of solitude were dashed.

As we simultaneously approached the east wall, an awkward silence filled the room.  Then it happened.  Luigi initiated the mindless, fill-in urinal smalltalk. Since it was off-season, there was no pressing football news so I wasn’t listening to a word of his tedious prattle.  Then, for reasons still unknown to me, I made the fool mistake of offering a tidbit of equally meaningless conversation.  It is a decision that I will forever regret.  Now to set the record straight, I might as well have been speaking in Swahili, because I had exactly no intention of offering any sort of meaningful communication that would warrant so much as a reaction, much less a response.  Nevertheless, from this blather, somehow Luigi thought he heard the word “Vegas.”  I contend he just misinterpreted a noise from stall 2, but he insists that he clearly heard ME say “Vegas.”  Doesn’t sound right, but who knows.

Within seconds the whole experience was a distant memory to me. But not so Luigi. He just wouldn’t drop it. Oh the phone calls, the emails, the notes on my car, the semaphore in the parking lot, the billboards, the sky writing, the unremitting office visits, the notes in the fortune cookies at PF Chang’s… it was incessant. Who could know that a misinterpreted noise from stall 2 would wind up costing me a full weekend and a wheelbarrow of cash?

So to make a long story short, we gathered up some friends (Disney and non), and headed to Sin City for a weekend of reasonably controlled carousing. Whatever.

THE hotel is the new “all-suites” hotel at the Mandalay bay.  The funny thing about the all-suites hotel is that we were shuffled into one of the non-suite rooms.  I am still scratching my head on that one.  But that said – we were very nicely incentivized to take the smaller room (which was still very nice) and hotel itself was great.  An oasis of calm in the cacophony that is Vegas.  The soothing postmodern ambiance of the lobby, bar and café offer the weary traveler sanctuary from the rigors of the more proletariat Mandalay Bay.  The rooms are comfortable and reviving.  I think the website uses the adjectives “swank,” “airy," and “cosmopolitan.”  Why not?  I would definitely recommend a stay here.

There are a lot of reasons to like the hotel, but this little anecdote provides a great indication of the service one can expect: It was 3:30 am on Friday night when Suzie and I finally stumbled back into the room (which was on the “60th” floor of a 40 story building – go figure).  We were tired and had been severely beaten by all things Vegas when we collapsed on the bed.  As is always a good idea when you are approaching dawn, Suzie called room service to order a plate of greasy nachos.  Sadly, nachos were not on the menu.  Yet despite this setback, after listening to Suzie describe her ideal “desert island” nachos – this place managed to cobble together and entirely scrumptious plate of cheesy, chili con carne saturated, fresh guacamole, crunchy corn chip heaven.  THAT is the mark of a quality hotel!  (Needless to say, Hazmat and the Vegas division of the FBI had some questions for us the next day).

Other Vegas Misadventures