Las Vegas, Part 1: All the World's a Line

Last night I returned from a four day getaway with “the girls” to Las Vegas. The City of Lights, Sin City, the LV; whatever you want to call it, it was big, it was bright and it was unforgettable. Over the next few days, I’ll be posting a series of posts on my experience there formatted around roughly based themes that surfaced over and over again during the long weekend.

Today’s discussion: Las Vegas, Part 1: All the World’s a Line

Somewhere around 11am, I arrived at Dulles airport after driving the very boring 16 mile stretch of the Dulles Access Road that’s not quite 495 and not quite the toll road and I was immediately presented with a dilemma: Daily Parking 1 or Daily Parking 2. My quick intuition led to me to choose Daily Parking 2 because it looks much closer to the terminals and I vaguely remembered parking there before. I love the electronic sign upon entering that tells you in little green numbers exactly how many spots are available on each level. Level 1: 3; Level 2: 195, Level 3: 65 etc. Level 2 it is. Duh! I drive up and immediately find a spot that looks good. It takes me a good few minutes to hoist my ridiculously large suitcase out of the trunk, narrowly missing all ten of my toes as it crashes to the ground only to soon find out that the access to the pedestrian walkway is only accessible from level 3. Of course. I contemplate moving my car to one of the 60-some spots on Level 3 but that would require maneuvering my suitcase again, so I opt to take the elevator up a level instead. When I exit the parking lot I see another very humorous sign. It says something like "Next time you fly, consider Daily Parking 1 with its state of the art, new and improved, covered and air conditioned moving sidewalks that will make your life so much easier than Daily Parking 2. We'll even pass out fruity umbrella drinks as you glide on by in style." Ok, so that's not exactly verbatim, but you get the idea. (And it is not a line story, but it sets the stage...)

I had an easy check-in at Southwest and fortunately my friend clued me in to this 24-hours in advance online check-in thing so you can get into the first group of seating. I wasn't lucky enough to get A since I checked in 21 hours in advance, but I felt my B status was not so shabby. It was here that I encountered my first line of the vacation. Have you ever flown Southwest before? Talk about perpetuating the class system! Sitting on the floor in the B line, over one hour before the scheduled take-off of my flight, I held such envy for those in the A line and such panic that I was going to get a bad seat and have to endure the pointing, laughter and snickering from my fellow window and aisle seat neighbors ("She must have been in the B line... ha ha ha. Loser."). [line 1] Well joke on everyone. For some reason everyone before me passed up a second row aisle seat which I promptly snagged. Unfortunately, a C line woman took the middle seat next to me and proceeded to cough and pop pill after pill of prescription medication the entire flight. I was mentally reviewing my CPR skills should she pass out from an overdose.

We arrive in Vegas, I rush off the plane to baggage claim up and down a few escalators where presumably most of the riders are from the DC area and STILL do not stay to the right. Ugh. I grab my bag off the carousel and head for a taxi. The taxi line at McCarren International awaits. It must be about 150 people deep, although props to the attendants, they have this worked out. From the main taxi line, and as you approach the front, you are directed to one of 9 smaller lines where the taxis pull up to pick up the passengers. [lines 2 and 3]

Finally reunited with my friends from college we talked about all of the activities we had planned for the weekend - some fine dining, a show, a bit of sun and gambling, and at least one of the trendy nightspots. At this point we hadn't realized how beneficial our female status would prove to be over the next few days. More on this later but for now, I'll speak of how it affected our experience with the many lines we encountered in Las Vegas.

Being a female visitor to Las Vegas gets you many privileges. For some, like us, it got us line passes, VIP passes, and guest list status, presumably limiting the time you have to stand in lines for entry into the various clubs. For others, it probably gets you an STD or two, but either way you come back with a special memory. Props to Terry who totally got us the hook-up at Body English, Tao and Rehab. He knows people and we were glad to know him. What we didn't realize, until our first Las Vegas club experience, is that knowing Terry and getting line passes and VIP passes etc., is that it just allows you wait in a different line than the rest of the masses. True it was typically shorter and moved faster, but it was a line nevertheless. Often though, you started in one line and then were shuffled to another and yet another before your actual entry into the esteemed and at that point quite mysterious Las Vegas club scene. And then, who were those people who could just cut the line and why were they so important? Probably because they spent thousands on a table or cabana or whatever other exclusive and private corner of the club they could afford. (More on that later, too.)

And every line we waited in had its own characteristic. Some lines were long (taxi line outside of Caesars after a night at Tao), some lines were entered through parking lots (Rehab VIP/Cabana line at Hard Rock), some lines had misters that would keep us cool, but mess up our hair before a night out (Mandalay taxi line), and others promised Furkinis - yes, a bikini made of fake fur (a Body English promotion at Hard Rock and apparently a coveted promotion judging by the line of ladies giddy with anticipation).

At last count, somewhere around Monday morning, we recalled at least 24 lines that we waited in. At an average of say 4 minutes a line, we stood in lines for over an hour of our vacation.

Perhaps they should rename Las Vegas and call it Disney World instead.