NEW YORK, JFK
After an extended holiday in Asia, studying ancient cultures and mastering those slippery chopsticks, three of my girlfriends and I decided we needed neon lights and a few nights of partying in a new city. The answer: Vegas Baby!
Following an extremely exhausting and unfriendly evening flight aboard National Airlines, and as fate decided to truly curse our evening, we hale the cab whose unhygienic driver that practiced tip bartering attempted to cheat us out of ten dollars for the fare. I don?t think he knew we were NY women.
And there we were, at a motor in that charges $65.00 p/night. Stacey, Audra, Kim and I proceeded to walk toward the blinking sign that read Wild Wild West Inn. We had a limited budget but had heard cheap hotels did not mean roach-infested, back alley, unsanitary motels. With optimistic frames of mind, desperate to find a place to sleep, we were checked-in by the syllabically challenged woman suffering from halitosis and a vicious outbreak of facial hair. In short, the casino consisted of one slot machine, a couple of tables and trolls dressed in denim lurking in corners. I cannot describe the room in detail because I am trying to forget. Let me just say the roach walking past the sign on the bed that read Sheets are washed weekly to conserve water was enough to make us get out the phone book, cell phones, leave the room and find new lodgings.
At 4:30am we entered the lobby of The Palace Station, a hotel not located within walking distance from the strip. The wallpaper was a bit outdated, but the sheets were clean and coffee was available in the 24hr caf?. We knew we could only stay two nights, and hoped we find another clean and cheap hotel with vacancies for the remaining two nights.