How This New Yorker Finally Popped the Vegas Cherry.
Having grown up in New York I don’t scare easy, but something about going to Las Vegas for the first time made my palms sweat. Everything I knew about Sin City came from CSI and the movies, and I was expecting to get lost in a crowd of hormone crazed frat boys driven by beer and prostitutes. I decided to take no chances and used a Vegas app to help set up a weekend with some friends, and I must admit it made a huge difference.
Before downloading Vegaster I did what every other Vegas virgin does when making plans, I googled it. Dumb move. The amount of information just made my palms sweat even more as I realized hundreds of websites were giving me a crap load of useless info. I wanted, no needed, the inside story, not some jacked up descriptions of what the clubs looked like inside.
Not having just gained access to the Hilton fortune, I needed someone to tell me what kind of Vegas experience I could afford. Would me and my crew be subjected to a seedy motel off the strip with a dried up swimming pool in the parking lot? Or could my budget allow us to stay somewhere cool, like the Bellagio? I browsed through the Vegaster app and found a beautfiul room that didn’t eat my savings at Caesars Palace of all places. I was pretty sure I would find no issues there.
What I really wanted to know about Vegas was if all the talk about this amazing club scene was true. IMO nowhere is better on a Friday night than Manhattan. I tried out this nifty gadget on the App called Price Your Party, where I got to let a real person at Hakkasan know how much me and my friends had to spend. She let me know in minutes what kind of VIP service that would get us, including tax and tips. Pretty awesome knowing there would be no surprises at the end. Trust me this was WAY better than hitting up Twitter and having 259 differnt "VIP" Host telling me to call them about some free offers. Really, Free? Nothing in life is free, epecially in Vegas.
Of course, once it was booked I realized I had forgotten to pack a few essentials. Again, I hit the Vegaster app. There was an On Demand Host that promised to deliver to my room anything I needed (within reason I'm sure), which was cool with me since the guys in the lobby didn’t seem like they would give a rats ass that I could only take a shower with Dove. #HighMaintenance. We decided for shits and giggles to throw a few off the wall requests at Vegaster. Sure enough, inside our package was a pair of size 16 pink fishnets. Looks like they really can find you anything and make it happen....within reason.
Vegaster made getting to the club easy. All four of us got a message from our own host telling us when it was time to go and gave us easy to understand directions on how to get there. Not once did we get sidetracked down some dark, Vegas alleyway, more like the slot machines! The path they mapped out was direct, and even gave a few tips on some cool spots along the way that we should pop into.
What I expected when we got to the club was the VIP service to be about half of what I had been promised. I assumed that I had been lured in by the app and my friends and I would now be taken to a table out by the dumpsters. Wrong. We walked up, had a picture of our host and knew exactly who to look for. Made it really easy to find eachother. What the VIP hostess promised me is exactly what we got. We bypassed the line outside, paid no cover and were escorted to a table close to the dance floor, where a bottle of Patron, ice, mixers and a waitress were waiting.
Surrender was everything I had been promised and more. The music was out of this world with a cool crowd that fit in with exactly what I had been looking for. No ass groping frat boys in sight. Maybe there is something to this Vegas nightclub scene after all.
Popping the Vegas cherry is not something to take lightly. Very easily my friends and I could have been sucked into some dark world by the guys in the street hawking free passes to unknown clubs. It was cool to be able to instantly be in touch with someone right from your cell who knew what the hell they were doing and didn’t make you feel like an ass for not.