March 26, 2009
Losers’ Las Vegas
A tribute to the casino saints
who save us from ourselves
By STEVE FRIESS
I’m a loser. I lose things. All the time. So far today alone
I misplaced one of the dog’s leashes, my wallet and my wedding
ring. And it’s only 1 p.m. and I haven’t left the house except,
once I found the leash -- under laundry waiting to be folded
– to take Black and Jack for a walk.
I’m one of “those people.” I don’t know if it’s irresponsibility,
easy distraction or early-onset Alzheimer’s. My mother is the
same way. I look a lot like her, we both have constantly running
noses, we’re both terrible drivers and neither of us ever remember
what we entered a room for, so the notion that a lot of odd
traits may have come in the bundle is quite likely.
When I’m in the house, I don’t even stress about it anymore.
Unless I absolutely need the item at that moment – my car keys
typically – I just shrug and give it time and the missing things
eventually surface. Today, for example, the wallet was in yesterday’s
jeans and my ring sat on the ledge behind the toilet. (Sorry,
Miles!)
I’m more careful when I’m out. There are traumatic incidents
– a hearing aid left atop a pay phone, a thicket of sealed,
unmailed holiday cards left under the seat in front of me on
an airplane, a car thought to have been parked on the 3rd floor
of a Strip garage in 115-degree heat that actually sat on the
8th floor at a different hotel – but for the most part I trying
to be more aware.
Yet because I am such a ditz and because I am out so often,
the odds were high that I was going to lose something important
sooner or later. I count on that and brace myself, but what
I didn’t count on was that there are angels all over Las Vegas
waiting to save us losers from ourselves.
It happened twice in recent months. First, I was over at the
Palms in October to scout out space for the Vegas Podcast-A-Palooza
held there a few days later. I sat down to play at a blackjack
machine for a few minutes before heading to my car and a mile
later, I realized my wallet was missing. I backtracked and I
start looking everywhere I had been at the Palms that day. Most
vexingly, I couldn’t recall which machine I’d sat at; in a panic,
they all look alike.
A slot-floor lady noticed my distress and asked what was wrong.
When I told her, an enormous matronly smile emerged, she took
my hand and rubbed my upper back and said, “It’s OK, it’s OK,
a nice old woman found it and turned it into security.”
I was in shock, then felt a wave of relief that prompted me
to tear up. There is a calculation your mind makes when something
is lost, an effort to accept the loss and decide what to do
about it. Having an unexpected recovery is like waking up from
a bad dream. It can be quite emotional.
Not emotional enough, though, for me to keep better track
of my things. In late January, I was at Boulder Station placing
my annual Super Bowl bet. (Lost that, too.) Again, I sat down
to play a little, this time live blackjack. Then I went home.
The next morning, we realized my cell phone wasn’t around. We
tried the usual things – retracing steps, calling it from another
line, cursing Steve for being a doofus – to no avail. So I went
to AT&T Wireless’ website to see if anyone had used the phone
and, lo and behold, a call had been made an hour after I left
the casino.
I dialed the number and Boulder Station security answered.
They had used my phone to call themselves to get my phone number
and then they logged the number and the make and model of the
phone. When I called in, all I had to do was tell them my number
and they had it waiting for me when I rushed over 10 minutes
later.
Both incidents occurred off the Boulevard and my heroes seemed
to be honest local people who had turned in my belongings. So
I wondered: Are people as honest and are things logged as carefully
at the big, fancy Strip haunts?
Answer: Holy crap, yes.
Mary McKenzie, the Mirage’s Lost and Found guru, happily showed
me what this looks like from the back end. In a large closet
in a back-of-house office, the 1,000 or so items turned in each
month are logged and sorted by type. There are boxes of credit
cards left with barkeeps at Jet, sunglasses and hats left by
the pool, cell phone chargers left in rooms. More expensive
things – watches, rings, wads of money – are kept in safes.
McKenzie has one clerk who spends most of her time calling
guests or sending them letters to see if they forgot something
in their rooms, sometimes reaching back two or three guests
ago to find the rightful owners. “We might give them a hint
because some people have no idea,” she says. “We might say,
it’s a jewelry item. But they have to describe it to get it
back.”
No item is too big, small or weird. A sack of snacks left
by the pool or a newly purchased “Love” T-shirt forgotten next
to a slot machine have the same chance of being logged and kept.
McKenzie admits they’ve logged their share of dildoes and vibrators,
too. “Years ago, we got a prosthetic leg,” she recalled. “And
you wonder how anyone could forget something like that.”
Claimed items are shipped for free by UPS to the owner, at
least at MGM Mirage properties. Items that go unclaimed endure
various fates. If it’s something valuable, it is held longer
and ultimately is offered to the employee “of record” who turned
it in. More mundane items may be given to charity. (Employees
pocket valuables at their own risk; if a guest calls chasing
after something valuable, McKenzie’s folks investigate who was
in the room when.)
It was all too much to imagine, so I asked my Facebook friends
if they’d ever lost and recovered anything at a Vegas resort.
Stories poured in confirming McKenzie’s system for other resorts
on the Strip, tales of an iPhone left at the Wynn pool, of a
leather jacket forgotten at Palazzo’s Grand Luxe Café, a hat
believed gone that was under a bed at the Flamingo. All were
reunited with forgetful owners.
One thing bothered me. One would think that a department like
McKenzie’s would be deluged by a constant shower of thank-you
notes and gifts.
“We’ve gotten a basket once,” she says. “Sometimes [the loser]
will leave a tip for the finders.”
That’s just rude. We should be pledging everlasting love to
these people. My Palms situation was too long ago, but I’m going
to take care of that right now with the Boulder Station folks
who took care of my phone.
OK. I’m done. Wrote the letter, printed it out. Now, what
did I do with the stamps?
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