Some guests at the Sahara this week were grumbling about the fact the Sahara failed to disclose fees when they enticed 'em to book a suite at the Hotel & Casino on the Las Vegas strip with promises of low rates Sunday night through Thursday (and free slot play!)
When clueless tourists dialed up the Sahara to reserve a suite - employees at Sahara conveniently "forgot" to inform them about a "resort fee" ($6.00 daily) until they checked in later at the front desk on the scheduled date of arrival.
If a guest complained, staff simply shrugged their shoulders, and moved on with the reservation process.
Outrageous!
A couple of the Hotel front desk staff also played "dumb" when it came to the free slot play, too.
Shame on the Sahara was engaging in such deceptive business practices.
A handful of patrons on the Casino floor were also miffed (and somewhat parched) at the long waits for cocktails!
Sahara either cut-back on staff, or deliberately informed servers to slow-down the drink delivery, as a cost-effective measure, I guess.
Cheap basta**s!
Usually, when I trek to the desert oasis for a few days of much-needed R&R, I drop into the Sahara to take a free spin at the Player's Club desk.
Then, I usually saunter up to sup on the bargain buffet upstairs ($8.99 with a club card).
A couple of days ago, I strolled through the Casino, and queued up behind Club Players waiting to try their luck at the big spin.
Within minutes, I overheard a bit of whispering behind me.
"Do you know who that is?"
Just as I was about to half-turn to check out the alleged "star sighting", I suddenly heard the squawk of a walkie-talk, directly behind me.
Over my shoulder, I spied three security staff members standing at attention staring right at me in amazement!
Then, a guest whispered to a friend, in reference to me:
"He must be important."
I stepped up to the clerk at the desk, at which point, she non-chalantly asked if she could be of assistance.
Judging from the way the perky young gal was acting, I was inclined to imagine she didn't know me from "Adam".
Wrong!
Shortly after the Player's Club employee registered me for the spin toss, and I began to trot over to try my luck, I overhead her excitedly ask her co-worker if she knew who I was.
When I turned to determine if I won, a posse of folks - hotel employees, guests, rounders, waitresses - were staring wide-eyed in my direction.
"Nothing tonight, Julian. Come back tomorrow," she cried out across the Casino floor.
At this juncture, I headed up to the Buffet room on the second floor, but was disappointed by the sorry sight!
The normally-friendly cashiers who check in paying guests (no tabulating the bill after-the-fact here, so they've got you by the short 'n curlies, really) were stone-faced and unfriendly to the customers.
And, the old policy of greeting patrons at the table when they first sauntered in, must have flown out the door, too.
The only occasion I spied a waitress cruising by a table was on the heels of their departure (to snatch up tips, if any, tossed on the table).
Yup!
The pickings were slim.
But, the buffet was the biggest disappointment of all.
The cook actually had the gall to to offer up a piece of Prime Rib that was all grissled and rippled with nasty tasteless fat.
The rolls were stale. The coffee was cold.
And, instead of a tasty array of delicable desserts as usual, the buffet table was sparsely scattered with a few little scraps of sweets here and there.
Nothing to write home about to grannie about, 'fer sure!
Then, as I reflected on the "downward spiral" of the Sahara, I happened to notice a security guard on the casino floor striding right up to a gentleman as he was walking in a forward-direction in his path.
Did he slow down to allow the guest to pass?
No, with a sneer on is face, he continued on forward.
Just as it appeared the two would collide, the hapless patron accelerated a beat, and ended up out-of-harm's way (as the sneering security guard chuckled to himself wickedly).
Imagine that!
The sawed-off sleaze ball had nothing better to do but taunt hotel guests!
A few old publicity stills of Elvis and the Beatles hanging ceremoniously about the halls & walls of the old lady triggered memories of their once-glorious days. Just as the thought entered my mind, I overhead an operator announcing over the loudspeaker:
"Wayne Newton. Paging Mr. Wayne Newton. You have a phone call."
OMG!
If Wayne is hanging out at the Sahara, times must be tough, eh?
No wonder he's slyly negotiating a Vegas deal behind-the-scenes to return to the Vegas stage!
News at 11!
