Vegas is a veritable playground for the rich and the wannabe rich, a place where anything goes. A place where your room key is checked every time you access the elevators, in an effort to weed out the prosties. It’s as though the entire city is socially stuck in the 80s, still allowing excess and greed to reign supreme. It’s’ a place where Gordon Geeko would blend. During my most recent trip to the unholy land, I learned two fascinating tidbits: one a ritual and one a ruse.
The ritual – peacocking, when one dresses for attention. But it’s not just your run of the mill peacocking, this is bold, balls to the wall shit. We’re talking attention grabbing, young, scantily clad women, seeking filthy rich men. It happens by the pool, in the casino and right on the strip, regardless of who is around. These Vegas peacocks are after the almighty buck and have no limits whatsoever.
The ruse – the sponsored guest. I discovered this little secret when I was at the gift shop and tried to charge some items to my room. The super chatty clerk told me that after years of being thrown into the middle of couple fights, the hotel devised a plan to put an end to their involvement in the debauchery. So they created the sponsored guest. It’s essentially what every Vegas peacocker dreams of becoming. It’s a very classy way of describing any sexually based professional or mistress staying with a legitimate hotel guest. You know, like Vivian in Pretty Woman. All interactions with these guests are treated discretely, allowing what happens in Vegas, to truly stay in Vegas.
Needless to say, this prude was blown away. Although, I would have loved to be in the meeting where the difference between a lowly prostitute and a sponsored guest was determined.
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