First of all, the excessive cigarette smoking is ridiculous. It’s like mad scientists bottled up all the smoke ever smoked in the history of France, Spain, and Italy combined, and then emptied said bottle into an unventilated room, dooming everyone in that room to breathe the thousands of years of strangers’ used smoke in and out, in and out, over and over.
Secondly, the resorts are designed to keep you in, making it so difficult to get out that you’re forced to give up trying, rendering you an impotent, suddenly claustrophobic basketcase with heart palpitations. (During this last trip, it took me 45 minutes to find an exit out of the Caesars Casino & Forum Shops. At that point, I found an Exit door. This led me to an alley and parking garage behind the entire Caesars grounds, with absolutely nothing in sight but desolation and a highway. I could have walked a mile on the highway to get back to the Strip, but instead I was forced back inside that hellhole, for another hour of fun searching for an exit. What. The. Hell.)
Third, I don’t gamble. Or drink. So, yeah, Vegas is not for me.
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