Cripple Disneyland and the Filthiest Hotel in the West

[laguera25]

Another Rammstein Vegas highlight: I am under no illusion that the Luxor is the height of opulence. According to my online research, it is, in fact, one of the older casinos on the Strip, and while it hasn't yet descended into seediness, it certainly had an air of faded glory. The lobby is amazing with its reproductions of Egyptian sculpture and aesthetic, and to someone whose prior experience with upscale hotels was an afternoon at the Hampton Inn, during which the maid walked in on my boyfriend and I having sex, it's breathtaking at first glance. Once your eyes adjust, however, you begin to realize that everything is overlain with a patina of movie-prop cheesiness. The longer you look at Ramses and his accompanying herd of imposing rams, the more you are reminded of "It's a Small World, After All" or the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World. When you're a child, your imagination supplies enough magic to hide the seams of the childhood wonderland of cement and plaster and artistic sleight of hand, but when you return as an adult, those singing dolls and those yo-ho-hoing pirates and their glittering booty look jarringly fake and blandly artificial. It's a disappointing shock. The more you look at the Luxor's decor, the more you begin to suspect that they bought most of it at Crate and Barrel or some kitschy new-age store where willowy women in tie-dye mumus sell crystals and mood rocks and huff patchouli-scented incense.

Backlot decor aside, the Luxor was wonderful. Our room was appointed in hotel chic and boasted hokey hieroglyphics on the headboards and wardrobe, but it afforded a view of the black monorail that traveled between three Strip hotels, and the beds were heavenly. caecus_parvulus was so enamored of the pillows that she threatened to steal them. The hotel was only too happy to supply a shower seat and delivered one to the room soon after we checked in. It wasn't strictly necessary, as the shower turned out to have a bench seat affixed to the wall, but I ended up using it anyway because the bench was a bit narrow and I couldn't shake the completely unfounded feeling that I was going to spasm and fall off and break my tailbone on the shower floor.

The staff were amazing and fell over themselves making sure I could get where I wanted to go. The folks manning the buffet routinely sent me down the VIP ramp, and when we needed directions to the Thomas and Mack Center, the security officer in the valet area happily provided directions. He even chased us down to provide more gimp-friendly directions once the thought occurred to him. Aside from a blockage caused by construction, everything was accessible. The elevators worked; the curb cuts were plentiful. The stools in the casino could be moved if I wanted to play any of the machines. Even the most crowded shops were arranged so that a person in a wheelchair had access to them, and if you still couldn't reach something, the proprietors would practically vault the counter to help you. I know money is king and that such solicitousness and complete accessibility existed only because the hotel wanted me to empty my wallet, but if the rest of the country used the Vegas standard of accessibility in its public buildings and spaces, then my life would be so much freer.

I ordered room service for the first time after the concert. We were too tired after the excitement of the show and the walk from the venue to find a restaurant, and the buffet was closed. It was exorbitantly expensive--forty dollars for a small pizza and some buffalo wings--but it tickled my fancy to see the food brought in on a trolley that transformed into a table and my wings delivered on a silver tray. I can't say it was worth the expense, but it's another small wonder I never thought I'd experience, and I'll never forget it.

A Rammstein Vegas lowlight: The Motel 6 in Amarillo, Texas, off I-40 on Bell Street was the filthiest hotel room in which I have ever stayed. There was mold in the shower, and the dust on the light fixtures was so thick that the lights sizzled when on. When Roomie got out of bed to use the toilet, the floor was so dirty that the soles of his feet were black and required four baby swipes to clean them. There were ants in the sink and crawling across the beds. We wanted to leave, but Roomie had been driving for ten hours, and he just lacked the stones was too tired to argue, re-pack the car, and drive to another hotel. So CC slept on top of the sheets, and I slept in my clothes, and none of us showered.

The best part? There's a knock at the door at nine-thirty in the morning, two-and-a-half hours before check-out. It's the housekeeper, and she wants to know if we're ready to check out because she needs to clean. Yes, your devotion to your job is so evident, lady. We couldn't leave fast enough. That hotel was so vile that I haven't brought the clothes I wore that day inside because I haven't washed them yet, and God knows what hitchhikers they could be carrying.