This is one of my favorites from our last trip to Vegas:
Last July, I put together a bachelor party for my buddy Mike. Thanks to a connection through one of the guys, we were hooked up with a VERY nice suite at Mandalay Bay.
We arrive early on a Friday (flight touched down at 9 AM) and me another group member were the last ones to arrive out of six guys. Needless to say, the others took an earlier flight that morning and began drinking around 4 AM. Game on. The drinking continues from that point on until around 5 PM, when we realize we have to shower up, get to our dinner reservation and then head out for the night. We have dinner at RM Seafood, continue to drink, and then hop into a limo for a strip tour where we polish off a bottle before being dropped off at Pure for another two bottles.
Earlier that day, we decided to adopt the buddy system for the trip so that at the end of the night, when trying to get home, none of us ended up in jail. Well, of the six guys, only two adhered to the system, one of which was myself. Thank God. We end up back at Mandalay around 2 AM and for some unknown reason, I still want to party. I go to the nearest bar in the hotel, order two whiskeys, look around and realize I’m solo. Oh well. I proceed to creep around the hotel (double-fisting). This continues for about an hour, and then I realize it’s time to go to bed.
For anyone who has stayed in a suite in Mandalay Bay, you may have realized how confusing it can be when you get off the elevator on your floor. Essentially, you’re faced with a lobby that splits off into four different directions, and EVERYTHING IS IDENTICAL. At this point, I realize that I don’t have a clue what our room number is, but fortunately, ours was the only double-door room at the end of the hallway; pretty simple, right?
So I stumble to what I thought was our room and hear some people partying inside, which excites me (doesn’t take much). I start banging on the door and someone opens. I barge in. Everything inside the room is how I remembered leaving it, except now, there are a few people in there drinking; None of whom I recognize. I figured someone met some people along the way and invited them back to party. I grab the nearest bottle, pour myself a drink and tell them to promptly get out of my room because I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to have to listen to them blabber all night. They look at me like I’m Hitler. I continue to tell them to leave, as I start calling out my friend’s names to see where they are. No reply. Oh well. I go into the bedroom, sit on the edge of the bed, and start to take my shoes off, like I normally would. Then I realize my luggage isn’t there. At this point, I’m baffled. And then it hits me.
I casually walk out the living room area, look at everyone, and all I can say was, “This isn’t my room, is it”. Sure enough, it wasn’t.
I then brace myself for the rage I’m about to experience from the people staying in this room. Fortunately, they had been drinking all day too, and we’re surprisingly cool about it. One of them even offered to help me find my room.
I finally make it back to my room, pass out, and will share my story with our group the next day. Well, the next night, we’re about to leave the hotel and as we’re standing in the lobby, a big group comes out of the elevator bank, looks at me, and starts laughing. I’m clueless as to what’s going on, as I don’t remember their faces. They come up to me and tell me about my “appearance” in their room last night, and are joking about it. It was actually pretty funny and these guys were pretty cool about it all. Until their friend walks up (who was HUGE), squares off with me, and asks if I’m the A-hole who broke into their room last night. My only reply was, “that’s what your friends tell me”. His only reply (with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen on someone’s face), “If I see you in my room tonight I swear to God I’m going to f-ing kill you. ”
God I love Vegas.
We’re going back this July for my bachelor party in July. Hopefully I can remember our room number.
Last July, I put together a bachelor party for my buddy Mike. Thanks to a connection through one of the guys, we were hooked up with a VERY nice suite at Mandalay Bay.
We arrive early on a Friday (flight touched down at 9 AM) and me another group member were the last ones to arrive out of six guys. Needless to say, the others took an earlier flight that morning and began drinking around 4 AM. Game on. The drinking continues from that point on until around 5 PM, when we realize we have to shower up, get to our dinner reservation and then head out for the night. We have dinner at RM Seafood, continue to drink, and then hop into a limo for a strip tour where we polish off a bottle before being dropped off at Pure for another two bottles.
Earlier that day, we decided to adopt the buddy system for the trip so that at the end of the night, when trying to get home, none of us ended up in jail. Well, of the six guys, only two adhered to the system, one of which was myself. Thank God. We end up back at Mandalay around 2 AM and for some unknown reason, I still want to party. I go to the nearest bar in the hotel, order two whiskeys, look around and realize I’m solo. Oh well. I proceed to creep around the hotel (double-fisting). This continues for about an hour, and then I realize it’s time to go to bed.
For anyone who has stayed in a suite in Mandalay Bay, you may have realized how confusing it can be when you get off the elevator on your floor. Essentially, you’re faced with a lobby that splits off into four different directions, and EVERYTHING IS IDENTICAL. At this point, I realize that I don’t have a clue what our room number is, but fortunately, ours was the only double-door room at the end of the hallway; pretty simple, right?
So I stumble to what I thought was our room and hear some people partying inside, which excites me (doesn’t take much). I start banging on the door and someone opens. I barge in. Everything inside the room is how I remembered leaving it, except now, there are a few people in there drinking; None of whom I recognize. I figured someone met some people along the way and invited them back to party. I grab the nearest bottle, pour myself a drink and tell them to promptly get out of my room because I’m exhausted, and I don’t want to have to listen to them blabber all night. They look at me like I’m Hitler. I continue to tell them to leave, as I start calling out my friend’s names to see where they are. No reply. Oh well. I go into the bedroom, sit on the edge of the bed, and start to take my shoes off, like I normally would. Then I realize my luggage isn’t there. At this point, I’m baffled. And then it hits me.
I casually walk out the living room area, look at everyone, and all I can say was, “This isn’t my room, is it”. Sure enough, it wasn’t.
I then brace myself for the rage I’m about to experience from the people staying in this room. Fortunately, they had been drinking all day too, and we’re surprisingly cool about it. One of them even offered to help me find my room.
I finally make it back to my room, pass out, and will share my story with our group the next day. Well, the next night, we’re about to leave the hotel and as we’re standing in the lobby, a big group comes out of the elevator bank, looks at me, and starts laughing. I’m clueless as to what’s going on, as I don’t remember their faces. They come up to me and tell me about my “appearance” in their room last night, and are joking about it. It was actually pretty funny and these guys were pretty cool about it all. Until their friend walks up (who was HUGE), squares off with me, and asks if I’m the A-hole who broke into their room last night. My only reply was, “that’s what your friends tell me”. His only reply (with the most serious expression I’ve ever seen on someone’s face), “If I see you in my room tonight I swear to God I’m going to f-ing kill you. ”
God I love Vegas.
We’re going back this July for my bachelor party in July. Hopefully I can remember our room number.
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