Just like in the movies.

Okay, so, I arrive in Vegas late Friday night, March 7th, knowing that Dermot Mulroney was here just three days earlier. On Saturday morning we get up and have a big family reunion breakfast. Then Dad and I head for an afternoon at Hoover Dam.

So it's about 3 pm before I'm loose on my own on the strip.

I wander into Bally's and begin to think. How to find out about ShoWest? The size of the place has me convinced that no one is gonna have any idea what anyone else is doing, but the check-in/courtesy desk looks like the likeliest place to start. So I step up to the line.

"Is it true that ShoWest was here earlier this week?"

Yep.

"Do you have any idea how I could get my hands on any leftover promotional material?"

Talk to the convention/events people.

I wander over to that area of the complex and find some women hauling boxes out of the room ShoWest was in. They inform me that the ShoWest folks cleared out...JUST THAT MORNING...hauling loads of leftover crap out with them. AARRGGHH!!!!

But wait. Maybe it's still around, just in the garbage. The women go on to inform me they're not with the hotel, they're the next folks using the conference room and I should look for the guy in charge of conventions.

I find him, a smiling gentleman in a nice suit, who informs me that insurance practices do not permit him to let me rummage through Bally's garbage dumpsters.

Okay. At this point, of course, I want to give up. If someone says "No" and you go ahead anyway, well, you could get in trouble!

But then I think. Wait a minute. For crying out loud, wait just a cotton picking minute. Am I just gonna give up because one person says no to me?

They'd never do that in the movies.

The adrenalin began to pump as I told myself, "Remember, there's always a way, success goes to the person who thinks ahead the farthest, the person who works the problem." How tough can it be to find Bally's garbage and rummage through it?

Ye gods.

First I've got to get away from where I am so the suited gentleman doesn't suspect anything. Drawing on experience, I decide to head for the rooms and look for a housekeeper. I can claim I left something in my room and now it's gone so I need to look through the garbage.

But wait! These places...they're so big, they're so...electronic! What if the maid asks me which room? What if she has access to some gizmo that lets her do a quick check that reveals I am NOT a Bally's guest?

As I roam and scheme, I notice a little service room with its own set of elevators. Service elevators! No doubt they lead to an access to the garbage! On the door to the service room is, of course, a sign saying "Hotel Personnel Only." Deep breath, in we go.

I'm heading for the elevators when I hear a noise. Someone's here. Try to slip by? No, I'll get caught. Better to take the offensive. So I call out loud and clear, "Excuse me. Can you help me? I'm looking for the garbage dumpsters."

No, the guy can't help me. The place is actually so big that this guy doesn't know where the garbage dumpsters are. But he tells me to help myself to the phone to call housekeeping.

On the wall by the phone is a list of in-house phone numbers but none of it makes sense to me. I know if the guy sees I can't decipher the phone system, I'm toast, so I split and head for the elevators. Luck is with me...it opens to reveal two uniformed housekeepers. Once again, act like you belong there and things will go your way, I figure. "Excuse me, are you with housekeeping?" Yep. Duh. I explain that I'm looking for convention room garbage. They explain that Bally's has multiple garbage dumpster sites.

They refer me to security.

They take me to the nearest armed, badged, security person. Oh, man.

I think to myself that if I end up in a locked room with scary guys in dark suits and dark glasses, I can always bring up the ovarian cancer.

I stay calm. I've got my story ready now...the closer to the truth, the better. I tell the security man that my boss was here for the ShoWest convention and lost his promo material. He's offered to cover part of my vacation airfare if I'll do a little business while I'm in town and try and replace his lost material. I'm even ready to name Alexandria's Midway Cinema 7 as my place of employment (yep, I actually live near a town called Alexandria...how gestalt...that's the only true part of my prepared spiel) but that's never required of me.

Security Man doesn't arrest me or throw me out. Instead, he tells me the convention garbage dumpsters are behind the pool. He tells me how to get to the pool and how to ask the pool attendant to show me where the dumpsters are.

I'm cooking. I'm cooking! I'm home-free! I can now say "Security Man sent me" all the rest of the way, and no one will question me! Huzzah!

Pool Attendant is very nice, she explains that I'll need to call yet another security person to let me into the garbage area (yes, the garbage is actually locked up). Once again, I simply drop first Security Man's name and there I am...

...rummaging through filth. In a white coat. The only outfit I have with me for the weekend.

I rummage and I rummage and I rummage ("Ah, vacuum cleaner bag discards! I remember them well!"). And all I find is a discarded two-day old issue of Daily Variety.

Can't imagine why I felt so good about it. Just wish I'd tipped Pool Attendant.


Rebecca Webb, March 1997