Consumers sometimes try to rationalize their experience based upon their expectation. That type of behavior is expected in a brand-aware society and one need only imagine a caveman conversation that included whatever grunts conveyed the ideas, “Ogg’s wheels better. You try.”

The Hard Rock franchise is one such brand name. The tee shirts and other apparel assume mythical status and crowds of ordinary people storm the restaurants and hotels hoping to become somewhat less ordinary. The irony is that all things Hard Rock are themselves a pedestrian experience and the utility I glean from seeing the paraphernalia adorning the walls in no way justifies the cost for the ordinariness.

So This Is A Jumping Joint

I was dragged to the Hard Rock Casino in Las Vegas by a group of colleagues who assured me that “the place is jumping”. Protesting that it was a Sunday night, I was reminded that two conventions totaling more than 50,000 attendees were in town and we would have trouble simply getting in the place. Approaching middle age, I still allow peer pressure to drive me and this night was no different. Seven of us crammed into two cabs and went to the Rock.

The cabbie desperately tried to get us to stop first at a gentleman’s club across the street, at which time, he finally confided, he would be paid a bounty for each of us who entered the club. But no, my laughing colleagues told him, the Rock was waiting, the Rock was where it was happening, not some sleazy strip bar on Paradise. Our hack finally pulled up underneath the guitar-themed famous logo and we prepared for the crush of the crowd.

Except the place was empty.

To be sure, there was someone at every tenth slot machine or so and the fabled bar where “the famous” congregate was about half full. Bored dealers guarded idle tables and maintenance staff kept closing off different sections for cleaning.

Beyond the lack of traffic, the place is simply a bare bones casino built like a 1988 fern bar. Yay, so there’s some rock and roll theme to the place. What blared from the speakers was more like hard pop or classic rock, but that’s simply an issue for the nitpickers.

The experience was…ordinary.

Jimi Hendrix Does Not Belong On A Slot Machine

Dropping by some of the slot machines, I found the usual gang of suspects and then the horror of horrors, a machine with a rock theme. Match a couple of Jimis and win some bucks. I was playing $3 a spin, errr, push; no one spins anymore, and found the game annoying. Besides the alignment issues that bedevil anyone who wants to throw money into a one-armed bandit (is diagonal a payoff? Oh, on Thursdays when the moon is full? Got it) the fact is that rock icons do not belong on slot machines. The whole conceit was silly and actually detracted from the experience.

Cashing in for chips at a blackjack table, I was handed a stack of multi-colored rainbow things that looked as if the Skittles Monster had digested them. Oh, this multi-colored chip is $5 and that uglier one is $10. Got it.

Much has been made of the dealers and here’s where I get the casino in trouble, but give the place its due. I don’t play casino games much and was only out to drop $200. At least, that’s my philosophy on casino gambling – go in with a plan to lose the money and pay for the experience. My live blackjack experience is therefore somewhat limited. The dealer was helpful as soon as I realized that she would move her hand to the shoe if she were anticipating my bet on the tough cards. When I started to make a motion to take a card against conventional wisdom, her hand was nowhere near the shoe. Of course, she had to give me the card, but she was at least subtly teaching as she did so.

Can I Get Some Coffee Here? Anything? Water?

The service was abysmal. There were not enough servers, even with an empty casino, and getting anything beyond a beer or basic rail drink was like pulling teeth. Yes, I’m strange, but people do order coffee at 11:00 p.m., especially when they’re waiting for their friends to lose all their money. I found no service at any of the slot machines, even the dollar machines, and very little at the table themselves. We finally settled into a routine where the waitress passed every 30 minutes or so. I don’t know if that’s the norm anymore, but it seemed like far too long a wait.

I also broke down and bought a cigar (don’t tell my doctor or wife) at the smoke shop. I don’t mind paying two to three times the cost I would at a tobacconist’s when I’m at a tourist trap, but the effect was simply one more black mark against the place. Rather than selling things at fair market price, I had to give up my money and overpay for a cigar. You’re almost at insult level, which of course, the ATM manages to complete by charging $3 on top of the $1 your bank charges.

The Bottom Line

I stayed across the street from the Hilton, and while the casino there was somewhat seedy, the Hard Rock will join its ranks with a bit more usage. That there’s a music theme and something vaguely contemporary playing in the background is nice. The patrons did seem to skew younger than the average casino dweller, but that’s only to be expected, and the age difference was not as much as one might think.

If you’re close by and want to drop in, feel free. If there are lines, however, or you need to purchase anything, you’re better off not paying the premium price for the privilege of making your purchase here.

© 2001 Joubert.

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