stuart james beall

Could a convergence of astronomical gambling coincidences turn our lives in an abnormal direction? Maybe not.

In any case, an attractive opportunity made an intrusion, or an appearance, or an offer, that we didn’t refuse. It started with our arrival at Circus Circus in Las Vegas.

This sprawling facility is probably the oldest casino on Las Vegas Boulevard. And the worst in customer service ratings.

We couldn’t get a wheelchair-accessible room in the high-rise sections, so the online-only booking system put us into a room at the manor lodge. What is that, you ask? Me too.

On Circus Circus Drive, we arrived at the hotel check-in area, below something they call the Adventuredome. There was a bumper to bumper traffic jam. I did a loop around the block, looking for a safe place to park. Then I noticed a sign indicating manor parking. But the gate there was locked. I had already passed what appeared to be the only entry to this manor parking area. So I went around the block again, to just beyond the hotel check-in area with the traffic jam, where I had seen the unmarked drive into the manor parking lot. 

We found a parking spot near a circular building, in front of a white three-level hotel building. It seemed like the circular building was once used for customer service: guest reception, and check-in. But not anymore. No entrance, no check-in signs or directions. One door had a small sign: Authorized Personnel Only. 

I wondered if that long, white, three-level hotel building was the A1 building my automated booking email had assigned us. It was, but we didn’t know for sure, until we checked a key card on the electronic sensor. No helpful signs on the front of this building either. The house phone (in a box at the entrance) might have helped, if there had been a helpful message on the answering machine. Instead, a voice recording invited me to leave a message. I could have said, Trump Is A Liar, but it didn’t seem appropriate.

When I spotted a bell man, I asked him where to check-in. He indicated that was “on the other side, across the street.”

How does an average customer, unfamiliar with this part of Vegas, figure out any of this? 

I took my son with me, and we walked across the street, under the Circus Circus Adventuredome (covered by neon purple fascia) where the traffic jam had begun to clear out. There was a fancy hotel lobby, with mostly un-manned customer service stations. Crowds of people were mulling about trying to figure out what to do. Then I noticed the touch-screen kiosks. 

We waited near a kiosk, until someone else finished checking in. I followed the screen prompts to enter my reservation number, make a credit card payment, and request two key cards. It offered no directions to building A1.

I was pretty sure I was already parked in front of A1. Free parking here! And easy access to our car! That was a big plus.

The new key card unlocked the main door to the white three-level building, and we found our wheelchair-accessible room on the ground floor.

The bathroom was our main concern. It was spacious enough for my wife’s Pride Mobility Scooter, and it had grab rails. There was a joystick faucet at the washbasin, with the hot water side shut off. 

The shower control was an interesting piece of work. There was hot water available, and a water hammer sound that reminded me of a Harley Davidson motorcycle. The water pressure wasn’t as robust as I would expect. During our stay, we could hear neighbors running their shower motorcycles.

No fridge or cooler in our room, but there was an ice machine in a hallway nearby. A nice room service maid with poor English provided some extra towels and a shower chair for our room. Should’ve asked for some hangers, so we could hang some clothes in our fancy armoire/dresser/TV cabinet.

I suppose some people might joyfully spend over two hundred dollars per night to rest in one of these manor rooms, store their jewelry in a safe box, and watch television. Not me. I didn’t even turn on this television.

With the curtains shut, and all the lights on, our room seemed very dim.

We wished there were more power receptacles in this manor room, where we could conveniently plug-in more electric devices. I would expect that at Comfort Inn, but not here.

I don’t mean to sound critical of Circus Circus. It was adequate for our needs; however, my son was not entirely pleased. At the manor room, he surprised us by making the comment, “This building is a one-star.”

We walked down Circus Circus Drive, under cement pillars that seemed to support a small train or perhaps a baggage shuttle between the Skyrise building and the main Circus Circus hotel building. Whatever the platform was built for, we saw no movement on it.

We walked to the Sahara monorail train station, and rode the train down to the MGM casino, where we enjoyed a magic and illusion show with David Copperfield. Also enjoyed my son’s favorite food: pizza.

It seems there is confusion about which station is closest to Circus Circus. According to one visitor, who we met at the Westgate monorail station, “You need to go to the Sahara station. I’ve been here five times. Trust me.”

I leaned more toward the informational message broadcast on the train: the Westgate station is the closest to Circus Circus. We waved bye-bye to the visitor as he got into an elevator, and I had a conversation with my wife on the station platform. I didn’t believe we should go to the Sahara station. Not that it was a big deal to my wife, as she was riding her electric scooter. We walked by the Westgate hotel lobby, down the sidewalks to Elvis Presley Boulevard. We could see that the Circus Circus Casino was a straight walk on Elvis Presley Boulevard. So that’s the way we walked, past the Fontainebleau Hotel, to Circus Circus. It was unusually cold, and it was raining lightly. My wife’s hands got uncomfortably cold, with no gloves.

The next morning we purchased breakfast bagels in the Circus Circus food court. My son was not amused. He wanted pancakes. McDonald’s. So I asked a casino employee for directions to McDonald’s. “That’s not in the casino,” he replied.

I could have said something like, we’re not excited about the food in this casino. That didn’t seem appropriate, so I re-phrased my question to sound nice.

The McDonald’s we visited was on Las Vegas Boulevard, but close to the main Circus Circus Casino entrance. There were pigeons on the floor, pecking at crumbs. Maybe they were part of the cleaning crew?

After eating, we walked over to the Adventuredome for some tummy excitement. Some of those amusement rides are serious enough to make you lose your breakfast, or lunch. I didn’t really enjoy them, but I wanted to support my son. At least he had fun.

We enjoyed a Cirque de Soleil show at the MGM, and had a nice pizza dinner, then went home.

The next morning we ate at McDonald’s of course. Pancakes. Walked over to Westgate Hotel, intending to ride the monorail to Horseshoe Casino. It was still cold outside, so we slipped into the lobby, where it was warmer.

Now I’m getting to the really good part. We were about to find out why there was so much Elvis memorabilia in the Westgate lobby.

A black woman with a pink headband was talking to my wife. Chit-chat, about where we are from, how long have we been in Vegas, and which hotel we stayed at. Have we had lunch? She offered to buy us a lunch. She sent us to another woman at a computer, who was over-the-top friendly. She asked more of the same questions, asked for our identification, for marketing purposes. The next time we came to Vegas, she wanted us to stay at the Westgate, instead of Circus Circus. She wanted about 90 minutes of our time to show us around the place. And we would get a hundred and something dollars for our time. And a free lunch.

What was the motive? Time-share sales presentation. Okay, I thought. We can play this game.

There was a mob of people queuing up at a hallway named Preview Center. They were constantly spilling in out of… places unknown. This is where we had to wait.

After checking in with a man at a circular, stainless steel, blue-neon-accented reception desk, who wanted to see our identification (the second time in about 30 minutes), we came into a lounge. Here, various salesmen called out couples by name, to go somewhere else. I didn’t see any children here, other than our own son Trevin.

Our salesman was a man named Nick. He escorted the Beall Family into a huge room, once used as The Star Trek Experience. Paramount Studios built lots of space movie fantasy themes into the facades.

Nick selected a round table, where he brought us some drinks, and gave a brief introduction, inviting us to be open-minded, and throw out all our pre-conceived notions about timeshares.

This time-share presentation was a limited time offer, so potential customers had to accept or reject the offer on the same day. The terms would be subject to change in the future.

The old space bar, where Star Trek fans once mingled among costumed movie characters, was now used as a salad bar and lunch counter.

When the Westgate time-share business began booming, the Westgate decided to use this space for salesmen and potential condo owners, pre-qualified by income levels.

As a young boy, Nick suffered with bone cancer. His medical bills were paid due to the efforts of Bob Hope and The U.S. Marine Corps. In later years, he had been a professional singer, until he blew out a vocal cord while singing at a Hard Rock Cafe.

He told us some interesting things about Las Vegas. The monorail line would be extended to a new basketball stadium, where a professional team would play. Westgate owned many resort properties around the country, including the Las Vegas Convention Center, which could hold ten thousand people. He described the new Tesla Loop; a tunnel between the convention center and the airport, for electric cars only. Seems that Disney just bought out Circus Circus.

Nick led Trevin and I to the lunch line. Nick and Trevin each had a hot dog. I fixed a salad, chicken, and rice for Tonnette. I had the chicken and rice.

After eating, Nick asked me about our vacation habits, and what we didn’t like about timeshares. I laid out three major caveats:

1- Time-share prices were exorbitant, usually out of my budget.

2- Owners were locked into a lifetime of condo fees, and many hire lawyers in order to get out of their contract.

3- There are limited options for time-share vacations.

Nick went into some detail explaining the concept of value in ownership. Based on the information I provided him (two weeks of vacation per year), he said we’re already spending over $50,000 on vacation accommodations over five years. Much of that money was for the benefit of somebody else, like a landlord or innkeeper. I didn’t agree with the number, but I agreed with his point.

Nick explained that Westgate was in the business of selling deeded timeshare property. Nobody else in this business did that. We could sell our time-share if we wanted, but Westgate expected first right of refusal. They wanted the opportunity to buy it back from us.

Nick showed us the current annual cost of taxes and maintenance on a Westgate condo in Vegas. These fees would certainly increase over time, but at any time we could sell-out of our time-share, if we felt the cost did not represent the fair value.

Nick explained that we didn’t have to settle for vacations only at Westgate properties. An organization called Interval would arrange accommodations with non-Westgate resort properties, for a fee of less than $500 per trade. In other words, our pre-paid Westgate Las Vegas vacation could be applied to an entirely different resort for a reasonable fee. If we aren’t able to vacation in a given year, we could bank our Westgate Las Vegas time-share, adding that vacation benefit to a future year.

Nick led us around some boutiques on the main floor. There was a V.I.P. check-in for time-share owners. Pointing at the Barry Manilow Theater, he indicated this theater had been the Elvis Presley Theater. Elvis had performed thousands of shows there. He played a major part in building this Westgate Resort to what it is.

We took an elevator up to the 25th floor, where we saw models of each of three available condos. There was a one bedroom, two bedroom, and four bedroom. Every condo had a hot tub with jacuzzi-style water jets. Each had a kitchenette, with a microwave, dishwasher, and refrigerator. No stoves, Nick said, because they didn’t want anyone catching the place on fire. Every condo had a walk-in shower. Every condo had at least three television sets. Every couch was a fold-out sofa bed. Every condo had the same color scheme.

The views at every window were magnificent. My son Trevin was impressed.

We returned to the Preview Center and Nick asked which condo we thought was the best for our family. We liked the two bedroom the best until he showed us the sales price: over $62,000. Way out of our budget. Not feasible.

So Nick invited one of his supervisors to the table, and explained what our situation was. This supervisor looked on his phone, and said he had a one bedroom villa available for about $16,000. We didn’t have to pay it all now, we could start by making a down payment of about $1,600. The size was adequate for our needs, and the lower price based on the idea that the Beall Family only wanted to visit Vegas about one week every two years.

Being in Vegas was okay, but it certainly was not where we wanted to spend every vacation. The getaways option included with our time-share package made it look very enticing.

I turned to my wife and said, “We could do this.”