SEMA is the Specialty Equipment Market Association convention held every November at the Vegas convention center. It’s over a million square feet of intricately tricked out cars, vintage hot rods, customized paint jobs, ear-shattering tuners, chrome wheels, smiling car show models and auto executives frantically networking and handing out resumes (I don’t know if you heard, it’s been a tough couple years for those boys). At SEMA, it’s all about automotive aftermarket products and equipment.
That’s not what it’s about for me. For me, it’s about Vegas.
I have a confession to make. I love that town, and not in the nice-place-to-visit or once-a-year-is-enough kind of way. I mean really love it. Beyond reason. I’ve said this in another post, but it bears repeating here: Vegas is the only place I know where everything you hear about it, good or bad, is true.
Even if you don’t gamble, there’s still a great time to be had. Cheap (relatively) hotel rooms, great spas, amazing restaurants, headline acts, first-class shows – many of them without tigers. You can have a great time without having to spend one hard-earned cent gambling.
Of course, why you’d want to do it that way is beyond me.
Every year I go to SEMA with my friend Pete who used to be my client on a car account I worked on. He's one of my best friends, and we always have a great time. Here’s the ritual: we go to the show, walk the floor, see what’s new, catch up with his friends in the industry. We have dinner at Circo at the Bellagio. I call my wife. Then we go to the crap tables.
Or I should say I go to the crap tables.
The tables are where Pete and I part ways philosophically. Apparently he just doesn’t enjoy having watered-down drinks brought to him non-stop while risking large sums of money on a roll of the dice. And not just my roll of the dice, but everyone else that gets to be the shooter as well.
So while Pete does whatever he does while I’m playing (and I believe what he does is humor me), I have a great time rolling the bones. I don’t even know how to describe it. What’s that? Sick? Compulsive? Not really. Just fun.
I play for a while. I set a limit. I have a system.
My system is this: I play until I’m out of money. Then I go to the ATM and get more money. Then I play some more. Say what you will, but that damn ATM pays out every time.
Eventually I start feeling bad for ditching Pete while I’m playing craps, and I leave the table to find him. We’ll have a drink, talk about the day’s events, make plans for the next day at the show. I call my wife. He goes back to his room. And I go back to the tables for a couple more hours.
Oh yeah Pete, like you didn’t know.
When I’m not in Vegas, I love talking about it to anyone who’ll listen. Especially if they feel the same way I do. I had lunch today with my friend Laura. I've worked with her at two agencies, yet didn't realize until today what kindred spirits we actually are. She told me about a recent trip to Vegas with some friends of hers. She had me at, “God I love it there."
Sadly not everyone I've gone with has felt that way. I’ve been there - usually on a business trip - with people who absolutely hate the place. Oddly enough, every time one of those people is tapping their foot impatiently, constantly checking their watch and staring at me while I’m playing craps, I lose. Then when they leave, I start winning. There’s only one logical conclusion you can come to with this information.
The Vegas table gods know who likes them and who doesn’t.
One of the best accounts I ever worked on was The Reserve Hotel & Casino in Henderson, just outside Vegas. It was great for many reasons, especially the trips to present work to the client. We saw the casino being built, watched them install the slots, and saw the tables brought in. We were there for the fireworks-filled grand opening. I played craps with all of my agency pals, who were just as excited as I was. And we all won.
Remember the part about the Vegas table gods?
As I read this post, I occurs to me that it might be easy to get the idea I have a gambling problem. I don’t. The truth is I enjoy it when I’m there, but do realize there is a real life, and real expenses, to come back to. I don’t go expecting to win. That way when I do, it’s a nice surprise. Don’t worry about me. My savings accounts are intact, the bills get paid, and the kid’s college accounts remain untouched.
The real truth of the matter is I wouldn’t go to Vegas as often as I want even if I could.
It wouldn’t leave me any time for the track.
