Resort Fee Pricing All The Rage

I’ve learned a new trick that I’m going to start using in my every day life.

At my next yard sale, I’m going to put stickers on the “merchandise” listing uber-low prices.  Then, when the person comes up to pay the 25 cents for my scratched but original Ray Stevens album, I’ll explain that I also have to charge a 50-cent “Yard Sale Fee.”

I think I’ll try that with the next article I sell.  When the publisher asks where to send the $50 check, I’ll remind them of the extra $10 “Writing Fee” that is customarily added to the bill.

When he balks, I’ll tell him that “it’s common practice in the industry now” and that “all the writers are doing it these days.”  That should take care of any complaints.

I’m going to see if my wife can contact her employer about paying up on the “Attendance Fee” she is now charging on top of her regular salary.

Any of this sound familiar?

If not, then you haven’t stayed at a Las Vegas hotel lately.

I stayed at a fancy “Strip” hotel over the weekend.  (In the good old days, “strip” referred to the stretch of street bordered by big hotels on each side.  Now, it’s a description of what they do to your wallet long before you find the first blackjack table.)  I don’t want to embarrass the hotel by saying its name, so I’ll just refer to it as the “Suxor.”

There were a lot of things I liked about this unique venue, including its isosceles shape and ancient decorations. 

What I hated was the feeling of sodomy that accompanied nearly every turn.

The hotel itself was expensive, even with the “special deal” I used to land the weekend.

But it turns out that the “special deal” was really just the Vaseline.

The first screwing involved something that has become as common as homeless people handing out porn flyers on Las Vegas Strip sidewalks, and every bit as disgusting and distasteful:

Resort Fees.

It works like this:

The hotel lies, er, advertises a particularly attractive rate online.  The sucker, I mean customer, jumps at the savings.  While gleefully keying in his or her credit card number, they miss the microscopic disclaimer that says “some hotels charge additional fees at check-in.”

Then when the mark/guest shows up, the front desk advises them of an additional “resort fee” of anywhere from $15 to $50 a day, depending on the hotel.

At the Suxor, it was an extra $18 per night.

I’m a cheapskate, but I don’t mind paying more for nicer amenities and upscale accommodations. 

What I hate at any price is feeling like I’ve been tricked or ripped off.

It’s like going to Walmart, picking up a 12-pack of sodas with a tag that says “$4.88,” then hearing the checkout clerk explain “oh, there’s also a one dollar beverage fee.”

I know it’s asking a lot for an industry built on slanted card games and rigged slot machines to be honest, but how hard can it be to give a single, simple rate for a room?

I wondered why the authorities weren’t getting involved in this obvious bait-and-switch scam. 

Then I found the answer at the bottom of my bill. 

In addition to the $18 “Resort Fee” was a sales tax charge of, you guessed it, $18 and some change.  The clerk explained a lot of that was the Las Vegas room tax, which I estimate is currently somewhere around 73%.

And the wound salt?  They also charged sales tax on the Resort Fee.

So my advice to anyone thinking about a weekend in Vegas is: DON’T!

The House That Bugsy Built is no longer the inexpensive, glamorous, fun place filled with big stars and cheap food it once was.

If you’re looking for a deal, try Mesquite, where our hotels don’t gouge you with hidden fees.  The exception, of course, is the exorbitant bed tax.  Unfortunately, that can’t be helped…after all, we ARE still in Nevada, where the only thief bigger than a gun-wielding bank robber or corporate hotel executive is a government official.