Checked in on July 1 on a reservation I've had for months. Not a good sign when reservationist says, "Uh Oh". Walks over to young, seated, computer clicking suit. Feels like I'm buying a car and the salesman is playing the manager-water cooler game. Impressive Guy comes back and with furrowed brow exclaims, "Ok here's the situation we are in." Hmmm, haven't moved an inch and I'm already finding myself in a situation. Impressive Guy with doting reservationist now at his side but offering no eye contact (another not good sign), sighs sound of regret that because this is a holiday weekend, a number of guests have decided to extend their stays and my suite is no longer available. Feeling a bit Seinfeldian, I begin to quip about taking reservations vs. holding them, when I trail off and simply ask what they are going to do about it. Impressive Guy now, incredibly, offers to give me a downgraded room but chare me a regular room rate. He says that they (presumably the MGM accountants) are not making much off of the incredibly graceous offer. I say, 'neither am I', but this is lost on Impressive Guy and doesn't even register with Doting Reservationist. I accept the offer, hit the room, leave my wife, daughter and niece to hit the Pat Benatar concert (Fantastic, but she would be so in a parking lot) and then a marathon at the slots. My wife heads to the spa to check things out (after falling in love with it on the web) and is chastised by Finger Wagging Spa Chick for having the audacity to enter without an appointment. When wife asks for a brochure, Finger Wagging Spa Chick screeches, "don't you have internet in your room"? Not really heading in the right direction. Well, it can't get any worse than this, I naively chortle upon hearing the tale from my now ex-wife. Kidding. But, amazingly, then the real fun begins the next morning. Getting ready to check out at 11, after my wife was chastised and nose-sniffed at by the maid for asking for an extra condiment packet for the coffee, and answering a phone call from Stringent Housekeeping Gestapo about our intent on vacating before 11, the toilet begins running, spilling, drenching and is not in the mood for stopping. My wife is going ballistic, using all the towels to stem the tide of flotsam, and I make the call to the front desk. Can we get a few extra minutes to check out? Everything is sopping wet. Not so incredibly I guess, Steadfast Front Desk Woman sniffs about it being a holiday weekend, and that every minute counts and this request can not be honored. I repeat the part about the Borgata's toilet exploding and she huffs, with disgust, "Ok, sir, go ahead", and hangs up on me. Several foks have written reviews about this place being for the upscale and the self important. Must be really cool cats who step in it and come out smelling like roses. Me? I need a Lifeboat, I mean Showboat.