I've stayed at many types of properties in LV, from the luxurious to the downright seemy, but I've never seen anything quite like this. I figured, at the reasonable price, this aging but venerable property would deliver a not-so hip but passable stay, after all, with a classic name, surely they have a reputation to uphold, right? Wrong. As you enter the the depressing lobby, you'll notice signs posted all around: "Next time you visit us, your room will look like THIS..." There is a pretty rendering of a modern suite, the future of Tropicana. The problem is, apparently a key part of their reno plan is to completely let the place go and abandon customer service and housekeeping standards, surpassing the dump-factor maintained by fleabag hotels scattered around town and achieving some kind of supercritical assmass. As the depressing casino dazzles you with its flourescent lighting and occasional burnt-out bulbs, you'll be even more impressed with the smell in the room, a few months worth of film on your window, an unsoakable tub, dirty tile, and dazzling view of a silver tar roof, covered in roofing debris and buckets, and, oh yeah, a roofer. A foot from my window. The whole stay. If you don't count "The Player's Deli," which is a cafeteria awash in fluorescent light fit for a condemned hospital, there is only one restaurant: "Bacio" the Italian restaurant, is essentially some tables set up in a hallway, overlooking the shuttered steakhouse. And the food is not good, but you knew that. A neighboring guest had placed a spent room service meal on the hallway floor for pick-up. It was there at 6pm. And 8pm. and 10, midnight, 1, 9am, 10am, 11am, noon, and finally when the housekeeping lady came around to trip over it. It was like an opportunity to study the dynamics of decomposition on a body farm, just steps from my door. Very educational and sanitary. Every aspect of service was dismal, complete with getting a little extra attitude while i waited 20 minutes for my "Cafe Cubano." Upon checkout, the dying resort gave us an opportunity for a majestic crescendo of dissatisfaction by simply not manning the checkout desk, and all of my fellow survivors en queue began to rumble and share experiences. Needless to say we were all amazed at how celestially bad our experiences were. One lady said there was ranch dressing all over her bathroom mirror at check in. I hope to God that was ranch dressing, lady. A couple things have to line up to provide this level of hospitality horror, and in this case, a spring 2010 renovation, and the decision to say "f%#k em" in the mean time, create a truly unique experience. Avoid like rabies. Come to think of it, i wonder if the guy in the hardhat outside my window was rigging explosive demolition charges. God i hope so.