I'm in the Island tower of the Tropicana, the one further away from the strip and in order to get there you need to walk this gauntlet of kiosk vendors. It's like walking through the Pike Place Market or being at Northgate but with a higher density of hawkers.
I just try to keep my head down and pretend like I work there since I'm in my suit but on this day I get nabbed by a gal who asks me if I've heard of the Dead Sea which actually was a nice hook since it didn't directly try to sell me on something. I get suckered into saying "yes" and the next thing I know she is holding my hand and telling me how dry they are. OK, now at this point I'm minorly insulted since I have some of most soft supple hands known to mankind but I humor her anyway and go along with the gig. Then she has me hold my hands over a basin and she pours these salts in my hands and I'm supposed to rub them all over my hands. I think I'm exfoliating. Dunno. I'm no manicurist. She then rinses my hands off and I towel them dry. Apparently at this point I think the magical music is supposed to be cued up birds fly from out of nowhere with ribbons for my hair. But in reality my hands feel like they've just been scrubbed with rock salt. She asks if my hands feel "better" now and I tell her I'll have to ask the wife what she thinks and then say that I am late to meet her so I had to leave before she tried to sell me this miracle cure.
In all honesty my hands did feel wonderful after the mini spa treatment...but that's just because my mitts naturally feel wonderful to begin with!
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