lycFor a while in the nineties and early aughts, I worked for a rich man who was concerned with appearances. At least when he
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traveled with me. When I traveled alone, I could be put up in a roach motel (and one time was) and he wouldn't care. But when he traveled with me, it was always the finest of everything as he understood the finest.
I secretly couldn't stand his pretentiousness. I twice had to suppress the urge to strangle him over the subject of wine. But he was paying for everything, so I just took it and swallowed it like a good Smithers.
So we had to go to Las Vegas a lot for trade shows and meetings. If I went alone it was stuff like the Imperial Palace or the Orleans for me, but when he went along, it was suites at the Venetian (which had just opened back then). So I got used to two distinct levels of comfort in Vegas, and I was fine with them both.
I got excited when he announced that we were going to expand representation by doing a trade show in Atlantic City (we definitely were a western based company). I'd never been to Atlantic City but had heard of it since I started playing Monopoly as a kid. Since he was traveling with me, we'd stay at the fanciest place we had heard of, the Trump Taj Mahal.
When I got there, I was so disappointed. My first thoughts on walking into the Taj was "What a shithole". The mid to lower accomodations I got when I traveled to Vegas alone were miles ahead of this. It seemed like a someone's idea of a proper casino when they didn't understand what one was.
Ever since then, when I heard Trump talk about the finest, the grandest, the best; I'd snort.
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