The usual room service experience goes something like this: bleary eyed scanning of the menu, phone call to the operator. Done. Flip on the tube, put some clothes on maybe hop in the shower. Concerned about what the room service attendant might think about the sea of peanut shells, gin bottles, undies and sex toys scattered about, you make a mad attempt to clean up before the 25 minutes delivery window is up. Twenty-five, thirty, fifty, ninety minutes go by. The still-drunk-and-dehydrated pounding in your head is joined by a chorus of trombones coming from your stomach. Knock knock knock 'Rooooom Service!'. In comes the cart, out come the covered plates, out comes the servers fake smile and the bill. Stumble through 'tip math' sign the slip (pocket the hotel pen) and out the door it goes with the delivery person. Of course the bacon is missing, and there's no butter, and the omlette has mushrooms, which you double confirmed with the telephone operator was NOT in the dish. Sound familiar? Wynn Las Vegas room service is the opposite of this. Dig?