Editor's Note: Catch up on our THBG series by checking out the first four episodes: Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV .

The slot machine is roped off along with several others on an elevated platform that signifies that the one-armed bandits in this group are the “High Roller” slots. One of them says “One Hundred Dollars” in big pink neon letters. As advertised, it’s a hundred bucks for a pull. We laugh at it and Dollar Bill, to whom money is no object, says “I’m going to play it!” He produces a $100 bill and slides it in the machine. He pulls the handle and the usual litany of bells, cherries, and bars wheels by. And he wins a credit- doubling his money. Rather than cashing out, he plays again and the wheels spin out their fatalistic sequence. He loses. Cue the “you lost” music from THE PRICE IS RIGHT. Was it an omen? Or was it just the dumb, easy-come-easy-go luck of Las Vegas?

Dollar Bill, myself, and my wife were in Las Vegas to attend the 2005 Game Manufacturer’s Association (GAMA) trade show- the largest industry event in the United States and we were ready to announce that the Atlanta Game Factory was arriving on the scene as a serious, viable business looking to revolutionize how this hobby handles retail. At this point we were still full of fire about showing the world that game stores didn’t have to be dingy, ill-managed bankruptcy magnets and we were looking to make contacts, establish relationships with vendors, and get a handle on what the trends were from the manufacturing and publishing side of the business. We packed suits and ties and Dollar Bill, a trade show veteran from his other business, briefed me on what to expect and the proper etiquette for dealing with industry folk, whom we assumed at this point were like other industry folk in other fields.

But in addition to doing business there as Atlanta Game Factory, I was also covering the show for the ill-fated UK boardgaming magazine GAMES INTERNATIONAL so I printed up a custom “press badge” with the issue featuring my DOOM cover story. I thought it made me look a little less like some yahoo who writes for a website, like I had a least some kind of credential. I had established a good relationship with the editor-in-chief and publisher of the magazine, who had contacted me based on a HEROSCAPE review I had posted on a board gaming forum. This led to me brokering a deal with the GI folks that found the Atlanta Game Factory in charge of US distribution of the magazine. I was pretty proud, not only because I was writing feature articles and editorial content for an international magazine with almost 20 years of intermittent history, but also because my store was going to be involved in a distribution deal- a business concept I had wanted to pursue possibly to the point where we were handling distribution of small-press games. Of course, the relationship with GI would eventually go bad as the Barrister didn’t see the point of distributing the magazine (despite free ad space and a higher national profile) and he balked at the more casual business principles of our UK partners. GI wound up in dire straits of their own due to problems with their ownership and publication ceased. That resulted in us getting tons of angry emails and phone calls from subscribers looking for their magazines that weren’t even printed.

But bad business seems to be the order of the day for the hobby industry, and I knew we were headed for trouble when we arrived at The Riviera (my vote for the dumpiest retro-1982 hotel and casino on the Strip), fully dressed in suits and ties after a terrible breakfast at Denny’s, and we couldn’t find any indication of where the show was being held. No one at the information or customer services desks knew what it was. There was no signage to direct attendees to the event. We thought maybe we were at the wrong hotel or that maybe they meant some other Riviera. It was all very SPINAL TAP in retrospect. Finally, we found a passageway in front of a small exhibit hall where some very gamer-looking people were loitering and assumed that we found the right place. I peeked in the door totally expecting to see a wonderland of games, a veritable Mecca of the gaming hobby, but instead I saw what looked like a construction site. The show wasn’t even set up yet.

We thought we had the dates wrong, but we didn’t. We thought maybe something was wrong somewhere, but it wasn’t. So we stood there in our suits and ties and laughed- this was the worst-case scenario that Dollar Bill and I had discussed regarding the hobby industry for years- that it was run by a bunch of slack-jawed, lazy ne’er-do-wells. Asking around, we found out that the first date of the show was a “set up” day, although we saw no indication of that on any of our literature, which all told us that we were there on the first day of GAMA Trade Show.

It was no big deal really- I had never been to Vegas so I was more than happy to go back to our just-off-the-strip hotel and doff the business garb and wander around with my wife, Dollar Bill acting as a tour guide since he had just bought his second home there and was obviously pretty knowledgeable about the environs. Looking back on the trip, with us driving around the desert listening to Lee Hazlewood records (proper desert music, for the uninitiated) and just enjoying ourselves as we went in and out of casinos, ate at a couple of great restaurants, and took a side trip up into the Sierra Nevada mountains is a pretty bittersweet memory for me. It would be the last time that I really felt close to Dollar Bill, who had been my best friend for a decade. It would be the last time that I really felt that his financial standing and life situation did not interfere with our friendship. We would still have the business together for nearly a year after the trip, but somehow Vegas was the last time that I really felt like we were friends and that there was nothing that interfered with that.

The next day we were back at the Riviera but this time, after seeing the scope of the show and the lackadaisical attitudes of the attendees, we scaled back to a “business casual” footing because we would be grossly overdressed in my Target suit and Dollar Bill’s Dolce and Gabbana version of the same garment. We at least knew where to go this time but were redirected to a registration booth where we were given badges and a giant bag filled with leaflets, flyers, pamphlets, brochures, and other ephemera from various game companies and publishers. I can’t even remember what all was advertised, but I’d wager that most of what was promoted doesn’t exist today- even just three years later. The attendees looked largely like a gathering of game store employees, owners, and denizens- you’d never know that this was a serious trade show. It is supposed to be an industry-only event, but it’s pretty clear that many retailers see fit to hand out passes to store regulars.