As one of the largest convention hotels, the Venetian is the hot spot to see the most pathetic middle-managers, sales supervisors, and struggling vendors in the country.  Sure to find:  atrocious comb-overs, fraying Jerry Garcia ties, pleated khakis, unpolished shoes, and Geoffrey Beene shirt pockets worn down from the plastic name clips.  You will also find all of the female conventioneers being aggressively harassed because the only other females in the casino are most likely whiney little Asian girls wondering why the line is so long at Tao; tired, sweaty Floridian women who had too many fruity drinks as they walked their way down the entire strip and now are struggling to stay awake at Grand Lux; or the standard hookers looking to feed upon expense reports.