You get an email between three-eight weeks in advance of a review event, requesting your presence. The better times are the ones with longer lead times. You are then discussing travel, platform choice, and other sundry details with likely outsourced contract PR.
The travel begins. Usually to the West Coast. Used to be to Vegas. That's not as common. Most are in LA, Bay Area, Seattle metro now.
A driver picks you up at the airport, drops you off at the hotel. "Do you want to add a card for incidentals?" Of course not. You're not paying for the room. The Game Company is.
The room is pleasant. Usually a nice place. There's always a $2-$3K TV in the room, sometimes a 5.1 surround if they have room for it, always a way to keep you from stealing the disc for the game. Usually an inept measure, necessary from the dregs of Games Journalism. A welcome pamphlet contains an itinerary, a note about the $25-$50 prepaid incidentals, some ID to better find and herd cattle.
Welcoming party occurs. You see new faces. You see old faces. You shoot the breeze with the ones you actually wanted to see again. Newbies fawn over the idea of "pr-funded vacation." Old hands sip at their liquor as they nebulously scan the room for life. You will pound carbs. You will play the game briefly. You will go to bed.
Morning. Breakfast is served at the hotel. You pound carbs. You play the game. You glance out the window at the nearest cityscape/landscape. You play the game more. Lunch is served at the location. You pound carbs. You talk about the game with fellow journalists. You play the game more. Dinner is served at the location. You sometimes have good steak. You usually pound carbs. You talk about the game with fellow journalists. You watch as they get drunk. You feel bad as one gets lecherous and creepy. You feel bad as one gets similar, yet weepy. You play the game more. You sleep.
This repeats for however many days. You pray for the game to end so you can justify leaving. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Freedom is brief. Freedom is beautiful. Freedom is the reason you came here.
Farewell, says PR. They hand you some swag. A shirt, a messenger bag, a $250 pair of headphones, a PS4 with everything? Newbies freak out like it's Christmas. Old hands jam it into bags and pray it travels safely. It's always enough to be notable. Not enough to be taxable. Not enough to be bribery.
You go home with a handful of business cards. Follow on Twitter. Friend on Facebook. Watch career moves, positive and negative.
You write your review. You forward the links to PR. Commenters accuse you of being crooked. "Journalists" looking for hitcounts play up a conspiracy. Free stuff for good reviews, they say. One of your new friends makes less than minimum wage writing about games. He's being accused of "moneyhats." You frown, hope he finds new work.
