Atlantic City - good friends and no winnings

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Thomas, Andy and I set out for the gambling adventure, destination Atlantic City, relatively early in the day. The drive to AC isn’t anything special and rain added to the mediocrity. We had a solid night’s rest and a good breakfast so we were definitely ready for some afternoon boozing. Grab bag of shooters arranged and distributed, we checked into the Topicana a little after 3:00 PM.

The hotel room was nicer than we expected for the $60 special on Priceline, or whatever. We had a view of the ocean and downtown from the 56th floor. The room itself was a little dated, but it’s distinct 80s casino feel was authentic and apropos. A few pulls off the bottle of Dewars we brought with us and we were ready to hit the pit.

I have never gambled before and I don’t understand many of the games outside of poker. What I do know is that the odds are always in favor of the house and I came with the expectation of losing money. It’s a funny thing, gambling, it attracts the weirdest people. I hated to see the cliche chain smoker grandmother betting her social security check on the slots with one foot in the grave and one foot in a gallon of free gin & tonics. Poverty statistics aside, for every middle aged person in the pit, there had to be 3-4 elderly people, most of which were black. I wasn’t betting anything I couldn’t afford to lose, but it’s clear to the sober observer that these people were frittering away the money available for their healthcare and/or retirement expenses. I suppose not paying for booze while in the pit offsets some of the expense these people would incur during their twilight years, but it hardly seems like a fair trade.

We started with Roulette. This is possibly the easiest game to understand, because the odds are fixed and the payouts are easily understood. Making $1 bets seems a little wussy, but it makes the money last and the losses hurt less. We played this for a few minutes; however, it wasn’t long until the Craps table started calling Thomas. Andy and I don’t have the gene that addicts us to the thrill of winning. I don’t think either of us returned to the ATM even once after the initial withdrawal. Thomas, on the other hand, is a much more experienced gambler with the distinction of also experiencing the extreme highs and lows that come with wins and losses. Fortunately he understands the games far better than I do and he was able to make sweeping comebacks when I would have considered myself flat broke.

Around 8:15-ish we headed to the Borgata for a comedy show. For $20 bucks we hopped in a limo and got to the casino with no hassles. As it turns out, the same drive would normally cost $14 in a cab, but the limo is well worth the additional expense. The Borgata has a younger hipper feel to it. It wasn’t full of elderly people, though there were still plenty of them. The facilities felt brighter and newer. It was a little bit of a maze to find the hall where the comedy show was to be held. In fact, we had to ask for directions, a humiliation we weren’t eager to admit to our egos. The first performer, some goof from America’s Got Talent, did a combination magic show and comedy act. I wasn’t impressed. The comedy was slapstick and superficial. The magic was laughable and the illusions were revealed with clumsy slight of hand and poorly positioned props. Having said that, Thomas was chosen as the “lovely assistant” for the over done levitation trick. Sadly you could see the mechanical arm that sat behind the performer to lift the plank. But Ryan Maher, the second act, overcame the slow start immediately. This guy was great. He kept the whole audience laughing with irreverent humor and candid observations often overlooked in our day-to-day lives. Again our trio was picked out for some dude bashing and I’ll admit we were definitely three good looking guys without obvious female companionship. It made sense to beat us up for looking gay. The audience enjoyed it, but we didn’t get approached by any unsuspecting women as a result. Bummer. The third act was also good, but I can’t remember that guy’s name. His brand of humor was tailored to a New Jersey audience, complete with lots of local references and stereotypes. I didn’t find it as funny as Ryan’s performance, but he was obviously a skilled comedian playing to the demeanor of the audience during the off-season.

The show was over and it was still early. We decided to do a little gambling in the casino for a change of pace. Andy and I were bust in a matter of minutes and decided to make a stand at the bar for a guaranteed return on investment. The drinks at the bar in the center of the pit were outrageously priced, but we gladly paid the barkeep in order to drown our losses. I lost a total of $300 on the night.

I have no idea what the laws in New Jersey say about prostitution, but the bar was home to 4 or 5 easily identified working girls. There was this one woman in particular that was so obvious about her desire for a John that it made Andy and I both a little uncomfortable. The “is that what I think it is” look was exchanged between the two of us and we found a good vantage point to watch the display of creepiness. Our discomfort was confirmed when an elderly man with olive skin and a leathery face began making his intentions clear to the woman. Let me be plain, this woman was not attractive. She was heavy and had large breasts along with tights that screamed trashy. The exchange of funds was even clumsier than the magian’s show. He dropped a fist full of money on the floor and she picked it up. I can’t think of many things more demeaning that collecting pay off of the floor, especially when it is for sex, but this woman seemed practiced if not perfectly ok with it. I am not sure if it is inappropriate for me to be so vocally disgusted with the oldest profession known to humanity. It felt so depressing to watch, yet I couldn’t ignore it either. This wasn’t the first time I had seen money exchanged for sex, and it certainly isn’t the cruelest thing I have seen done to someone, but it never sits well with me. Meanwhile Thomas kept going strong on the $10 minimum craps tables.

I think an hour passed before Thomas went bust and we headed back to the Tropicana. We were done gambling for the most part, but Thomas still had a few chips that could turn the night around. Andy and I, true to form, waited in the bar for the big guy to lose all his money or win big. He lost and we started the hunt for another bar inside the Trop... We found a sports bar upstairs with a fair ratio of women to men. Thomas would wingman, but there was no chance of him making any waves with Kristin, so all we had to do was find two semi cute women for Andy and me. There were several prospects in the bar, but they all seemed far more interested in the stereotype Jersey Shore characters occupying the far end of the stool seating. Instead of chasing skirt we had a serious conversation about love, life, and the pursuit of happiness. Us mid to late twenties men know the most about this subject and are eager to pitch ideas back and forth to each other.

The bar decided to close before we could solve all of life’s little problems, which is too bad since I thought we were making serious progress. On our way up to the room we were intercepted by a drunk half-indian woman (feathers, not dot - no offense intended, both are gorgeous) who desperately needed to use a phone. Andy brushed her off. I didn’t even acknowledge the request. And Thomas, who was oblivious to the condition of this woman, tried to let her use his phone. She called somewhere, but there was no answer or the battery on Thomas‘ phone went out... in any event, she made it clear she needed a place to stay and that she would be grateful for a warm bed. Now I am familiar with the seedier side of life, but this is just sad. My impression of semi-impoverished women in casinos is officially bad. We dodged the advances quickly and headed up to the room. Thomas felt it was time to hit the sack, and I choose to believe this was no reflection on the quality of the conversation we had at the bar. Andy agreed to accompany me in search of another bar.

We hit the street and walked to Caesar's Palace. This casino was full of young people. There was only one open bar and below it was a typical rave club. Officially intoxicated, Andy and I made the rounds separately, talking to several groups of women, looking for dance partners, and failing miserably. I’d like to say we kept our standards at the 7.2 (little joke) range or better, but realistically, I think we were wearing some serious beer goggles. We ended up with two women that were still interested in partying after the club started to shut down. They took us to a local bar that they were certain would be open. It became obvious quickly that there was a good reason this bar was open at 4:00 AM. It was a cop bar. 12 hours of drinking doesn’t end well when it ends in a cop bar with me saying, “Who the fuck lives in AC? I mean really? It’s kind of a shitty town.” After discovering that our companions were both from AC, born and raised, Andy gracefully asked me if I wanted to get out of there. There was only one answer.

We made it back to our room around 5:30 AM. I am fairly certain about this timestamp thanks to my text records, which also indicated that I am a sappy drunk with almost no filter and even less good sense. My apologies to the people that were on the receiving end of a text at 1:30 AM AK time. And my apologies to those two lovely women drunk enough to have more drinks with us after we could barely walk.

Thomas‘ bathroom ritual woke me from a restless slumber at 10:30 AM. Check out was at 11:00. I hopped in the shower in a weak attempt to wash the stench of drunkenness off of me and Andy crawled out of bed with even less enthusiasm. Thomas, thank god, was in fine condition to drive and we made it out of the hotel with 4 minutes to spare. We hit McDonalds on the way out of town, but missed the breakfast menu by 9 minutes. I had a spicy chicken sandwich and an orange juice. Thomas would later tease me that he knew life was painful when it took me 45 minutes to eat half of the sandwich before giving up and moaning all the way back to the house in Wall, NJ. It’s worth noting that Thomas drives a Subaru WRX wagon. This model of car doesn’t have the leg room required for anyone in the back seat to sit comfortably. Andy is 6’4” (well shit... I don’t know how tall he is, but he is a big man). I am 5’10”. It felt like we were sitting in stress positions utilized by the CIA in rendition practices all the way home. (Ok it wasn’t really that bad, but shit, Subaru needs to build it’s cars for American sized men if they are going to sell them in America. Any insulting implications from the statement shouldn’t be taken seriously.)

Also worth noting is the fact that I wrote this post after drinking a few cocktails. Please excuse any typos, grammatical errors, and especially homophones - reading my own writing is always challenging after a drink or three... or more.

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Photos

Andy trying to help me tie a bow tie
He had a great bow tie... I have a white neck.

Chi Chi and the Brothers
Ran into this C-list celebrity in the Trop, he was Chi Chi in Scarface.

Always Open
at 3:00 am... I think I still look relatively good for 3:00 am after 12 hours of drinking.

Comments

[NoLimitations]

That is pretty good for drunk blogging. I think everyone drunk texts....good or bad, we just should not turn on our phones when we are a bit intoxicated. :-)