In last month’s Atlantic City Diary, I made the bold mission statement that I wanted to make this the BEST. SUMMER. EVER. And, to accomplish such a grand task, there will have to be a lot of trips to the Lost City of Atlantic. However, taking a three-hour bus ride to go get drunk and lose money does need some justification. As explained in my guide to Atlantic City, I usually go down to see a concert or comedy show. However, a good 90’s band or horribly offensive comedian does not come to Atlantic City every weekend. You’ll have to invent excuses to go down.
This time, we celebrated my buddy Finn’s “birthday,” which was actually over a week ago, and involved the usual crew of drunken vandals. The cast of characters this time involved Keith, OB, Finn, my girlfriend, Polar (making his debut for the AC Diaries) and yours truly. The setting – the Boat of Show, also known as Showboat. Let the adventure begin!
12:00PM – The previous night, my girlfriend and I both proclaimed that we would not get drunk and stay out too late. We split up to hang out with our respective friends, and, of course, found ourselves coming home at 3:00AM and nursing killer hangovers the next day. At noon, we headed for the subway to Port Authority, and she was asking me how I got home. Struggling to recollect the experience, I say, “Well, I think I said goodbye to my friends, left early, and walked back by myself.” As soon as I finish this story, I hear my name being called. It is the friends I hung out with last night. So, my girlfriend asks them how I got home last night. The answer:
“We walked you home! And you kept drunkenly shouting, ‘Are we there yet?’ every block!”
So that was my Friday night.
2:00 – We reach Port Authority, where we meet up with Keith and OB. Unlike previous experiences, I’ve learned to eat heartily before the trip. OB grabs a sausage-and-egg sandwich, which the master chefs at Port Authority stick in a microwave and nuke to high heaven. OB tries to stuff the scalding hot sandwich in his mouth, his hand shaking the whole time, nearly breaking into a sweat. Some may call it an impressive feat, but those people must have a very low threshold for being impressed.
On the bus, we are immediately treated to an argument between passengers. One guy is playing a video game very loudly. A man shouts from the back, “Could you turn it down?” The offender retorts, “Mind your own business!” The complainer explains, “I’m on the damn bus! This is my business!” Nice. The man continues to play his video game, albeit at a quieter yet still audible level, then turns it off, and eventually borrows Keith’s newspaper. What a guy.
During all this, my girlfriend and I are sitting out on the typical “drinking on the bus down” festivities, due to the previous nights activity. OB, however, is engaging what I like to call “pregnancy drunkenness” – he’s drinking for two.
5:00 – We arrive at Showboat, with OB two flasks lighter. I haven’t been to Showboat in a while, but the bus center has taken on a distinctive cheese smell. Like all the world’s problems, this problem too can most likely be traced to the Earl of Sandwich.
Keith and OB have rooms next to each other, so they go up together to the Orleans Tower. As my girlfriend and I check-in, I inquire to see if there is a room available on their floor. The person checking us in is very polite, and taps away vigorously on the keyboard, searching for rooms that fit our criteria. Unfortunately, she can only get us a room in the NEW Orleans Tower. That’s fine, we say. However, little known fact: the NEW Orleans Tower and the Orleans Tower are, you know, the same tower. We’re a five-minute jaunt from Finn’s room. Gotta love that customer service you get in Atlantic City.
While my girlfriend takes a nap, I go and pregame with the gentlemen. However, before we can gamble or drink more, it is decided that we are all starving and need something to eat. We don’t want to do the buffet, and Scarduzio’s is too expensive. So what do we decide on? A little mom-and-pop joint called Jonathan Rockets.
Keith Stone: While OB and I were walking to the room, we happened upon a rambunctious family that was having trouble deciding where everybody should stand for a group photo. OB settled the argument by walking right into the middle of the shot and becoming part of the family. Now they can tell everybody about their crazy Irish cousin.
When we arrived at the room, the real drinking began and we were joined by Finn and Polar. For some beautiful reason, Polar had with him three Million Dollar Man tuxedo T-shirts, so OB, Polar, and I threw them on, and began laughing like only Ted DiBiase could. Because I am an idiot, I decided to wear my shirt for the night of gambling, and that, ladies and gentlemen, was the beginning of the end.
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