How does seeing Cheap Trick at Harrah’s in mid-November sound to you? Mildly entertaining, with a slight chance of being horribly depressing? Me too! Let’s dive right into this bad boy:
11:30AM – You know, every one of these diaries start out with a bus journey, and I figure it is all old hat by now. Nothing new would happen. In fact, this is exactly how I started Chapter 13 before being proven wrong. You would think that this would easily be the most routine and ho-hum part of the journey: riding a bus on the Garden State Parkway for 2.5 hours. But, there’s always something to report.
In this case, however, it was pre-bus. This trip was just the dynamic duo: OB and myself. As loyal readers know, OB has begun the last few trips (starting with Chapter 11) by ordering a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich in Port Authority, and stuffing it down before it has had a chance to cool, ceremonially burning his mouth in the process. I’m not sure what the point of this tradition is, but it seems to give OB so much pleasure (and pain) that I can’t help getting excited when it comes time for it. If there are two things that will be mentioned in the first line of OB’s obituary, it will be his love of extremely hot eggs, and his highly controversial Springsteen-based political rants.
Anyway, we come into a situation where the man behind the counter had just finished dealing with an unruly customer. This situations can always be a bit dicey, but OB’s charm had the man laughing in no time (I would describe it as “charm”, OB would describe it as “general happiness in anticipation of a sausage, egg, and cheese sandwich”). The man even feels comfortable to boast that his soda prices are the lowest in town, and has no problem laughing at OB’s last name, calling him a mick. It is this demeanor that has made him the greatest man at reheating sandwiches in the basement of Port Authority. One scalding hot sandwich later, and we are on the bus down to Atlantic City.
3:00PM – The bus flies down to AC without a hitch. The crowd on the bus is sparse and quiet, and combined with the weak traffic, I was anticipating that the city would be fairly dead. Which wouldn’t be too surprising, given that it is a random weekend in November. However, upon arriving at Caesar’s, we find the place is bustling with activity. This is a good sign, but would the same hold true at Harrah’s, in the distant Marina-land of Atlantic City? At Caesar’s, we quickly blow through our bus vouchers (after an unsuccessful search for the legendary KISS slot machines, we settle on Star Wars slots and last about as long as Jek Porkins) and head to Harrah’s.
5:30 – It has been a great couple hours in Harrah’s. Check-in is a breeze, the room is clean, the beds are comfortable, and the room service, which we are now devouring, is delicious. OB and I have been listening to happy music for the last hour (beginning with Leslie Gore’s “Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows,” naturally), and couldn’t be in a better mood. I must say, we don’t head to Harrah’s that frequently (the only Harrah’s appearance was in Chapter 9), but it is slowly growing on me. With our bellies full and our livers boozed, we head down to get some pre-Cheap Trick gambling done.
Rainman Suite 