AC Part II: The City 

“… We must be cautious.”

Okay, so that is the completion of the Obi-Wan quote that ended the first Atlantic City post. You’ll just have to picture what a cool little literary device that would have been had I not been a lazy/forgetful jerk and managed to type all of this up weeks ago; I just kept neglecting to have my notes and my laptop in the same place at the same time.  Then, the Ravens/Steelers game happened and since then I’ve pretty much been wandering around the city like Ron Burgundy lamenting my decision to go with milk due to the extreme temperatures. 

Just know that I have never felt more important than when I noticed M-Sip had requested the next AC post in the comments section of the first one; it’s like we have a real readership!  Well, it’s time for me to right this Reader Ship and get us back on course; destination: Awesometown, USA.  Thanks again for your patience, and, without further adieu, AC Part II: The City:

“… We must be cautious.”

Going gambling with me is really just a stamina test to see if you can survive my making the same joke over and over again (Author’s Note:I realize that simply hanging out with me also falls under this description, I’m just not ready for my readers to know that yet).  I am consistently on the lookout for good omens and their associated good joo joo, which allow me to feel more comfortable dropping down money I don’t have in exchange for tiddlywinks I won’t have for long.  Therefore, throughout the drive up to the casinos and while navigating the city itself, things like Route 52 (Ray Lewis’ number; good joo joo) and Route 232 (the number corresponding to BCB in the alphabet, which in turn stand [in my mind] for Boston College Blows, which is where Matt Ryan, the other rookie quarterback in the playoffs came from.  His Falcons already being eliminated means that Joe Flacco is the better rookie quarterback, which means Bazooka Joe is number one; good joo joo)

I am starting a new paragraph because Tony says that sometimes my parenthetical asides get to be so long he forgets what I was talking about in the first place; little does he know that I forget what I was writing about in the first place… You get the point though, anything and everything is a great sign for me and I do not hesitate to point them all out ad nauseam.  We arrive at the parking lot for the Trump Taj Mahal and snag a great spot on the first floor (good joo joo) and immediately exit out of the wrong side of the lot, far away from the casino entrance.  You might be thinking, “Aha Dan, isn’t that a clear case of bad joo joo at work?”  First of all, when you say“bad joo joo”, you just sound anti-Semitic so knock it off.  Second of all, your Children of Israel hating ass would be right, except that our mistake led us right to the entrance to the Resorts Atlantic City casino floor; excellent joo joo.

Zak, Dave, and I were the first car to arrive so we wandered about the floor taking in all the sights and sounds.  For those of you who have never been to a casino before, suffice to say that there are enough lights and sounds to keep my inner nine year old’s jaw dragging across the floor while my outer twenty-two year old tries to flag down a scantily clad woman to bring me a gin and tonic.  To present the stimulation one receives (referring to stimulation from the various machines and tables, not from the scantily clad woman) using my superior command of the plethora of adjectives available in the English language would run the risk of inciting seizures in our epileptic readers, which our liability insurance would not cover.

In order to fight back against the warm glow and pleasing color of the room itself we decided to begin our night playing a bit of videopoker where the financial stakes are lessened, but then again so is the adrenaline rush.  Even though you are only dealing with small increments of money (in our case $20 each), it is still disturbing how quickly you fall into a rhythm.  With each deal you decide to keep any number of five cards and you get one chance to turn those you discard into a money making hand.  After just a few minutes you literally quit focusing on each individual number and look at your hand as a whole, pressing buttons without having to blink. It shouldn’t be that easy to lose money, casinos are such a scam, why would we ever…HEY I JUST WON $60!!!!!!

The celebration was short lived however, as I the proceeded to hit the “Max-Bet” button over and over hoping to hit it bigger before eventually going down to nothing. I hate gambling and I hate New Jersey.  Dave, meanwhile, did pretty much the same thing after he was up a bit, although I don’t think he was emotional enough (read: dumb enough) to max bet in order to lose everything within the span of five minutes.  Zaky Baby had a slow descent into the Down $20 Hole that at a certain point became less about making money and more about staying on the machine long enough for the waitress to come back with his 7&7.  By the time it arrived, we were three disheartened gentlemen and we forced him to chug it down as we turned tail and ran for the comfort of the Trump Taj Mahal and our buddy Joe.

The Taj was where I found my luck last time Joe and I were gambling, so I was pretty excited to return.  Having gotten my feet wet at the Resorts I sat confidently down at a blackjack table (my game of choice) and slid my $40 across to the dealer.  I should note that when I say “sat confidently down” I am really referring to the fact that I “made multiple loops around the room with Zak attempting to find $10 tables that didn’t seem populated with gamblers who looked about ready to take their Jack-Threes and slice them deeply through their radial arteries before finally finding one with two smokers, which is sufficient enough to drive away people who are willing to give up their money but not the stick up their butts, and taking my seat”.  Neither Zak nor I had much luck on the table and after a while went to go find Dave and Joe who were playing Roulette (their game of choice). 

Because it’s not that we suck at gambling, it’s that the casino itself is a living breathing entity that has it in for us, we decided to take the world’s longest walk down the freezing boardwalk to go to Bally’s.  I wasn’t sure if I was ready to give upon the Taj yet, so the walk was made even more miserable for me until I saw some great joo-joo at the entrance to our latest destination: Johnny Rockets.  I’m sure there is a way to relate the restaurant to gambling or the Baltimore Ravens, but it’s mostly because it was getting to be around 11pm and I was starving.  There is no rest or delicious cheeseburgers for the wicked however, so into the casino we went. 

Dave ended up the big winner, walking away from the roulette table up around $130 while I had a series of small takes from various tables that I’m sure would equal something good if I were to be able to do math.  The potential highlight of the nightcame when a young, African-American man came to sit the table that Zak and I were playing who was complaining about the other gamblers at a table he just left “not knowing how to play”.  In gambling code, that is complete dick for, “I am losing a bunch of money and instead of blaming the fact that the game is designed for the house to win more than it puts out, I am going to pretend I somehow know something other people don’t”. 

This guy was giving us an in-depth clinic on how to lose money, just laying down piles of chips when luck clearly wasn’t on his side, yet he had the balls to call Zak out on a questionable decision concerning doubling down.  First of all, when you’re running out of money you make risky decisions, in other words, YOU GAMBLE on the chance that you hit big; that’s why years ago the Webster's people got together and decided to call it GAMBLING.  Next of all, shut the hell up and focus on your own play; it’s one thing to talk to another player about their strategy, it’s another to try to call them out when you’ve already attracted the ire of everyone at the table.  Luckily, the guy bottomed out well before either of us, and left the table, presumably to go lick his wounds (Author’s Note: Feel free to move right on to my balls when you’re done, asshole).  It might seem like I’m being a bit harsh to the young man but it reminded me of our last trip up where a woman WHO WASN’T EVEN PLAYING THE TABLE walked by and reprimanded Joe.  On second thought, that was pretty hilarious…

On our way out I once again dropped less than subtle hints concerning my desires for Johnny Rockets and was summarily ignored by all the other members of our supposedly supportive gang, a dismissal I still have not forgiven them despite my eating at Johnny’s the first chance I had to go to Arundel Mills when we returned.  Nope ,no food for Daniel, everyone else had decided that it was time to go to the Borgata at the direction of our friend Manny who informed us that the Borgata is where all the hot waitresses work. Didn’t matter that we were right next to Caesars, we were talking that long, cold walk back to the Taj to pick up the car and get to the other side ofthe city.  In the words of the man whom I chose as my hero when asked seriously during class introductions:“Damnit”.

We got back onto the main roads and immediately became hopelessly lost as New Jersey street signs function about as well as a helmeted kid on the MCATs; not too good.  We saw the Borgata numerous times; even occasionally seeming like we might actually get within a quarter-mile, but alas it was not to be.  New Jersey was keeping us sequestered from the hot women and it wasn’t just unfair, it was bad joo joo.  After our frustrated laughter had givenway to thoughts of launching the Mazda Protégé off of one of the ramps to see how close we could land to the Borgata parking lot, we somehow ended driving right at the parking lot for Caesars; joo joo of the highest order, rivaled only by Moses and Eli Wiesel sitting down to matzo.

Zak, having already gotten down to his limit for the first night, opted to stand behind me at the tables in support.  Usually this is bad luck for me, as is the case when Dave is prominently involved, and I have none of it.  But, for some reason, the skinny son of a bitch was bringing the luck so the system was allowed to endure.  Eventually we moved upstairs to a different table after coloring out, me playing hands with a bit more risk/reward and Zak maintaining his vigilant looming in the background.  I did well again upstairs, despite being questioned by a middle-aged woman, who was clearly occupying more of her husband’s money than time, on a decision of mine to split tens.  I’m not normally an angry player, in fact I welcome coaching as I am new to the whole process, but not by someone who has had to go to their purse multiple times to re-up her chips.  I answered her challenge with a short, “I’m doing fine, thank you” complete with a minor stare-down to nip this little instructional session in the bud.

After everyone had wrapped up we stopped to get some pizza at a place called “Gino’s” before returning home.  There is a pizza joint called Gino’s right near where Joe and I live in the city, a great predictor of joo joo to close the day before the Ravens/Titans game.  God I love Atlantic City.

(Author’s Post Script: On those split tens, I went Ten-Jack,Ten-Nine; suck it bitch).