Tuesday, November 20, 2007

The Second Atlantic City Trip

Read this first:
The First Atlantic City Trip

Atlantic City's the Borgata hotelMy second visit to Atlantic City was spent quoting the comedian Dave Chappelle, talking shit to Hamburgers for bad directions, and worrying about the “Check Engine” light that was lit in Froddy’s car the whole ride. We also stayed overnight this time at the Borgata, again without prostitutes.

For weeks I told my two friends how casino buffets are amazing and how we had to eat at one. Those of you who have been to Las Vegas know exactly what I’m talking about. Anyway, they bojangled for too long, probably on purpose to spite me, and by the time they were ready to eat the buffet was closed. Coincidentally, the next time Hamburgers went to Atlantic City he ate at a buffet and loved it. I’m still bitter.

At midnight we went down to the food court because that was the only place open. While waiting for my order, an obviously crazy and homeless man approached me and asked to see my hand. I looked over at Hamburgers for guidance in regard to the strange request. He was baffled and actually thought the dude might hit me. Not knowing what to do, I showed him my left hand which happened to have an “AGE 21” stamp on it.

“You know, back in my young days, we used to rub our hands together to spread the stamp around.” The man grabbed my hand and began pressing it against the back of his. “We all used to get into clubs when we wasn’t supposed to ‘cause we rubbed our hands together.”

I hadn’t seen anything so strange since the times I rode on the New York City subways. Once while with my parents, a homeless man asked if he could live in our house. A different time an Asian man was trying to sell dolls. He gave everyone a demonstration of what made the doll unique. He pulled a chord in the doll’s back. When he let go, water started streaming out of the doll through a fucked-up looking penis.

When the crazy dude stopped touching me he said, “You have weak hands,” then walked away. What the fuck does that even mean?

Hamburgers ordered a chili dog which he would later describe as, “The most disgusting thing I have ever consumed in a lifetime of fast food and frozen shit.” It was shriveled and discolored. Neither I nor the Italian man sitting near us could believe he ate it. The Italian man cracked jokes about the chili dog for the next 10 minutes. He was possibly the funniest person I’ve ever met. Out of the blue, he stood up and walked away. Hamburgers and I looked at the guy sitting across from the Italian, whom we assumed was his friend, and asked where he was going. “Heck if I know,” he responded. “I don’t even know the dude.”

That night Froddy and I shared one of the two beds. In the strangest awakening of my life, I found myself huddled in a tiny corner of the bed with Froddy literally hovering over me, propped up and positioned just centimeters away. If it were a movie, you would’ve wondered how long ago I dropped the soap. He was all up in my grill. I looked up to see what the deal was. His eyes were wide open and he was staring directly at me. But he was asleep. I just hope he wasn’t dreaming about me. I bet he was.


Postscript: If this wasn’t funny then I blame it on our numerous inside jokes. I apologize.