AC/DB
This weekend was one about travel, the Garden State, friendship, suburban vehicles, nasty accomodations, pricey vittles, gambling, dancing, sweating, a comedy of errors, bad directions and good timing - in short: it was about Atlantic City.
My friends Greg and Owen (who will here on out be referred to as "Hi" and "Ho," respectively) were visiting in the area (Brigatine to be exact) and requested my presence, along with our mutual friend Maureen. They promised a fun-filled time on the low-down, at cheap prices. Cheap and fun? They couldn't have tagged Mo and I better, if they'd written it on a bathroom wall. We promised to join.
Little did we know back then that destiny would throw a monkey wrench into the proceedings...But, let me elaborate.
It all started in Newark. Newark? Don't ask - just go with it.
Saturday, I waited anxiously for my intrepid friend Mo to pick me up in front of the city's ever-glam Penn Station. Surrounded by the dregs of society I could hardly wait another second for Mo to turn the corner in a cute lil' economy car to whisk us both away. Where was she? And, then I heard someone shouting out my name. Wait: There were no cute little cars in sight. Where was that coming from? And, then I saw it...
A Dodge Caravan Mini-Van. Mo was actually waving to me from the driver's seat. What was going on?
I slid in the front seat, feeling every inch the Soccer Mom, wondering how we came across this "sweet ride," considering that we'd signed up for a little economy car at Dollar-Rent-A-Car. According to Mo, the manager at the agency's East 22nd Street branch must've ticked off someone but good - He'd recently gotten a delivery of 150 of these lovely monstrosities, with no normal-sized vehicles in sight. To top it off, she added, the plates were from Georgia.
Looks like we were travelin' like PTA gals from Dunwoody for the weekend. And, what Southern Soccer Mom roadtrip would be complete without a boy toy encounter on the road?
No. It wasn't me. It was Maureen who had all the luck - sort of. Instead of running into Brad Pitt though, she met up with a 16 year-old highway road stop/service station Burger King cashier with a sparkling smile (sparkling due to a mouth full of glittering metal braces) and a strong committment to hospitality. As she sidled up to the register and proffered her money for the Whopper Junior she was about to consume, the pimpled gent slipped her this smooth line:
"Have a glorious day. Wait. Did I just say 'glorious?' Yes, I did. You know what? I'm owning it! Have a GLORIOUS day!"
Some girls have all the luck...Sneak Preview of tomorrow's posting: We arrive at the West Atlantic City Ramada Limited. And, let's just say, it was VERY limited.