Atlantic City- August 6, 2023

We drove down to the southern end of our state much later than Stupid O’clock in the morning, setting the tone for another “minimal exertions" type of vacation that we all desperately needed. 
Anabelle had her license for several years. However, she first got it during plague times. This became the first long trip following a period where she was driving regularly in normal rush hour conditions.
 
Her nonstop rant about the nature of traffic (and how stupid it, and most participants in it, were) made for an entertaining trip.
 
Every other time we’d driven to Atlantic City we had followed my Uncle Sal’s method of getting off on Route 30 to be sure to pass Goodfella’s restaurant. This is in spite of the fact that we had ceased stopping to eat there early in Anabelle’s life.
 
Unsurprisingly, when we “followed the blue line” instead of taking Uncle Sal’s short cut, the route was far more direct, shorter, and a more traffic free path to the Tropicana.

The man did once take a wrong turn that led through driving through the entire state of Georgia twice. He never took the direct route, but always an interesting and fun one. (And one that inevitably passed a casino.)
 
We arrived well before check in time and were forced to deal with a screen instead of a person. Our room was clearly ready… yet the hotel was following the casino’s practice of wrenching every last penny from its guests and added a charge to check in early.
 
Rather than being financially insulted before the stay began, we left most of our stuff in the car and hit the beach. Since I had been driving, I changed from my more comfortable to travel in clothes and brought the extra stuff back to our vehicle. They were already in beach wear. Luckily, there was an old Power Bar in the glove compartment to keep me somewhat sane for the afternoon. Even more luckily, I did not die from eating the aged protein snack.
 
On the way back down to meet my family, a man with a red tipped white cane stopped me to ask for directions. It was a bit puzzling. I do know partially sighted folks can be “legally blind.” While he did have the cane, he also could clearly locate me, and several signs plus the steps and escalator just beyond me. I gave him directions as best as I could by minimizing visual cues, and hurried out to the beach before he could return if I had blown it.
 
Rosa and Anabelle rotisseried themselves in the sun for fifty minutes a side (not counting a trip to the water.) In the meantime, I hid under my shirt, hat, sunglasses, and a gallon of sunscreen while reading The Once and Future King.
 
When it was official check in time, we went up to the previously ready, yet empty, room so we would know where it was. Then we did some tower hopping to get our stuff out of the car and washed up for dinner.
 
Stale Power Bar or no, we were all starving. The taco place downstairs in the Trop is one of the most consistent eateries there. The waiter seemed just as hurried as we were hungry. Luckily, they served a decent, dark Mexican beer on tap, allowing me to maintain balance for what could have been a stressful meal.
 
We decided to take a short, after dinner, Boardwalk stroll. Our decisions never stick. We toughed out the over powering smell of weed and found ourselves strolling the entire length of the Atlantic City Boardwalk.
 
The extended wanderings came about after learning Sunday (or it becoming a desolate wasteland) meant, except for ItSugar, the entire mall was closed. Anabelle’s ring source, B*Iconic, looked to be more than simply closed for the afternoon. Alas
 
Hey look, there’s a guy hand feeding a squirrel!
 
As we passed the Amusement Pier, Anabelle correctly pointed out that absolutely none of the attractions looked safe. This may be due to her being the child of an Engineer…
An Engineer who CONSTANTLY points out that those rides do not look safe.
 
We walked all the way down to the Showboat, mostly out of curiosity as to what the huge hotel was turning into with the Casino part shut down.
The Psychic Fair operating there had been extended.
Huh, I guess they didn’t expect the level of interest they had. Sounds like a red flag to me.
[Anabelle- *Fake Laugh* “You are sooooo funny.” *Eye roll*]
 
The Showboat had turned the Casino floor into a GIANT arcade and water park. We skipped the second part of that transformation.
 

Not only was the area giant- and the room full of Pinball machines awesome- but the actual Arcade Games were giant.

The claw machines looked like excavators. Most games were supersized versions of what would normally be in this type of place. There were rows and rows of oversized “Cut the Rope” games with prizes so expensive (autographed sports memorabilia), I would guess using an acetylene torch would not have cut those strands.

Anabelle played the Wonder Woman coin drop a bit, and scored an enormous number of tickets on a multiple story version of the Jackpot Drop, ping pong ball game she usually does well on.

There was a fish cube, and various oversized spinning wheel games.
 

We played the wall sized tandem Pac-Man game together. Luckily Anabelle is one of the few people on earth worse at Pac-Man than I am, and I was able to look somewhat impressive playing a video game from my youth.
 

A fun take on whack a mole had Batman Rogues. The Catwoman one was missing so I stood by and manually pushed the metal platform down while she was “whacking” the others.
I am a supportive parent.
 

After a relatively successful large screen Temple Run excursion, we had an issue.
 
The Flintstones coin drop she wanted to get a card out of for Rosa, a fan of that show, ate a bunch of her credits but didn’t initiate.
 
We went to the cash-in place to complain, and the two attendants immediately focused all of their attention and energy…
On the small, cute child of a friend of theirs.
After far longer than we had the strength and energy to deal with anything at that time of night, their supervisor came by, fixed Anabelle’s credit, and we returned to the game floor.
 
Rosa rested on a padded seat for much of this adventure, and we would occasionally stop by with updates.
 
There was a Wheel of Fortune game, it sucked. (Sorry, I can’t always have all the details)
 
Anabelle finished her credits with some moderate successes at the big Fish Spinning Wheel Thingy. (Possibly not its actual name.)
 
Luckily, by this point there was a much better and more helpful cashing in lady. Anabelle got some shiny plastic crap, and a cute maraca keychain which is already broken. (She misses very much, thank you.) She also got Morgan a dinosaur as kind of an “arcade crap exchange” for the small stuffed Axolotl he got her at the Land of Make Believe. 

We walked back to our hotel. Vast numbers of unscheduled demonstrations filled the Boardwalk. It was a mix of light up toy sales and inebriated though entertaining wanderers. Oh yeah… and Batman. He wasn’t looking for tips for pictures. Maybe he was patrolling. If so, he needs to work on his hiding in shadows.
 
We talked generally about various Broadway shows and their conventions, as we are highly varied babblers when tired. Rosa got her roasted and coated almonds back at our hotel, then we caught the Hagen Daas stand before it closed. Anabelle was as happy to find Butter Pecan, as I was to learn “Irish Cream Brownie” is a flavor that exists.
 
The smoking area for the Tropicana used to be in a small area downstairs near the door. They have since abandoned the idea of trying to isolate the smoke. The smoking area was moved to the center of the main Casino floor, causing much of the building to smell like an ash tray. Note for younger folks, if you are curious as to how the Seventies smelled, this was close.
 
At least it freed up oxygen near Rosa’s favorite Goldfish Slot Machine downstairs.
 
Anabelle told us about an excellent nature documentary following Wolves and several other animal families in Vancouver. She also informed us it was titled “Side Pieces in the Wild.” 

She is very educational to have around.
 
Anabelle had some random sunburn spots where the sunscreen was uneven. I was smart enough to leave my shirt on…
Meaning I had burn marks on my toes and anywhere on my legs where the sunscreen wasn’t three inches thick.
 
We all read a bit before conking out with the delusion of plans for an early morning.

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