Remembrance of things Pabst

So last night we were watching Jersey Shore and it was pretty entertaining. I mean those guido’s and guidettes remind me of my cousins from Staten Island and most of the guys I grew up with. The really fun part is that they went on a road trip to my old stomping grounds: Atlantic City.

Back in the day when I was single and fancy free I wasted a lot of money in AC and Vegas. I loved the casino and the lounges where you could relax and have a few drinks and listen the music. What was particularly good for me was that usually I didn’t know anybody so I didn’t have to have meaningless and tedious conversations with the regulars or worse the bartenders. You see I always had the opposite problem of most people who come to a bar. They come in to bore the bartender with their sad story and complaints about what was going on in their life. Now since I usually did the taxes for all the wait staff as well as the owners of the bar they all wanted to talk to me when all I wanted to do was talk to the ladies. I mean they always had an investment or tax question about their problems or their girlfriends or boyfriends or mothers or whatever the fuck. It got to the point where they used to call me the human service area because the bartender would always stand in front of me and hand drinks over my shoulder when it was a full bar. Which sucked because the drunk fucks getting the drink would spill a little on my suit or whatever. So going to AC where nobody knew me was a treat.

Now I don’t drive so after work on a Friday I would go to the Port Authority Bus Terminal and catch the bus to AC. It cost about $15 but they gave you back $12 in coins so you could play the slots. I hated the new hotels. I can’t stand Donald Trump or Steve Wynn. But I loved the old school ones like the Claridge.

The Claridge was actually the only hotel that wasn’t really on the boardwalk. It was on the next street down, Atlantic I think. You had to walk a block or so to get to the boardwalk which was fine with me because the boardwalk was very cheesy just like the one they show on the Jersey Shore show. Lots of t-shirt joints and taffy stands and shit like that. So I usually hung in the Claridge or maybe Caesar’s Palace. I almost always stayed in this small hotel a block away that offered great rates and had a great little coffee shop that was dirt cheap and had great food. It was always packed and the staff was all girls from Ireland who were working off the books. Some of them would later come up toe the city and I would recommend them for jobs at various bars and stuff.

The only bad part about staying off the main drag is that you had to fight your way past the hookers. They were all over those streets and they would accost you all the time. Usually it wasn’t a problem because they were looking for someone in a car but on a slow night or real late at night they could be a pain in the ass. The casinos were pretty good at keeping most of the snaggle tooth ones out. I mean the high class ones were around but they kept a low profile and they left you alone if you left them alone. So to speak.

Anyway after a few weeks I did what I always do. I made friends with one the bartenders, this guido Sal from South Philly. He was working in this little hole in the wall bar in the Claridge called “Sparky’s.” This bar was dedicated to Sparky Lyle the old Yankee relief pitcher and all around psycho. Occasionally Sparky would be there when he was making an appearance for the casino and he had some great stories. There was the time he went up on the roof and tried to throw a baseball into the ocean. All kinds of crazy shit. And I got an autograph or two. Not that I cared but my brother collected them.

Also you might run into a connected guy or two since they favored the Claridge a lot. Since I knew some people from Brooklyn and Sal knew the Philly guys it was easy to steer clear of trouble and have a good time with out stepping on anybody’s toes. Sparkys was really tiny; it was against wall and only had about 13 seats. We called them the lucky 13. That freaked some people out but others loved it. It was usually an interesting mix though and a good place to hang out and kill a few hours.

Anyway one day it was freezing cold for some reason. I was in Caesars Palace playing baccarat and I actually did pretty good for once. So I had to stay there long enough to lose all my money back to them which took a few hours. When I finished about 3 in the morning I decided to walk back to the Claridge for a couple of drinks at Sparky’s before I went to bed. When I went outside it was Artic man. Colder than Hillary Clinton’s heart. I bundled up and bent against the howling wind I slowly trudged my way back to the casino. Thankfully I finally made it and unwrapped myself. I mean I had on hats and scarves and all kinds of stuff. I walked across the casino floor which was easier than usually because it was pretty dead. I walk into Sparky’s and it was packed. That was weird. Every seat was taken except for one bar stool right in the middle of the bar. The 13th seat. So I walk in and sit down. Then I notice it. I look at the left. There were six Spanish prostitutes. They all had fruity drinks and in unison they go “Hola papi how you doing tonight?” Then I looked to the left and there were six black prostitutes drinking Hennessy. They all looked at me and said “How you doing sugar?” or something to that effect. I looked at Sal. He goes “Don’t look at me. It was so cold tonight they let them in to warm up.” I had to laugh. “You know nobody is going to believe this story. It’s the night of the frozen whores.”

You just never know what is gonna happen when you walk into a bar.