I was going to catch the $10 train to Atlantic City for gambling and salt water taffy, but Ingrid said she was going to cook dinner, and I didn't want to get caught under a mass of blackjack winnings or comped to free meals or rooms or something. I also didn’t want to spend 2-3 hours traveling to Atlantic City in order to lose $200 in forty seconds or something.
So instead, after I went out to get Ingrid breakfast, I took two buses and the subway to a casino in town. I brought my crochet so I could be the least threatening degenerate gambler there.
Transit is always weird. It’s wonderful that we’ve built a system to allow people to travel all over the city, but a system like that doesn’t get any appreciation or care in a capitalist environment. The subway station smells like piss, the buses are crowded and the drivers are trying to be on time and still be considerate of passengers’ needs.
The casino turned out to have been an error. Every person there was an 80 year old chain smoker with a mobility aid. The workers are all getting lung cancer and aren’t even allowed to smoke. Midday on a Monday everyone there is a degenerate gambler or waiting for God to take them home or both.
I walked the floor two times trying to find a spot I could play blackjack for a while, but every minute I spent in that place was increasingly depressing. I finally decided that leaving without gambling in any way was a win for the amount of money I got at the ATM, minus the transaction fee, which is $9 at the casino.
I took transit back home, stopped at the grocery store, and Ingrid texted me to tell me to get dessert if I wanted anything. I decided to continue on the bus up to a bakery we like, and get a little cake. I also had a coupon for a free big soda at Wawa. Unfortunately, this put me with two big bags and one big soda, and the bus I got to take me home was SRO.
I hate when people don’t act in a socially cooperative manner on our socially positive transit. I stood the whole time while the driver braked and turned too fast and generally made my last mile home miserable. When I gathered up my bags to disembark, I spilled my big soda all over the bus. I apologized and ran for it.
My back hurt and my dog was occupying my chair with the heating pad on it. Ingrid felt poorly and decided not to make dinner after all. We had cake, though.
And that was my birthday. Not great, but better than last year, I guess.
--7:49 AM, EST, 11.4.2025, Philadelphia, PA, "I'd make a deal with God / And get him to swap our places"
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