My Funny Valentine ... Grrr!
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
By Mike Straka
So I took the little wife and baby Maxine for a getaway weekend in beautiful Atlantic City, N.J., for Valentine's Day.
I figured we'd hit the new Borgata (search) for a little R&R, and for the most part, the $1.1 billion dollar casino/hotel did not disappoint. First, we were greeted by a cheery valet attendant who hailed from the Czech Republic. Noticing our last name was Straka, he thought perhaps we were related to the Pittsburgh Penguin hockey star Martin Straka, also a Czech. Not being one to disappoint, I adopted Martin for the occasion as my big brother and ended up with the family truckster in the VIP lot.
Just kidding. I didn't have to lie to get the VIP lot, but a modest tip did the trick.
Once we unloaded the "pack-and-play," stroller, bags and laptop and went inside the hotel, a guest-services staffer, Jennifer P., graciously checked us in while some "high roller" who didn't have a reservation waxed poetic about how much money he "drops in dis place," and shouldn't need a reservation. More power to you Jennifer!
Borgata CEO Robert Boughner (search) strolled by and welcomed guests while we waited for our rooms to be readied (Boughner apparently greets all his guests and, indeed, he was still at it into the wee hours of the night at the blackjack tables) -- not that I was gambling or anything ... wink, wink.
Blackjack Dummies
Okay. People who play blackjack often should know better than to bet large sums of money at the minimum bet table -- where I play. Case in point:
Some clown decided he would be betting upwards of $500 per hand, when most of the rest of us were playing $25, the table minimum. Now that's his business. It's his money and if he wants to give it to the casino so willingly, by all means. What Grrr'd me was that this "whale" would get all bent out-of-shape and start cursing-- even pounding the table-- when the table rookie (there's always one) would neglect to hit on 15 with the dealer showing a picture card, thereby causing the table to lose when the dealer should have otherwise busted (Hint: if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're the rookie).
Sure, the rook was wrong and even I Grrr'd once or twice, but who told this "high roller" to bet that much at the minimum-bet table? That's why casinos put $100 minimum bet tables on the other side of the room, where there's no mid-shoe entry allowed, and people presumably don't make those types of mistakes. Either get over yourself Richie Rich, or better yet, live and learn. Grrr!
Velour Sweatsuits
What's with these velour sweatsuits that everybody's wearing these days? I lost count of the number of people, young and old, who were strolling through the casino like Tony Soprano in these overpriced duds with sports insignias emblazoned all over the fabric. And the outfit apparently is incomplete without lots of gold chains, big hair and oversized diamonds attached to the wearer.
Now, the men who wear these sweats usually wear them baggy with their sneakers untied. You know, the ultimate sign of hipness, class and wealth, right? Makes me wonder what kind of mirrors casinos are putting in the presidential suite.
But the women, for crying in the bucket! They wear these things at least one size too small, so the pants are too tight and reveal a thong strap, and the top just happens to leave room for the belly button ring to be exposed.
Now I'm as red-blooded as any man, but is this supposed to be attractive or unique? Grrr!
"The Oblivions"
The Borgata has the worst Starbucks (search) on the face of the planet. I have never seen a slower line or poorer customer service in all my vast Starbucks experience. But to make matters worse, there are what I like to call "The Oblivions:" people who are so oblivious to their surroundings that they deserve their own Grrr! category.
The Oblivions will focus so intently on the coffee menu board that they cut in front of you on line as if there were no line there at all. They are also known to stop in doorways to chat with friends, yawn out loud repeatedly as if we all cared how tired they are, or unwrap their gum v-e-r-y-s-l-o-w-l-y in church or at the movie theater -- usually during the quiet times.
They walk with their lit cigarettes, swinging their arms indiscriminately as though everybody around them is equipped with fire resistant protective clothing.
Oblivions race ac**** shopping center parking lots, ignoring traffic arrows. They stop short while walking on busy sidewalks to look at their tourist maps. They complain about the help but never leave tips. They blurt out questions or ask sales people for help even when the associate is already assisting somebody else. They don't wait for the next elevator when the one you're on is already full. They'll just push their way on, and then suffocate you because they've put on so much perfume, the scent enters your nostrils and pierces your brain like a dagger!
My fellow Americans, beware The Oblivions. They are taking over. Grrr!
The Lovely Smell of Cigarette Smoke
As much as I disagree with the economics of New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg's ban on smoking in restaurants and bars, I have become somewhat spoiled by not having my entire wardrobe, hair and skin smell like an ashtray after having a drink at a bar. That being said, despite the Borgata's state-of-the-art ventilation system, I could not wait to get out of my smoky clothes and take a shower before going to bed. I know, I know. I'm not complaining about smokers in a casino! I can see the hypocrisy in that. I'm just saying I don't enjoy smelling like a walking cigarette. Grrr!
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
By Mike Straka
So I took the little wife and baby Maxine for a getaway weekend in beautiful Atlantic City, N.J., for Valentine's Day.
I figured we'd hit the new Borgata (search) for a little R&R, and for the most part, the $1.1 billion dollar casino/hotel did not disappoint. First, we were greeted by a cheery valet attendant who hailed from the Czech Republic. Noticing our last name was Straka, he thought perhaps we were related to the Pittsburgh Penguin hockey star Martin Straka, also a Czech. Not being one to disappoint, I adopted Martin for the occasion as my big brother and ended up with the family truckster in the VIP lot.
Just kidding. I didn't have to lie to get the VIP lot, but a modest tip did the trick.
Once we unloaded the "pack-and-play," stroller, bags and laptop and went inside the hotel, a guest-services staffer, Jennifer P., graciously checked us in while some "high roller" who didn't have a reservation waxed poetic about how much money he "drops in dis place," and shouldn't need a reservation. More power to you Jennifer!
Borgata CEO Robert Boughner (search) strolled by and welcomed guests while we waited for our rooms to be readied (Boughner apparently greets all his guests and, indeed, he was still at it into the wee hours of the night at the blackjack tables) -- not that I was gambling or anything ... wink, wink.
Blackjack Dummies
Okay. People who play blackjack often should know better than to bet large sums of money at the minimum bet table -- where I play. Case in point:
Some clown decided he would be betting upwards of $500 per hand, when most of the rest of us were playing $25, the table minimum. Now that's his business. It's his money and if he wants to give it to the casino so willingly, by all means. What Grrr'd me was that this "whale" would get all bent out-of-shape and start cursing-- even pounding the table-- when the table rookie (there's always one) would neglect to hit on 15 with the dealer showing a picture card, thereby causing the table to lose when the dealer should have otherwise busted (Hint: if you don't know what I'm talking about, you're the rookie).
Sure, the rook was wrong and even I Grrr'd once or twice, but who told this "high roller" to bet that much at the minimum-bet table? That's why casinos put $100 minimum bet tables on the other side of the room, where there's no mid-shoe entry allowed, and people presumably don't make those types of mistakes. Either get over yourself Richie Rich, or better yet, live and learn. Grrr!
Velour Sweatsuits
What's with these velour sweatsuits that everybody's wearing these days? I lost count of the number of people, young and old, who were strolling through the casino like Tony Soprano in these overpriced duds with sports insignias emblazoned all over the fabric. And the outfit apparently is incomplete without lots of gold chains, big hair and oversized diamonds attached to the wearer.
Now, the men who wear these sweats usually wear them baggy with their sneakers untied. You know, the ultimate sign of hipness, class and wealth, right? Makes me wonder what kind of mirrors casinos are putting in the presidential suite.
But the women, for crying in the bucket! They wear these things at least one size too small, so the pants are too tight and reveal a thong strap, and the top just happens to leave room for the belly button ring to be exposed.
Now I'm as red-blooded as any man, but is this supposed to be attractive or unique? Grrr!
"The Oblivions"
The Borgata has the worst Starbucks (search) on the face of the planet. I have never seen a slower line or poorer customer service in all my vast Starbucks experience. But to make matters worse, there are what I like to call "The Oblivions:" people who are so oblivious to their surroundings that they deserve their own Grrr! category.
The Oblivions will focus so intently on the coffee menu board that they cut in front of you on line as if there were no line there at all. They are also known to stop in doorways to chat with friends, yawn out loud repeatedly as if we all cared how tired they are, or unwrap their gum v-e-r-y-s-l-o-w-l-y in church or at the movie theater -- usually during the quiet times.
They walk with their lit cigarettes, swinging their arms indiscriminately as though everybody around them is equipped with fire resistant protective clothing.
Oblivions race ac**** shopping center parking lots, ignoring traffic arrows. They stop short while walking on busy sidewalks to look at their tourist maps. They complain about the help but never leave tips. They blurt out questions or ask sales people for help even when the associate is already assisting somebody else. They don't wait for the next elevator when the one you're on is already full. They'll just push their way on, and then suffocate you because they've put on so much perfume, the scent enters your nostrils and pierces your brain like a dagger!
My fellow Americans, beware The Oblivions. They are taking over. Grrr!
The Lovely Smell of Cigarette Smoke
As much as I disagree with the economics of New York City mayor Michael Bloomberg's ban on smoking in restaurants and bars, I have become somewhat spoiled by not having my entire wardrobe, hair and skin smell like an ashtray after having a drink at a bar. That being said, despite the Borgata's state-of-the-art ventilation system, I could not wait to get out of my smoky clothes and take a shower before going to bed. I know, I know. I'm not complaining about smokers in a casino! I can see the hypocrisy in that. I'm just saying I don't enjoy smelling like a walking cigarette. Grrr!
