33. Blackjack
Feeling lucky?
There is an urge in most of us to gamble. Taking a chance is exciting and the reward for winning is mind warping exhilaration and possibly money. Losing, which we can’t conceptualize until it happens, is agonizing. You risked and lost—why did you risk what you had?? You could still have it if you hadn’t risked. Now it is gone. Gone forever.
I’ve been to a casino before, I’ve even been to Atlantic City before. In Vegas, I tried the coin slots which no longer feature the iconic pull-down handle I’d grown up to expect. There’s no slots or coins either. It was very flashy with lots of lights and sounds and I lost a few dollars via some sort of paper transfer and then walked away. In Atlantic City, the first time, I was a kid and could not participate in any gambling and also had an ear infection. When my friend Bill invited me and some other pals to Atlantic City for a birthday party, I hoped to have better experiences. Ear infections were of the past.
I’m sure for residents of the boardwalk-lined town, there are many charms and underground hangs and communities that have some appeal. As a visitor, Atlantic City seems like a place where it is very hard to live, especially in the dead of winter. It was raining and dark, even at midday. Not that we saw much of the day. We mostly saw the long floor of glimmering machines and bright tables, filled in sparsely with what I came to think of as Bizarro Disney Adults. Casinos are their thing and they wander back and forth in comfortable pajama sets and beanies, carrying massive drinks and snacks in themed buckets. Some of them are a bit more formal, in short-sleeved button shirts and gold watches, carrying wads of money that seem vaguely criminal. This is probably my naivety. Maybe it is very normal to go to the Hard Rock casino in Atlantic City with more cash than I’ve ever seen in my entire life grasped in a single hand. This was a new experience for me, after all.
I do know that what we were doing was not normal, based on the reactions we received. Per the invite instructions, everyone had dressed up for the night, like we were cosplaying Ocean’s 11, except with women. Four of us got ready in our shared room, where we had a partial view of the ocean and a grander view of the walls of other hotels. Their windows reflected the water, extending the horizon. The buildings looked like they were waiting, staring out over the sea with rows and rows of glassy eyes. If no one else had been downstairs, I would not have been surprised. Indeed, there were many moments that evening where I wandered away amongst the machines, all lit up, pinging, poinging, calling to no one, like vivid male birds in the trees whose mates have gone extinct.
I didn’t know it yet, but I was about to be very ill. The illness would creep over me the next day, starting with a sore throat, but at that moment I was just extremely fatigued. I snoozed for a bit before dinner as the others went to explore. I love a hotel room. So impersonal and cool, humming with electricity yet dead silent, punctuated by shrieks and stomps in the hallway flushing your body with reactive adrenaline. Both neat as a pin and utterly disgusting when you consider everyone who has passed through, touching the surfaces, grinding on the couch, sneezing into the hair dryer. When I could snooze no more, I used the little single pod coffee maker and tried not to think about what some sicko might have done to it.
That night, I wore a skintight red dress that honestly wasn’t very flattering, but it was the most appropriate when I looked around at my cohorts, who were obligingly glamorous. We had dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe. It seemed like the staff didn’t know what to do with a dozen people at once. I ordered a single cocktail and it had approximately three shots of bourbon in it. The food was bad and overpriced, but the drink made everything just fine.
The tension between what we have and what we imagine is in our reach is a delicious tug. What I like most about doing new things is that you often encounter people for whom that thing is old, worn out, and dull. You will encounter a lot of people like that at a casino, yet they return because gambling is an addiction. I have no judgment about that. If I lived closer to a casino with affordable table minimums I might be addicted to it as well, but instead I’m addicted to my phone and processed gluten. Whatever keeps the dopamine flowing.
I don’t know enough about Atlantic City to give a very detailed history about it, so I will just make some general observations. One is that casinos began operating there in the late 1970s, before which the place was very similar to Ocean City, Maryland, or other destinations popular for family vacations, before affordable air travel and the cultural domination of Disney parks. Once casinos were allowed to move in, they took over. It is very much debated if AC was a safe, wholesome place before casinos, or if It was revitalized by new business and new revenue. I would guess that like many cities that exist on the edge of where earth meets water, it was a mixed bag. Casinos have some obligation to reinvest in most of the places they operate, but not an enormous amount. Per the Atlantic City Free Public Library:
The state's 8 percent tax on casino gross revenues is devoted to the Casino Revenue Fund which funds programs that provide resources and services to disabled and senior citizens. Casinos are also required to invest 1.25 percent of their gaming revenues into projects screened and approved by the Casino Reinvestment Development Authority (CRDA). With a mandate to revitalize urban centers throughout the state, CRDA has funded a wide array of infrastructure, housing, economic, cultural and social development projects. The CRDA has invested more than $1.8 billion in these projects to date.
$1.8 billion sure sounds like a lot, but that is across about 45 years. And yearly revenue from even one casino is enormous. PlayNj reports that total revenue for all the casinos in AC in 2024 alone was $22,042,923,392. That’s such a big number that I am wondering if I’m just misunderstanding the report…but I don’t think so.
I’m only bringing this up because I have been thinking a lot about how big business often takes far more from a community than it gives and the casino business is more nakedly predatory than most. Perhaps that’s why they’re pushed to the edge, to places already struggling and underfunded, with big promises of a reward in exchange for a lot of risk. Relevant to that, Thor Equities is pushing through an initiative to build a casino on Coney Island, and they are close to succeeding. The photos and plans for the place are horrifying, at least to me, who has appreciated the boardwalk on the edge of Brooklyn for my entire life exactly as it is. A few months ago, I attended a public hearing on the matter via Zoom, which was filled with protesters arguing very persuasively that the addition of this casino would only make the community unsafe and destroy landmarks that have made the area what it is for a hundred years. There were also some naysayers, also claiming to be from the community, who saw Thor as a godsend, injecting money and possibilities into a neglected neighborhood ignored by the city except for when the good times are flowing. But, from my POV, even the people who seemed convincingly sincere in this belief had very little in the way of specifics. What, exactly, would the casino do besides attract yet more tourists who leave after getting wasted and trashing the place, all while pouring money into the pockets of people obligated to only reinvest the smallest fraction of their profits into the streets supporting their enterprise?
I digress.
The night of Bill’s birthday it was raining and we walked in our finery to the casino next door, even more abandoned and grim, but somewhat darker which was a relief to the senses. I entered with about 3 dollars and left with around $120 after learning how to play Blackjack. It is kind of a perfect mix of strategy and luck, which keeps it engaging. In this scenario, I was the tourist who got somewhat wasted. I did tip out the dealers, who had walked me through the rules of the game. I did forget to tip out the waitress, who started bringing us free drinks after people began losing money. Someone else remembered, thankfully. But that is the system: you spend on the tables, and tipping culture is supposed to take care of the rest for the employees who keep the dim tables running. I very ignorantly did not understand this before witnessing it.
It was surreal to take my winnings in the form of chips to the casino’s bank window and change it in for dollars. Free money! It felt huge, but was a pathetic sum to the cashiers, who must see all kinds of things I can’t comprehend. This exchange, more than anything, made me want to crouch on the floor of the casino like a bug for a month, a year, an eternity of observation. I wanted to know how depraved and sad and wildly fun it could get. An alternate life sprung up of playing games and knowing names. But I pocketed my winnings and went out into the rain again, choosing my actual life.
A casino with only machines would undoubtedly be a perfect investment, but I guess it just doesn’t quite work the same. The pull of connection is present at the casino, like it is in our phones when we scroll, hoping for a message or notification or even a blow up fight on Facebook. As AI and ChatGPT have spilled out onto every social media platform, I have found my interest dwindling. I don’t want to have a conversation with no one, even if that’s what I get tricked into doing from time to time. And I think most people go down to the tables in the hopes of some understanding and mutual regard exchanged across the worn velvet.
At our table, an older man sat alone before we joined. At first, he was withdrawn, quietly tapping his knuckles to pass or flipping cards, chips falling loosely from his hand as bets were set. Gradually, our presence revived him. Maybe it was the younger women in tight clothes, but I think it was just the energy of other people, which is the thing most of us are actually looking for on a night out. Anything that minimizes humanity is a dead end.
The next morning I woke up early and ate a very disgusting breakfast alone, looking down over the escalator. Then I walked outside onto the boardwalk, where it was still lightly raining. I found a path onto the beach and down to the water. The sea foam was filmy and dotted with plastic. The Ferris wheel, which had been lit with rainbows the night before, was now as cold and gray as the ocean. Shortly after, I got in a car home with no ear infection, only a cold that left me feeling coated in misery and regret for a week afterwards. I desperately wanted to play Blackjack again, a feeling that wore off eventually, but could be easily rekindled.
I brought back my Substack in part to share this: Coney Island may be rezoned so it can be turned into a casino. I recommend reading this post from No Coney Casino to understand where the process is at.
The summary is that the process has moved onto being a City Council Vote, relying on Councilman Justin Brannan, who is running for New York City Comptroller this year. I urge all New Yorkers to engage on the issue and on other City Council issues. You can follow the CI process on the NYC Zoning Portal and should follow No Coney Casino for updates.
Is this a small issue compared to the many massive and horrifying political issues facing our nation? Yes. However, many of the larger cruelties we see everyday begin with these small degradations and the flow of money and power up and away from communities into the hands of developers. If not Coney Island, care about something else small. It may get bigger very soon!Please share any local issues you care about in the comments and also any other new things I can do. I’m trying!