It might have been the worst vacation I've ever taken.
Ten years ago this summer I had just finished my first year at Ohio State and was about to begin a summer job in my hometown. But the week before I was scheduled to start, I went to Atlantic City with my parents, grandparents and younger sister, Katie.
I was only 18, and Katie was 16, so we couldn't even step foot in the casinos, let alone gamble. I expected to split my time between the boardwalk and the beach. But then it rained. And it rained the next day. And the next. It rained each day except the last day we were there, which I believe is the exact day a seagull decided to crap in my hair.
Like I said, it wasn't a great vacation.
Boardwalk and beach aside, the real reason I wanted to go to Atlantic City was its proximity to New York. I begged Mom and Dad to drive me to the city -- even just to the Statue of Liberty. I scoured the internet for day trips to New York that I could take by myself while they tried their luck at the slots. No luck for me. I was disappointed but not devastated. I was more upset at that damn seagull.
It's funny to look back on that summer now. I certainly never thought I'd be living in New York a decade later. And that summer was also the last I lived at home. I subleased a slightly ghetto apartment in Columbus the next year, met Paul and the rest is history.
I've never been to Atlantic City since.