Astroland’s Last Gasp

September 22, 2007

"I'm the freak, you wanna shoot me?"

"Yes, I do," said Deborah.

We went to Coney Island on the spur of the moment. The sky was gray, and it looked like rain, but we weren't looking for a beach day, just looking for something to do. When the skinny Puerto Rican kid with a wide afro puffing out from under his baseball hat asked if Deborah wanted to shoot him with paintballs, she couldn't resist.

"It's good therapy." said the white kid with the Glaswegian smile who stood nearby with a cash box. His hair was clear like fishing line, buzzed in a crewcut. His haircut and his scar combined to make him look like a vintage G.I. Joe doll. One that managed to sneak past quality control despite its eyes being painted facing different directions. "Maybe you guys are having problems," he said, gesticulating hip hop style, "Well, you can take it out on the freak here."

Deborah didn't need any reason and was already digging the money out of her purse.

We couldn't tell what we were hitting, if anything, because the entire shooting environment was splattered with paint. Red, yellow, blue, green, white, but mostly a pukey mix. The kid wore body padding and a helmet and bobbed and strutted like a chicken several yards away. He was mocking us as we shot, but he was impossible to understand from under his helmet.

Ten shots each went in no time, and we were on to other things.

"I want an ice cream," said Deborah.

As we walked down the boardwalk to the ice cream stand, we passed a few arcade games. High school-aged barkers called to us half-heartedly, "C'mon, guys, step up and play."

We stopped so Deborah could take a movie of a dusty frog game that clicked and clacked and creaked. An arcade classic where you were supposed to fish something out of its mouth for a prize. Small stuffed animals were strewn around the game’s dilapidated roof like Christmas lights — glittery purple and pink something-or-others and something resembling penguins.

"Wanna play?" the kid running the game quietly asked.

"Nah," we said.

"C'mon, it’s easy. Dontcha wanna win a souvenir from Coney Island?"

"One of those penguin things?" I said. "Or one of those—those—whatever they ares? Is that all you got?"

The kid shrugged and slumped onto the chair that he'd been slumped in before we arrived.

"You're mean," said Deborah when she finished taking her movie, and we walked away.

"What was? What I said about those crappy stuffed animals?"

"Yes," she said. "That was so mean."

"I just wanted him to stop trying to convince us to play the game and shut up. It worked. It wasn't really mean, though, was it?"

"Yes."

As we were eating our ice cream cones, it started to rain.

Coney Island is on the verge of a major redevelopment. Signs of new construction can already be seen in the form of large cleared lots with banners proclaiming "The Future of Coney Island." The Las Vegas-scale plans are understandably controversial, but there's no doubt the area could use a facelift.

This season was supposed to be the last for the famed Astroland Amusement Park, which has been sold to developers. Although there is some talk about its lease being extended for one final year. Either way, things are going to change soon. If this were the last season, then it's already over. Most of the rides weren't running, and the summer crowds were off doing post-summer things. If it had been a nice, sunny day, there probably would've been more activity, but the rain was getting heavier and showed no sign of letting up.

We watched a guy pull his pants up and down several times, over his red boxers, stopping now and then to strike a ninja pose. Another guy in filthy jeans, with Frederick Douglass hair and a matching beard, was muttering to himself near a garbage can. Despite his weather-beaten appearance, he was standing impossibly straight and tall. Three fat ladies ordered ice cream cones and stood next to us under the shop’s awning as we finished ours. Two hairy old men with big tits that we'd seen earlier laughing on the beach passed again, cursing the rain in Russian.

"Are you ready?" said Deborah, wiping her hands.

"For what?" I said.

"To go home and take a nap, of course."