My sister Cyndi snapped this photo last week while sitting at her favorite watering hole down in St. Croix. Somehow the cosmic circuits got crossed and she's down there in the Caribbean--sailing and scuba diving every weekend, trading stories at the waterfront bar with the local characters, and generally just having a great time while making six figures, while I'm out here in Vegas providing a social outlet to the drunks and degenerates, making somewhat less... Not that I'm complaining, but pictures like this only serve to remind me that the grass is always greener.
If only we could all be so lucky.
Anyhow, speaking of drunks, degenerates, and local characters, I've had my fair share of them this weekend. I took one poor soul for six grand in about three minutes, earning me a pat on the head from the boss. I also had the most obnoxious drunk in the history of obnoxious drunks at my table the other night, just throwing an absolute shit-fit after I took him down for about $500 in less than ten minutes. I went on break and he was still raising hell when I came back, and the last we saw of him, security was testing to see if they could open the front door with his head. I thought I might've gotten into some sort of trouble because of him (long story, but not worth retelling), but I got word later on from one of the floor supervisors that all was cool on my end, and I never heard a word about it from any of the bosses.
I actually spent two nights this past weekend dealing blackjack, not holding court in my usual home of Chinatown or the dice pit. It was a nice break and for the most part I had a lot of fun players--and on the plus side it was back to dropping $500+ in tokes again (usually unheard of while dealing Pai Gow), and every night the toke share was over $150 per dealer, so that was nice. But I was in the party pit dealing low-limit blackjack, and that brings out all the expert players. As my gal Jen puts it, I was on the 'Keds Rotation'--nothing but five-dollar shoes...
I had one girl following me around from table to table that was just outrageously hot--so hot that it made it hard for me to concentrate or count properly. Of course she mentioned to me that her and her boyfriend just bought a place there in Henderson. Being the curious type, I asked her what her mortgage payment was, and I about satchelled my wares when she told me that they're paying $4600 per month for a 2800 square footer.
Gulp.
But it's got the coolest backyard this side of the Playboy mansion!
It damn well better for that kind of money. Guess I'll have to wait until all these clowns that bought interest-only ARMs get foreclosed on, and then pick up a house at auction before I can even dream of being a homeowner here in America's Playground.
Regardless of her opressive mortgage, it made the weekend a little better when she showed up every night to either play at my table or just stop and say hello.
On Saturday night, I had another drunk gal playing at my table who had to most outrageously huge and ridiculous fake boobs I've ever seen outside of Eddie's porn stash. She had the girls resting on the edge of the table and would shake them vigorously with every winning hand. Of course the floor person decided that my five-dollar blackjack game was the most important one in the pit at the time, and I know the pervs up in surveillance were watching, too. I can't really blame 'em though--it was a good show.
Last night, however, I think I had the mother of all you've-got-to-be-kidding-me situations going. A couple of my tables in Chinatown closed down early, so about 1:00 they moved me over to blackjack in the main pit. I could see that the table I was going to was full of obnoxious 20-somethings on a bender. In fact the floorperson whispered to me, just before I sat down, Break these jerkoffs for me, will ya? I'm tired of listening to them.
Will do, said I.
Unfortunately, I kept busting and they kept making hands. And as big of assholes as they were, they were pretty good tippers. But then Grandma stumbled back to the table. I had no idea what her name was, but I'd seen her before--85 years old if a day, and just a bitter old crotchety walker full of rudeness. She's played at my dice table before and was just a pain in the ass. When the other players would put up a tip for me, she'd always ask why they did that and that they shouldn't tip. Yeah, the kind of player that everyone loves to see go broke.
Well she was liquored up like fat girl on prom night, and just losing her ass. The guys at the table kept trying to help her bet, telling her the right stuff to do, but sometimes she just wouldn't listen, and it cost her every time. Anyhow, after about a half hour of this, she starts whining and complaining that she didn't know anybody there and asked if I could give her a ride home...
Without going into details of my current situation, I politely declined. But she kept asking over and over, and was even asking the rest of the players if somebody would give her a ride home. She finally asked the floorperson, who offered to call her a cab, but she said she didn't want to pay (of course this drunk-ass bitty had about $200 worth of red checks in front of her, but that was gambling money, not cab money...).
Luckily I got tapped off the table and sent to the dice pit before the situation was resolved, but I was hoping they didn't give her the limo and also made her pay her cab fare out of her own pocket. But I swear, just the level of drunken degeneracy (is that a word?) was almost too much too fathom. An 85-year old screaming drunk is a pretty pitiful sight.
But my last hour was spent in relative peace at a completely dead dice table. We had no players the entire time, and I got the 3:40 push. I dropped tokes for a few minutes, clocked out, and was home at four bells.
Sleepy time!
Mikey
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