Instant Karma's gonna get him, if I don't get him first...
Sunday night was an interesting night in the casino. Of course I was stuck dealing Rapid Roulette again (and I'm really starting to hate that game), but as the evening wore on, I managed to find my way to a few other games too.
We were a bit shorthanded early on, and the shift boss came over and asked if we really needed two dealers to run the Rapid Roulette game. My immediate answer was HELL NO--Where do you want me to go???
And just like that I was sent over to Chinatown to open another Pai Gow table. Score! However, I was only there for forty minutes before getting tapped out to go on break, and after my break was over, I had to go back to Rapid Roulette. Ugh.
I stood there alone, no players at all, suffering through listening to the Sunday night Karaoke happening next door in the club. Imagine spending four hours each week of listening to American Idol rejects with no witty banter from Simon and the gang... I stood there for 45 minutes like a pound puppy waiting for somebody to pick me. But nobody came by to play. Of course, when the clock struck 10:50 and I had exactly eight minutes left on the game, two young hotties in low-cut tops sat down and bought in. Oh hell yeah! Suddenly we were laughing it up, high-fiving, flirting a bit, and having a great time...
But it was just my luck that they didn't stop by an hour earlier, because the eight minutes passed like the blink of an eye, and my Rapid Roulette 'cellmate' Jo showed up to tap me off the game. Oh well.
By the time I got back there, we were back to two dealers on the game, and we had one player who'd bought in for a meager amount but had managed to win enough after about two hours to get almost $500. We had been chatting him up, telling him we were trying to hit his numbers, all that stuff that comes with dealing the game and trying to earn some tips. But the dude was a complete stiff, even after numerous hints and other players asking how the tip jar button worked.
Finally he said mentioned that he was a waiter at the Cheesecake Factory and that he'd bring us a cheesecake if we'd hit the number 20 again. But Jo had had enough of him by then. She just looked at him and said Oh, you're a waiter? So you're familiar with the concept of working for tips? I work for tips, honey, not cheesecake!
Ouch! That's probably not something I could get away with saying, but I certainly didn't disagree.
So he hit the tip jar for fifty frickin' cents on the next spin.
And then the most beautiful thing happened. He never hit another number for the next 15 or so spins and went completely broke. Didn't cash out a dime. Hah!
On the plus side, now we know where he works, so Jovanka and I are planning to head down to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch next week, ask to sit in his section, run his ass ragged, and not leave a dime. Karma's a bitch.
After that little episode, I went to deal blackjack. I was on a low-limit shoe game, dealing to a bunch of the worst players I've ever witnessed. They were just throwing their money away--standing on 14's, hitting against my stiff cards, just losing their asses. It finally got down to one couple, and the gal told me that she hated having all that silver in front of her. I told her to stack it in front of her bet for me. So she did, and when I dealt her a blackjack the very next hand, she was all excited. So much so that she tried to take my money and winnings back along with hers.
I said, Um no, drop it--that's dealer money.
*Oh, I'm sorry...*
On the next hand, she put up another dollar, and we won again, and she tried to take it again. So I reminded her again that it's my money out front. I thanked her of course, and tapped it on the rack, and dropped it in the toke box.
Then she said, out of the clear blue, Well, I'm not doing that again...
I asked her why not, and she told me that she just didn't want to. In fact, she had a whole stack of silver and pushed it out and said to color it up to nickels.
Fine, bitch.
After that, it was Shut Up And Deal time for Mikey. All the way up to that point I'd been giving her advice on when to hit, stand, split, or double down. Not anymore.
And whenever she got a tricky hand and asked me what she should do, all I said was It's up to you. Do you want to hit or stand?
Those were my only words to her until she went broke and left the table. Then of course I thanked her for the bets and wished her good luck. Heh. Stiff the dealers, you'll get no help. Normally, I love to see people win. But when they flat out tell me that they're not going to tip, fuck 'em. I hope they go broke.
And last night, they did.
Mikey
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