She's a MAN, Baby!

One of the best, and worst, things about working in a casino is the endless parade of human drama on display. I see people at their best and worst (mostly the latter), and just like watching an episode of COPS, spending eight hours in a casino always makes me feel better about myself.

Of course, just seeing these people and dealing with them are two different animals entirely. Just watching freaks and weirdos is cool and all, but when they come to my table to play and then won't leave, well, it's basically an hour of my own personal hell.

The bosses have changed up the table rotation at work, so I'm getting some new games to deal. No more Deuces Wild, Bonus Holdem, or that god-awful Let It Ride for me this week, but I have inherited a few shifts at the mini Pai Gow table, which is a total sucker game with six cards instead of seven like regular pai gow. (And no, I'm not going to explain it, either. It's a shitbag game and if you wish to play it, I deem you a moron with the same level of mental deficiency as Let It Ride players).

Anyhow, as bad as that game is, we still have a few 'regular' players who won on it initially, and insist on throwing more money down the hole thinking that the cards will eventually turn for them. They show up every weekend, and every weekend they go broke. But they're having fun...

One particular player comes in every weekend and it is damn near impossible for me to keep a straight face whenever I deal to 'her'. I use the scare quotes because nobody is quite sure if she's really a woman. The smart money says 'Tranny' all the way.

Let me try and paint a picture for you: This 'chick' is about sixty years old, six feet tall, HUGE hands, no discernable figure, and wears gaudy colored Hillary Clinton-style pantsuits every night. She also has a collection of 'fashion' sunglasses that Elton John would kill for. Seriously, I've never seen a more ridiculous collection of eyewear in my life. Of course she accessorizes with huge fake gold jewelry--over sized hoop earrings, and every finger has a fake lounge-singer ring on it, along with the inch-long press-on nails in every color of the rainbow. The best part has to be the hair. She's wearing a different style blonde wig every time I see her, and you just know that shiat would come off in your hand if you grabbed it.

To complete this picture of stunning hotness, imagine a voice tempered by five decades of black coffee and unfiltered Camels. What makes it even better is the fact that she never shuts up. She talks nonstop for the entire hour--complaining about her cards, the other players, the cocktail service, whatever song is playing in the background.

Dealing to her is truly the longest hour of my week. And the worst part was on Thursday night, I saw that my first table of the night was an hour at Mini Pai Gow, and when I walked by the table to sign in, I saw that it was empty--not a single player. Very cool--we don't make much money on it anyways, and it faces the TVs in the bar, so I was hoping to sit and watch ESPN for my first hour. Which would've been ideal, since it was my 'Monday' morning.

But two minutes later, just as I was sitting down and shuffling the new cards, I swear to god that old freaky bitch walked up and sat down, throwing a hundred-dollar bill at me and demanding change, poor manners on display, as usual. I looked over my shoulder to the floor person who immediately started cracking up and whispered "Welcome to your workweek!"

Ugh...

Yes, it was an hour of hell. Any time anyone else sat down to play, she'd pretty much chase them off after three or four hands. Believe me, nobody wants to sit, gamble, or drink with an angry six-foot tall she-male who dresses like she's wearing Fred Sanford's front yard.

The only bright spot was that I took over $300 from her in that first hour, which made her even nastier.

I'm guessing it's probably because I was cutting into her estrogen-in-a-bottle budget.

Mikey