No... That's not the daily special at my new favorite Chinese restaurant here in Vegas, it's a three-word summation of last night at work.
After signing in and seeing the road map, I found out that I was dealing one of the strings most of the dealers really don't like, officially, it's known as BJ 9, BJ 10, and Pai Gow 5. Unofficially, it's known as Eight Hours in Dealer Hell.
BJ 9 is a $10 Super Fun 21 game, that normally wouldn't be a bad table to deal, except on the weekends, when one of our worst and most annoying fleas in the entire area code camps out at that table all night long and never leaves. I mentioned him before--the smelly guy who doesn't wash his hands after using the men's room that Rob and I refer to as 'Edgar Winter', while the rest of my co-workers just call him 'Freakshow'. He never shuts up, he never tips, and he's just disgusting. Everyone cringes when they see that they have to deal that game on the weekends.
BJ 10 is a six-deck shoe game, but a lot of times it's a $5 table, so it obviously attracts the best and brightest players--usually the salt-of-the-earth types from the trailer parks out on Boulder Highway, trying to double up their rent money. That's always a treat!
And Pai Gow 5--The bane of my existence, the $5 'Flea Gow' game that everyone hates so much. Every dealer in the joint wants to be the one to finally take a match to that table, then wait until the flames are good and uncontrollable, and then attempt to put it out by peeing on it.
So as soon as I saw the road map and learned that I'd be on those tables last night, I got a few empathetic nods from my co-workers, but on the inside they were all saying Heh--glad it's him and not me... But I had a moment to make my peace with my sorry luck and remind myself that I can put up with anything for eight hours. And I figured that I could just fake it and make the best of it. I certainly couldn't take the night off, so I had to just deal with it.
Anyhow, on my first stop, Freakshow was there, stinkin' up the joint and babbling incessantly. And it pissed me off that he lost his first four hands at ten bucks a pop, then chunked out a $120 bet and won it. Man that was irritating! But I guess he had to get one, because after that, the beat-down commenced. I was only on that table for twenty minutes to start, but the tippers were winning and I was just pounding on this guy. Several times I took his bet but paid off everyone else.
Hey, that hand worked out perfectly! I uttered on more than one occasion.
When I moved over to the shoe game a little later, the table was full but the limit was bumped up to ten bucks, thereby cutting the moron factor in half. There were still a couple of die-hards who had been there all day who were grandfathered in at five bucks, but overall, there was a good vibe, fun players, and both the players and myself made a bit of money.
When I got to the Pai Gow table, I encountered the most shocking development of the evening. It was no longer $5. It was now a $10 minimum game. Woot! It's a Festivus Miracle! Oh thank you dear lord baby jeebus!
And guess what? Every seat was still full. Hmmm. I hope the bosses remember that next weekend, too. But I'm not concerned about next weekend. I was just thrilled that the usual fleas were shut out. Well, all but one of them--he was still there betting $5 on the bonus and $5 on the hand, having been sitting there before they raised the limit. But I didn't give him a single bonus for the entire hour--so his outcomes would either be to lose both bets, and lose ten bucks per hand, or lose the bonus and push the hand, so he'd lose five bucks each time, or lose the bonus and win the hand, so he had to pay 25-cents commission each time when I moved the five-dollar chip from the bonus spot over to pay his hand. He had no possible way of winning. It was beautiful--even when he 'won' a hand, he still had to pay, so it was like witnessing Death by a Thousand Cuts.
While all that was happening, there was a guy playing two hands at $200 per hand, and he had me up on the bonuses and the play hand, so I was dropping a small fortune in tokes at the same time. Again--the best possible combination.
That was my first four hours of work, and I was feeling pretty good, but when I got back over to the Super Fun game, I had the absolute highlight of the weekend--crushing Freakshow for every dime. He went so broke the ATM wouldn't even acknowledge him... anymore. Yep, between me and the other three dealers on my string, we killed his bankroll and his reinforcements.
Right near the end of his run, everyone else at the table had pat hands of either 18 or 19, and he had a 13, while I was showing a Jack as my upcard. When it was his turn to act, he hesitated, and then made a huge flourish out of taking a hit. I gave him the seven, which made a twenty for him. I swore to myself under my breath, and then when I flipped my hole-card, it was a three, giving me a thirteen. The next card off the deck was a ten, causing me to bust.
You know what this jerkoff said?
See--I saved the table!
So I responded with Oh yeah, you're a super hero all right--it takes a huge set of stones to hit a thirteen when the dealer is showing a ten...
I thought the guy on first base was going to spit his drink out.
Anyhow, the dude went broke a few hands later when he chunked out his last $100, got a 17, and I drew a four-card twenty. As soon as he left, all the rest of the players started bagging on the guy for not only playing like a dumbass (splitting tens, standing on hands he should've hit, etc.), but also being a dumbass and 'coaching' everyone, wrongly, of course. It was a breath of fresh air, both literally and figuratively, when he left.
Once I got off that table, I did another round at the shoe game, where I was just the soul-crusher. I mowed down everybody for an hour straight, and by the time I was done, I couldn't fit any more chips in the rack. Of course, I didn't make squat for tokes that hour, but I'd already dropped something north of $200 by that time. I spent the last 15 minutes of that rotation watching the action at the roulette table and trying to figure out in my head how to divide 18.2 million into 25 equal installments should I win the Megabucks this weekend. (It only took a few minutes, but it's $728,000, if you must know. Before taxes, of course). Since I haven't dropped a dime into a Megabucks machine in over six years, I figured my chances were pretty slim. But it helped pass the time.
After that, it was after midnight and tables started closing down, so we went on 'Rubber Band'--no more assigned tables, we just check with the floor after each break and they'll tell you what to deal. I got lucky and ended up back in Chinatown dealing Ultimate Holdem, where I had some fun players and dealt a couple of big hands. I ended the night back in at a six-deck shoe with another pierced and tattooed freak, but as annoying as he was, at least he had the sense to take the money and run after a small winning streak. By then, it was 2:00 am, so I closed down the game and got the half-hour early push.
Not wanting to go home right away, and remembering my conversation earlier in the week with the little blonde cocktail waitress, I hooked up with her and had a couple of drinks at a local bar before calling it a night. We had a few laughs, but there are no prurient details to report. I was home and in bed, alone, by 3:45.
Actually, I was on the computer and such--still a bit wound up. After the 'coast was clear' (I heard Rob's woman lurking about when I first got home), I snuck out to take a shower and get all the casino funk off of me. When I got out, I saw Rob sitting in the living room, watching SportsCenter, grubbing on a huge plate of pasta. I asked him if Danielle had gone home, but he said no, she was back in the bedroom asleep, but he couldn't sleep because his stomach was growling. So while he was on a late-night munchin' spree, I sat down and we caught up on the latest 'current events' while watching our usual Jeopardy episode recorded from the night before.
But then the sunlight was starting to creep through the blinds, and vampires that we are, we had to call it a night. Still not quite sleepy yet, I cranked out this post.
Now it's bedtime. And still no cocktail waitress in sight. Damn.
Mikey
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