Ho-lee shiat is it hot outside! The thermometer says it's only 107, but damn, it was miserable being out in it this afternoon. Living in Phoenix for all those years was always worse than this, but damn, it's getting to me today.
For whatever reason, my day started just a bit too early for my tastes. I guess my system is getting used to work calling me in the middle of the night, asking me to come in early, so I was wide awake an hour before my alarm went off--but I'd only gotten about three hours worth of sleep. Once I made this morning's update, it was off to the casino for my first shift in three days. I was happy to be heading back.
I actually got there a bit early, so I had time to grab some breakfast and read the paper before I got to the poker room. When I got there, I was shocked to see that there was still a no-limit game going on, a carry-over from the night before. I was happy about that, and as soon as I sat down, I realized why there was still a game. One drunken asshat, who had more money than sense, half passed out at the table, would call basically any raise on every hand all the way down to the river.
He'd already dumped several hundred dollars, and there were six players sitting around like a school of piranhas, stripping his carcass clean by taking turns going after him. He could barely speak--nobody could understand a word he was saying, and every time he got raised he would growl and semi-curse in some undecipherable foreign language, yet make the call.
I was only at the table for a half-hour and saw him dump $300 to his opponents. And I knew that once he went broke, the game would break up too. And it did, about 15 minutes after my first down ended. He wandered away, but every other player came up to the desk cashing out $500, $600 or more, courtesy of that guy. It was pretty surreal--the kind of table you dream about having a seat at. So we closed the game and sent the graveyard dealer home, and I went over to the main table to open up the regular 4/8 game for the old fogas who start wandering in around seven o'clock.
I was the only dealer there by then, and we got the game started around 7:45. I figured I'd do 15 minutes, and the 8:00 am dealer would come in and then we'd do halves all morning until the tournament at 11. But there was no 8:00 am dealer scheduled. So I was locked in at the table. Ok, somebody's got to be coming in at 9:00, I thought to myself, after having been in the chair since 6:45. But no dealer was coming in at nine, either. I just sat there chugging along, happy to be monopolizing all the tokes on the table, but damn, two-and-a-half hours is a long time to deal without a break. Even a couple of players were saying to the floorman Yo dude, you gonna give your dealer a break--he's been here for three hours! Finally he came over to relieve me, and I got fifteen minutes to hit the head and get a caffeine fix. I could've easily made it until ten, but as soon as I stood up, I realized how nice it was to be able to get up and walk away for a brief spell.
One thing I've discovered is that the Fatburger outlet is a Coke oasis in the Pepsi desert of our casino. So whenever I'm thirsty, I can get a fountain drink from them and refill it a few times throughout my shift. So I grabbed a tall diet Coke over there, sucked down about half of it, and then got back in the box for another half hour until my relief finally showed up.
Once I emptied my shirt pocket, I realized that I'd already made about $90, and my shift was only halfway over. Plus our tournament was big enough that I knew I'd get a couple of rotations there, so my day was looking pretty good. There were only two 11 o'clock dealers, so we had three tables going and four dealers until the end of my shift, so it was nice and busy for me, and luckily I had a big day. Sometimes these mid-week early shifts are pretty crappy, money-wise, so today was a welcome surprise.
After work, I headed over to WalMart for a few essentials. I needed to get a bookshelf, and I thought about picking up two of them, but I'll start with one for now. I was also going to get another one of those big plastic rolling three-drawer poor-man's dressers, but they were all sold out. The last couple of places I've lived have both had built-in shelves and lots of closet space for my clothes, but my new room has a small closet and no shelves or storage at all. And I left my big dresser behind in Phoenix, my small one behind in Tennessee, so now I've got no place to keep my socks and undies. Well, I have one of those three-drawer units, but it's not enough.
Other than the furniture needs, it was stuff like TP, trail mix, a new contour rug--stuff like that on the shopping list. But hiking across that stadium-sized parking lot in the heat of the afternoon sun wearing all my black clothes, well, it was an exercise in trying not to spontaneously combust. I found myself lingering in the refrigerated section, trying to cool off, when all I needed was a case of Diet Coke with Lime.
Heading back out, I was dying of thirst, so I hit the Del Taco drive-thru at the far end of the parking lot. I swear, at that very moment, I would've gladly paid twenty bucks for a tall icy-cold fountain drink. But I got off cheap--two bucks for a Macho Diet Coke, and I was happy to take the long way back to the house, enjoying the fully cranked up AC and listening to some GNFNR.
Once I got home, the combination of ridiculous heat and lack of sleep conspired to just sap the energy from me, so I brought in my gear, and all plans of hauling the books from the garage up to the bedroom went completely out the window. I suckled on my large cup of icy-cold nirvana, and promptly fell asleep. Now that the house has finally cooled down (the AC upstairs is programmed, but I over-rode that biatch as soon as I got home and re-set it to 'Arctic Blast'), and I've gotten some rest, I feel much better. I'll get a few things done tonight, but I'm not gonna kill myself--the garage is still probably about 120 degrees inside, so once it gets dark I'll motivate myself down there.
Until then, I'm just gonna chill here under the ceiling fan, sipping on the watery remains of my drink.
Mikey
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