It is finished.
My career as a blackjack/dice/Pai Gow dealer is now officially over. I dealt my last hand of Pai Gow at 11:59 last night, and as of 12:01 this morning, I am on vacation. Of course I wandered around saying my goodbyes and such, and a bunch of the gals I work with were saying silly things like Don't forget about us! We'll miss you! and Come back to visit sometime...
But it's not like I'm going too far. Hell, the poker room is maybe 75 feet from the end of the Chinatown pit where I spent most of the past two years. And for the most part, I enjoyed it, but tonight I got a few reminders why I won't miss it at all. I spent most of my night dealing to chain-smoking zombies who just sat there and stared at me the whole time. That is, when they weren't complaining about their cards. And most of them were stiffs, too--the kind that ask for a cocktail and a bottle of water from the waitress, and then give her fifty cents. Yep, Kimmy and I shared a few knowing glances across the tables during our shift, and the night seemed to drag on forever.
So I was most happy when I got out at midnight.
I decided to go make a little scratch over in the poker room before coming home, but damn, I just couldn't catch any cards for about two hours. I finally made a little run there at the end when the game got shorthanded, and ended the night up $25, but it was truly a grind. I don't know how pros do it. I can't even begin to imagine the discipline it takes to sit there for hours on end--especially in limit games. The suckouts have got to wear on your nerves--I know it irritates me to no end, folding like it's my job for hours and hours, finally getting pocket jacks, raising pre-flop only to get four callers, while the board comes out Ace-King-Queen-Seven-Four.
But as it got a bit later in the evening, the Mother Of All Complete Asshats joined our table and started raising every pot, so I knew that it was my time to make some money. Imagine a neo-nazi skinhead wannabe, completely covered in tattoos, even above his eyebrows, splashing the pot on every hand. This moron even had those nazi-style eagles tattooed on his neck. I'm sorry, but if you've got a neck tattoo, you've just labeled yourself as a complete loser in my book, and should probably refrain from going out in public.
Anyhow, once he started talking about how he killed an average of three people a day back in Iraq and came back a little messed up, I figured it was time to color up and leave before he caught me rolling my eyes and decided to make me his bitch, American History X-style.
Seriously. I doubt I've ever been in the presence of a bigger douchebag in my entire life. Luckily, I was ahead a few bucks when the chatter started, so I left. The game was shorthanded anyways, so I'm guessing the table broke once I hit the exit. I can't imagine the rest of the players sitting and listening to him for very long.
I stopped at the store to get a few groceries, since I won't be dining at work all week, and also grabbed a few 'mixables' to go with my booze and limes. I've got a long week of drinkin' ahead of me.
But the weight of my decision to leave my full-time job kind of settled on me during my drive home. The reaction from most people has been positive and congratulatory, but there are plenty of dream-crushers out there whose own shortcomings in life have manifested themselves into a lot of bad advice and reminders of what I'm giving up.
Apparently, the idea of security is a big issue with some people and they just can't believe I'd give up 'a guaranteed 40 hours a week and health insurance'. I got news for those folks--For the right amount of money, happiness, and personal sanity, I'd give up a helluva lot more than that. Maybe I'm wired differently, but I'm not nearly as risk-averse as most of the rest of the world is.
Seriously, what's the worst thing that could happen? Once I gnawed on that for awhile, it was a no-brainer.
I have already been to rock-bottom and survived. I'm taking a chance on doing something that I know I enjoy. Lean times don't scare me. They can certainly piss me off, but I'm not the least bit nervous right now. I know I made the right decision. I have never been more at peace with a decision since that Christmas Day back in 1989 that I decided to move to Arizona instead of Florida. Hell, all of my close friends and family can attest that even the decision to come to Vegas three years ago was not an easy one for me, but giving up a full-time job to do something I want to do, even with the added degree of difficulty of having to find a new place to live and moving at the same time, well, it was a downright easy call for me to make.
Anyhow, that's about the extent of my deep thoughts on the issue, except for one more--that minor fork-in-the-road decision that led me to this point.
A few weeks back, I was pretty sick at work, and tried to go home early, but I couldn't get an early out. I had plans to meet my niece Alli and her husband Mike for lunch the next day at Grand Lux, but had to cancel. I spent that entire Monday in bed, considering calling in sick. At the last minute, I decided that I was feeling well enough to go to work, mostly because I didn't want to lose out on the money.
I'm glad I did, because that was the night the poker room was slammed and needed help from the pit. I've since found out that they'd asked a couple other people before they got to me if they'd be willing to go deal poker, but none of them knew how. There was one dual-rate guy working the floor that night that knew how to deal poker, and volunteered to go, but I was available, and it's much easier to pull a dealer off a game than it is to come up with another floorperson.
Had I called in sick to work that night, none of this would've happened. I would've never known that there were even openings for poker dealers at my casino (I never look at the company home-page when I'm using the computers at work--it's all propaganda), and even if I had found out through the grapevine about openings in the poker room, the situation would've called for me to audition and interview like a stranger, instead of impressing them with my abilities when the pressure was on. And I would've thought "Man, there ain't no way I'm gonna go back to extra board in this same casino!" I've told people that for years when they asked if I would consider transferring to the poker room... Basically, it would've been a completely different scenario, and I wouldn't have found it attractive enough to pursue.
Apparently, Fate had a hand in this one. I might as well roll the dice and see where it takes me.
Mikey
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