A Heavy Heart...A Sad Truth

When I decided to move to Vegas, a lot of my friends were quite worried for me. Not because of the crime, not because it was so far from home and I'd be all alone. But because I like to gamble. Somehow I ended up with a network of friends back home who neither have the slightest clue about gambling, nor the slightest interest in it.

I, on the other hand, have been gambling since I was a teenager. As soon as I turned 21, I was working as a blackjack dealer, and fully immersed in the gambling culture. Most of my family have been big-time gamblers for years. I've spent all-nighters with my Mom, aunts and uncles, cousins in one casino or another, cheering over a blackjack, playing the numbers in roulette, punching buttons on a machine, or bluffing at big pots on the poker table. We've all exchanged loans when we're stuck, pulled each other away from games when it was time, rejoiced in big wins, looked on as our stubborn loved ones dumped sometimes thousands of dollars into the great wide world of chance.

So, I suppose my friends (and family) were at least somewhat founded in their concerns for my move to this city of temptation. But what most degenerate gamblers don't know is that gambling can be, and often is, a problem for them. I knew this about myself. I owned it. And I knew that I would try my hardest to not let it get the best of me here, or anywhere. As every true gambler has been totalled by the chances they take, so have I.

There have been very few times since I moved here that I have put more at risk than I should have. Those times were devastating, and an unhappy reminder that, as a gambler, I walk that line every day. The line that defines the housed and the homeless, the sick and the well, the broken and the free. The line, that if crossed one too many times, takes it all away. Fortunately for me, my time in Vegas has been tied to a pretty strict budget, and I've made a priority of my bills, my rent, and my financial well-being. Such is not the case for most Las Vegas residents.

After living here for almost two years, I am still quite shocked when I discover a degenerate gambler who's unfettered addiction is otherwise well-hidden. Last night, a poker player of mine, upstanding guy, sweet, funny, caring, seemingly responsible man, reminded me that even the best of us can wind up being the worst of us. It was a heart-wrenching, sad, and ugly reminder.

In Las Vegas I have seen my supervisors steal from the poker players and dealers, a young girl I worked with try and steal from the casino cage, my favorite poker room manager get hauled out of Planet Hollywood for embezzlement, leaving a 7-month-old baby behind while he goes to jail for the majority of her life. All of this to support an addiction to games of chance. My co-workers sink their paychecks into slot machines, the men I meet and date sometimes drink too much and play until they've emptied their wallets. Everyone is susceptible to devastation, and most cradle it in their arms like a crippled child. They protect their addictions, and smother themselves with a hope that has no foundation, a hope that only gamblers hope - "I'll get it back this time". And still, as much as I've seen this all my life, it still takes me by surprise when it happens to someone I care about.

It's a lonely existence here, and a frightening prospect that there's really no one you can trust. No one. A degenerate gambler is generally a really good person, locked in hell. They steal. They lie. They beg and borrow. They pay you back so that they don't look like a degenerate gambler. And then they borrow again. They win a little and lose a lot. They worry. They hate themselves. Their food tastes like cardboard. Their alcohol tastes like holy water. They are ashamed. They are alone in a city with millions of other people just like them. They are sick. And they will always be here. Some come here because they are already this way. But most come here for opportunity, and end up in this life...working for money to gamble with, paying payday loans off, to borrow from other ones, always consumed with thoughts of money, and how to get enough to gamble with, always waiting, wanting for the big win.

My heart is heavy for my friends who, like many of us, have crossed the line and are no better off for it. The people who's potenetial could be unlimited...anywhere else but here. The people who's hearts are made up of gold...but would cut it out of their own chests to pawn it for cash.

Where I Belong?

My cat is curled up on my bed, snoring. I wish I could sleep like my cat. I wish I could sleep, period. It seems as if most nights I sleep for about 4-5 hours, get up, fuel myself with coffee, and think about when I can possibly fit in a nap, which never happens.

Lately, besides writing my NaNoWriMo novel and trying to build my pumpkin bread business, I've had a lot of things going on. I've been babysitting my neighbors' son, he's 8 years old. He's a really good kid, actually, and I'm glad to have him around most days. I'm teaching him about business, and philanthropy. He's making jewelry to sell in my Etsy shop online, and half the proceeds are going to St. Jude's Children's Research Hospital. Like I said, he's a pretty good kid.

My friend, one of my old poker players from home - Toby, was in town about a week ago. He stayed at my place for a few days - and what a riot that was! Toby has a lot of energy and is funny as shit. He's about my age, has got fiery red hair, and grew up with about 10 siblings, so he's got a really great sense of humor. And he LOVES Vegas. He really does it right when he's here. Inevitably, I drop him off somewhere at around 9:00pm, and he calls me around noon the next day, totally wasted and lost, and asks me to come find him and bring him home. So I do. And I love it. He's hilarious when he's that wasted, pure entertainment.

Toby's two favorite sayings this trip:

"Giggety" - sometimes "Giggety-Goo" For him, this means "cool" I think. Or "awesome". Or something like that.....I think.

"Indeed" - this is literally every other word out of his mouth. Me- "Toby, we need to get a burger." Toby- "Indeed". Me- "Let's have a beer" Toby- "Indeed". Me- "Don't you have any other words to say besides 'indeed'?" Toby- "Indeed". You get the picture.

The first night he stayed at my place, we stayed up all night and drank, and played online poker, until we both fell asleep sitting up at about 5am. We fought like crazy people while playing poker online - and god, it was fun! We would be full-on just yelling at each other about how stupid our play was, and then start cracking up and shadow-boxing. Toby's like another brother. And almost nothing ever bothers him.

After I picked him up from downtown one day, we stopped at "In-N-Out" to get a burger, and the line was so long, we went inside. I don't even know how he was walking at that point. We sat and waited for our food, and watched the burger-makers and fry-cutters and order-takers do their work.

"They're like bees in a hive. They move so fast." Toby is astounded.
"It's busy. Lotta burgers to make, I guess."
"I've NEVER been inside an In-N-Out before, wow." Toby is having a revelation.
"Pretty exciting."
"I worked in fast food for two summers, and I think everyone in the world should have to do that, before they can get a real job. Ya know, so they know how bad it can be. And always strive for something better." Toby is reflective.
"Not a bad philosophy."
"I don't think I could wear the hats though. They're pretty gay." Toby is serious.
"I don't know, I think they're kinda sexy." I smile. "and the big huge safety pins they use to pin their aprons on, now THOSE are hot!"
"Wow! I didn't even SEE the safety pins!" Toby is excited.
"Yeah, makes 'em kinda 'grunge', ya know. A little edgy."
"Yeah, the safety pins really make the outfit." Toby is laughing.
"I'm about to chew my arm off, I'm starving, aren't you hungry?"
"Yeah, I think so, I don't know, probably. Why did you come pick me up? A big drunken mess. Why would you DO that? I can't believe you came and found me." Toby is rambling.
"I told you, I picked you up because I wanted you to buy me lunch. And I figured you'd owe me if I picked you up. I was hungry, that's all." I laugh and he laughs back.
"I think I'm gonna just shut up and put my money where my mouth is." Toby is reciting the same song that's been stuck in his head since he got here, but it fits, and we both start laughing hysterically.

Needless to say, it was great to have a bit of home around for a few days. I miss my friends there. I miss playing, and dealing poker there. And I miss just having someone to call when I want to go hang out. Vegas is a strange place, with strange people. On the outside, they look normal, but in reality, they are all reclusive, degenerate gamblers. Or just plain hermits. And as I type this, I have just declined a Thanksgiving invitation so that I can stay at home and cook for myself. Maybe this is where I belong, after all.

Poker, Lately

I've been meaning to write a little about poker lately, but have gotten caught up in other writing, so here's a few tidbits I saved for when the time was right.

Some of my favorite players have been in to play this week:

Tim 'n' M - I call him this because his name is Tim and he always wears a baseball cap with M'n'Ms on it. He's a sweet guy, never has a negative thing to say, which I like.

Ben-JAM-in - He requested to be called this, most of us just refer to him as Ben, the "C'MON, LUCK!" guy.

Greg - I've mentioned him before. He's the Comedian. ALWAYS has something funny to say - ALWAYS. And most of the time it's highly inappropriate too. When I don't see him for a few days, I start to have withdrawals.

Judy - a.k.a WHAAAT-EVEEEER! We have an inside joke about this, and it's what we say every time we meet, and every time we part, like a Hawaiian would say 'aloha'.

Duane - a new favorite who I don't have a nickname for yet - just an altogether hilarious guy, who doesn't look like a Duane at all. Young kid. Was sitting next to Greg all day a few days ago. I laughed so hard I think I peed my pants a little. I had taken a pain pill that day, which always makes my nose itch. And I don't like touching my face when I'm dealing cards because everything is so dirty. So, Duane offered up his finger as a scratcher - which was equally disgusting and horrifying and catastrophically humorous for some reason.

A.J. - yes, A.J., in the pit, after buying some of my pumpkin bread tells me it's RIDICULOUS and asks why I'm dealing cards...I should be making that stuff for a living. I tell him I'm workin' on it. When I come by to see him, he knows he owes me money from the last loaf, and I say, joking, "you got my dough?" And he would've preferred I say, "where's the money, bitch!". I would've preferred that too, but since he was bossing the craps table, I think better of it.

Jason - not a player, but my floorman some days. I'm beginning to think he might be gay - for several reasons. He doesn't have a girlfriend, and isn't interested in one. Whenever he talks about hanging out with anyone, it's always his "friend" and this last time, he was making brownies for this "friend". He's also a very gentle man. But he doesn't have much of a fashion sense, doesn't talk about decorating, and isn't really girly either. I just don't know. Anyway, on a particularly strange and moody day for the players, Jason came up to me and said, "What's with this? I feel like saying, 'Welcome to the room of cranky-pissy people, how may I anger you?' Everyone is crazy today." And I agreed. And then we thought it was funny, which I'm sure made the people crankier and pissier.


Some not-so-fun aspects of the week:

The Leprechaun, Jonathan, is a professional poker player. Or so he says. He's an angry little leprechaun. And he knows everything. And he thinks I know nothing. And he tells people that I know nothing. And I want to strangle him til the bells fall off his shoes.

Sleepy, Drunken Rick has followed me from Boulder Station, where he's been 86'ed. He drinks too much, falls asleep at the table and bums my cigarettes, always offering a dollar chip for one, but never paying it.

Pete is a smelly dealer. That's all I have to say about that.

Devin, who I shacked up with a couple times and now can't stand much, plays cards like a tool. I want to just tell him, "give me your money and walk away - this isn't your game." But I can't. And every time the action comes around the table to him, he acts like he's surprised it's his turn to bet. Every time. This holds up the game, costs me money, and is generally annoying. Especially because I shacked up with him, and shouldn't have. I blame it on the alcohol.

Where's My Baby, Where's My Man?

I used to be able to say that about half of my friends were married and had kids, and half were like me - single and childless.

Damn Facebook to hell for throwing my ratios out of proportion! At least when I was in a 50-50 category, I didn't feel so bad about not having a relationship or family of my own. Now, I see pages and pages of people I went to school with, profile pictures and status updates with pretty little babies, and wedding photos. Ugh, I feel so lonely and old.

My biological clock is all I can hear some days. The loudest TICK and TOCK echoing through every vessel, every cell of my body.

I have always subscribed to the theory that there is just one person out there that truly matches us, from head to toe, through and through the soul. So, where's my man? My fear is that I'll meet him when I'm in my 50's or later, too late to have kids. All dried up. And more important to me anyway is the actuality of having a child of my own. So, where's my baby? I'm very near the point of finding a random stranger somewhere, getting knocked up, and having a baby on my own, just to quench my thirst.

But, I'm holding on, every day, to the idealistic hope that it'll happen the "right way". And someone will love me, and we'll make babies together. Keep your fingers crossed for me please. Because there are a lot of wierdos here in Vegas, and I'm not too keen on the idea of procreating with most of them so far.

Poop, and God, and Elvis

Dealing poker this week has been a blast. I ended up getting a few extra shifts because Steve got terminated. I really like him, for the most part. When I first started work there, he constantly made me laugh. When he bacame a dual-rate (part-time dealer, part-time floorman), he almost never made me laugh. So, I really do like him, for the most part. And I'm sorry to see him go, and I'm sorry he lost his job, especially in this economy. But, for me, it meant more poker, more money, and more stuff to write about.

It's been six days since I wrote about my job, and of those, I worked four. Here are some highlights from the week:

On Monday the 26th, while out on break, I run into the Lightening Lady and another woman from the EVS department. (That stands for Environmental Services - they clean the casino) They are having a conversation about the other woman having new bathroom-cleaning responsibilities. She says to the Lightening Lady, "I have no problem diving in to master the turd." And she's serious. This makes me laugh, and then we all laugh. The Lightening Lady then gets disgusted about the diapers the old ladies leave in the stalls. Her face contorts around and she chokes a bit on her cigarette. "They're just nasty old bitches," she says. "I wonder if they leave them diapers on all day sometimes - and just sit in it."

Later that day I text my brother to tell him some good news about something - I don't remember what. He tells me he's sick. He texts me, "Got the squirts - gotta go." And I wish him a speedy recovery.

Sometimes when I see A.J. around the casino, he tells me he has to go "make something". And, the first time he said that, I said, "what?" When he said, "I gotta make a poo," it didn't really surprise me. Some days it seems like poop comes up in conversation a lot.

On Tuesday the 27th, the players at the table during the day were actually fun - and in a good mood. I almost always sing along to the casino music, or to other music in my head while I'm dealing. We (the players and I) decided that in order to bring more business into the room, we should have Poker Karaoke. Everyone could pass the mic around the table and sing a little ditty. The only thing we were split on was the name of the game - Karaoker or Pokeroke. I voted for Pokeroke.

Watching the game from too far away to see anything is Elvis. Or what I suppose was Elvis at one point. There's no white, sparkly, bell-bottom get-up with a big belt buckle, no guitar, no microphone, no "thankyouverymuuch". Just the hair, the glasses, the cigarette, the swagger. I see him later in the high-limit slot room, standing/gyrating alone. At first I think he is singing along to the casino music like I do, but upon closer inspection, I spot an Ipod. I don't think Elvis ever had, or needed an Ipod. And I think, "What's the world coming to?" And I walk outside to have a cigarette.

On Thursday the 28th I run into Jason from Security. He's inside, and this throws me off a bit. Usually he is in a yellow and black outfit outside on a bike or one of those people-mover things - a Segway I guess they call it. But Thursday he's in the brown security uniform, with no helmet on, and I can see he's letting his hair grow out. Jason is so funny because he says anything. And most of the time every other word, literally, is f--k. I say, "Hey, J-Dog, I haven't seen you in forever! How ya been? I thought you might have finally quit." Jason hates his job. And Jason says, "Naw, man, I'm still here, f--k, I hate this place, these f--kin' people. I mean, it's all f--kin bullshit, ya know? I hate this f--kin place. It's just f--kin'...." He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't need to.

While I'm on break I get a text from my cousin Aimee that says, "i think i need to fast so god can hear me better". I tell her I don't think it really works. She says she needs to figure something out.

On another break I am outside at the front of the building, around the corner, where we used to smoke before the new General Manager came in and took our ashtray away. Some of us still go there out of rebellion or laziness. I just wanted a change of scenery. There is just a little breeze, but swirling around on the ground is a plastic grocery bag. It's jumping around, floating in circles, and sliding to and fro in the wind. It comes to my feet and stops. It looked like it was having fun, so I move over to let it swirl some more. It follows me. I move. It follows. This happens at least a dozen times, to where at one point, I moved about 15 feet from where it had last landed at my feet, and it followed me. I began to wonder if the plastic bag was the spirit of someone I knew, trying to tell me something - or just say 'hi'. But then I thought that no one I knew that had passed away would come back as a plastic grocery bag - even on a temporary basis. So, I flicked my cigarette into the street and went back to work.

Back at the poker table, one of my favorite players - Al - and I are joking back and forth about some 'inside stuff'. I get a mild case of the giggles when a woman that was sitting next to him gets up to leave. She makes a comment about how no one should mess with her because she's from Bulgary. And Al says, "NOT a BULGARIAN! Oh, those are the worst!" And he means it. And he starts talking about how he met a Bulgarian woman once and how horrible she was - the worst, he says again. And my giggles turn into full-blown laughter. And I can't think of any time that I've ever met a Bulgarian before today. And I wonder if Bulgary is a real place.

Shortly after that, I see Santa at one of the machines right in front of the poker room. He is sitting there, bowl full of jelly, pipe in mouth, white beard reaching down his chest, all in-tact but the suit. I tell the floorman that this is where Santa comes to make all his money for Christmas presents because he had to lay off the elves this year. And though it was supposed to be funny, I feel a bit sad.

After Elvis, Bulgary, and Santa, I am more than ready to leave for the day. I see Security Jason in the parking lot. He says he thinks he's gonna go play poker somewhere. He tells me he played somewhere yesterday and that, "those players were f--kin stupid. F--k, I almost f--kin strangled one of 'em 'cause of how f--kin stupid he played." I tell him to play somewhere else and get in my car.

Somewhere between poop, and God, and Elvis, I actually made some decent money. Things are looking up for sure.

Poker - Entertainment or Work?

Sometimes I think I go to work purely for the entertainment of it all.

Though it was quite slow for the first half of the day, there was something interesting happening during every hour.

10:00am-11:00am - Julio, my favorite bald, Cuban poker dealer and I sit around for a few minutes before the tournament starts (late) and he tells me that Mr. P. has been fired. Surveillance finally caught him sleeping at the poker tables during the day. Then the tournament starts. There are some new players and some old players. Tantrum Doug is there - and almost throws a fit because he starts out losing. Then he ends up winning second place in the tournament and leaves smiling and happy and not throwing anything.

11:00am-12:00noon - The tournament is over, and no one stayed to play a live-action (cash) game, so Julio and I, and Steve the floorman, sit around and chat some more. Steve looks remarkably like the main guy on "Revenge of the Nerds" and I like that. I text back and forth with my cousin, Aimee while Julio rambles on about the good ol' days. And Steve mostly just listens and laughs once in a while. We talk about Mr. P. for a few minutes, and Steve says it's "final", meaning no second chances. There's almost always a second chance here. They should call it Second Chance City instead of Sin City. But I guess Mr. P.'s sins outweighed his chances this time around.

12:00noon-1:00pm - I get bored so I go out to smoke, but stop in A.J.'s department first to say 'hi'. He looks like his dog died. I ask him what's the matter and he says he doesn't know. He says he thinks he's depressed. He asks me where I was Saturday night. That was over a week ago and I can't remember. I say I must've gone to the store or something. He says I wasn't home, my car wasn't there. And he asks in a very prying, jealous, disappointed way. And I'm supposed to think everything's alright with that. I smile and say I don't remember where I was, hmmm...Saturday... He lowers his head and says he should've just called me. I tell him that would've been a good idea. He comes in the poker room a bit later and creeps up behind me. Then sits two seats away from me and plays with his phone for a few minutes. I wonder if he's texting me while I'm sitting two feet from him because he likes to do strange shit like that, but he's not. Then he leaves.

1:00pm-2:00pm - I go outside to smoke again, and a lot of the regular smokers are there. The lovely banquet lady who's as sweet as pie. A couple of food server people, the Liberace-gay black guy with the camel boots and camel suit and loud, loud voice. And the Phillipino kid with one eye is there too. I say hello to everyone. No matter how many times I see that kid and his crazy face, I can't get over it. And it makes me feel bad. Something terrible must've happened to him, I'm sure. But it's not like he just doesn't have an eye. Whoever fixed him up after he lost that eye had to pull some face skin up over it and covered the whole area up completely. No eye, no eyebrow, no hint of an eye ever being there. It's freaky. And I'm shallow. I text A.J. that I wonder if he is busy tonight, and if not, is he going to come by my place and say 'hi'. I go back in to the poker game that just started and begin to actually work for the day.

Vinny and her large arms are there. Her husband is playing too - yikes - he stresses me out when he plays. Constant, and I mean constant - I don't even think he breathes - chatter, mumblings under his breath about how horrible the game is for him. Even when he wins, it wasn't a big enough pot, or he thought so much that he was gonna lose that the shock of winning is even a bad thing. There are also four other players, one of which is a large elderly man who reeks like parmesan cheese and hospital cleaner, and when he gets up, it's like a cloud of vomit-antiseptic explodes all around us.

2:00pm-3:00pm - The big-hair lady I had seen wandering outside the poker room earlier decides to play cards with us. I had thought it was a wig, but it wasn't. Big, thick, wavy, bobbed black hair on a slender woman in or around her early 70's. She drew the short stick and had to sit by the drunken pervert loudmouth in the middle of the table. Her name was Marilyn - and the drunken loudmouth let everyone know that, though I think she would have preferred to go unknown, incognito. A.J. comes back in the poker room for visit #2, but I'm dealing, so he paces back and forth in front of the table a few times, stares at me for a few minutes from every angle of the table, then walks out of the room staring behind him, at me, still.

3:00pm-4:00pm - I go on break one last time and check my phone for an answer to my text. There isn't one. There won't be one.

4:00pm-5:00pm - Jason, the swing-shift floorman comes on duty and begins watching everything like a hawk. He's good at that. And no one is ever going to accuse HIM of sleeping on the job. He catches me writing a note on my hand while I'm still dealing cards at the table, takes my pen away, and whispers in my ear what a horrible offense I have just committed. I laugh and laugh and say it was important. I had to remember to bake Julio's pumpkin bread tonight, I didn't want to forget.

5:00pm-6:00pm - I'm actually working this entire hour - it's a miracle. And it kind of is. Because I end the day making $110 in tokes (tips) and thought for sure I wouldn't even break $40 for the day. I stop on my way out to chat with Nadine and Syble, my two favorite old-lady-poker-sisters. I tell them about my pumpkin bread and they want to buy some. Yey for me! We exchange hugs and short stories and phone numbers. And then I'm free.

Whether it's for entertainment, or for cash in my pocket, I go to work. But somehow I think maybe there's more to the story. And I dream about some of these people weeks after I've met them. I'm a poker player, maybe that's why. On one of my breaks, a buffet server guys said to me: "poker people are a strange, quiet little group". And, except when they're drunk, I think he's right.

Another Day at the Office

I arrived at work today, completely cracked out on this new coffee I bought and the delirium of 3 1/2 hours of sleep. Something was wrong with the floorman, we'll call him Mr. P. He seemed a bit somber, and very quiet. I asked him repeatedly throughout the day what was wrong, to no avail. But the swing-shift floorman seemed to think it was because Mr. P. might be catching some flack for his laziness on the job. I was delighted.

A little about Mr. P... He has been in the business too long, has gotten comfortable, and that's never good in the casino industry - or in Vegas as a whole. You always need to look over your shoulder and keep your ears and eyes open. Everyone is replaceable. Everyone is expendable. Mr. P. has been doing less and less of his job every day. On a daily basis, he actually closes his eyes and sleeps sitting up at one of the empty poker tables. Several of us have taken pictures on our camera phones - evidence, just in case.

Of all the times I urged Mr. P. to talk to me today, this was the incident where he actually had something to say:

I was at the end of my break, waiting to go to the table and deal when something on one of the t.v.'s caught my eye. An Afghani woman with stab wounds all about her neck and shoulders. I watched the news story with sympathy as the reporters delved deeper into the story. 90% of Afghani women are abused they said. Violence in Afghani marriages is rampant. There was a group for Afghani women to get support, and they were showing a room full of women sheathed in fabric, eyes scared, but sharing. Talking. Helping. My heart really felt for these women.

"Now you know why those Afghan women wear all that stuff over their faces, don't ya?" Mr. P. broke my reverie. "Ugly women."

"That's awful Mr. P." It's all I can say. I've known him to be somewhat of a bigot in the past, but this is ridiculous.

"Well, it's true. I mean, look at 'em. That's why they cover up their faces. It's gotta be."

"Stop, Mr. P, that's horrible to say." I look at the clock on my phone, two more minutes.

"Can you imagine if they had a beauty pageant with all those women in it? They'd have a really hard time finding a winner, I bet. Think about it, have you ever seen an Afghan woman win Miss U.-"

"Stop Mr. P., you are a horrible, awful man. It's enough." I cut him off, push early into the poker game and wish I'd never provoked him to speak at all.

Other than that, it was a pretty typical day with pretty typical player turnout. Tantrum Doug, or Little Doug, formerly Golfer Doug, was in for a few hours. Not throwing cards too much today, but the grumbly, mumbly constant commentary about losing on the river was thrown around quite a bit. Two Bobs, well, one Bob and one Robert spent a few hours with us. Mike that looks like Jesus, and Mike who has no poker etiquette. One very quiet Larry and one very verbal Larry were actually sitting right next to each other for quite some time. Today, I guess everyone came in twos.

Out back at the smoking patio, I saw the Lightening Lady. She had a story for me about a man at a slot machine the day before who either farted or pooped his pants, no one knew for sure. As she recounted the story, it made her laugh and laugh. Her face is like the desert we live in. Cracks and holes and deep, deep roadways and saggy folding skin over saggy folding skin. When she laughs it is a beautiful disaster. I love it when she laughs.

On my last break, Mr. P. told me that Marie, one of our elderly players, had a stroke. That she was in a coma and wasn't expected to come out of it. I told him I liked Marie and it made me sad to hear that. He didn't say anything else, but the look on his face told me that he was gratified, almost happy, to have brought me this terrible news. The more I learn about this man, the more I listen and keep my mouth shut.

I left the game a little early, leaving our 5:00 dealer the reins on a lame horse, a shaky game. I spent about 15 minutes gossiping and venting to the swing-shift floorman. And gathering info on what was to come with Mr. P. and the room in general. As I walked to my car, the wind picked up and was nearly unbearable.

But I was off work - for 5 days - and I was happy about it. All in all, just another day at the office.

Signs

When I first moved to Vegas, everything seemed to fall into place pretty effortlessly. I found an apartment within a day, I was working as a caterer by the 3rd or 4th day, and I even had my own personal human GPS (Chef JB) who answered his phone at all hours to give me directions around the city.

A few weeks in, I came home and at the foot of my stairs was a dead, naked, dirty Barbie doll. And an empty grocery cart. The grocery cart moved all around my building for months, parked in one pit of gravel or another - sometimes laying sideways in a bush. The Barbie doll lay prone in the dust for only a few days. She was blonde, like most Barbies, but her hair was all matted and frizzy, not the smooth sheen of Barbie at her best.

I began to wonder if these were signs of impending doom, or possibly good luck charms. I still haven't figured it out, but I do know that squishing a black cricket to death on your bedroom wall is definitely bad luck.