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.
Showing posts with label poker. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poker. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Saturday, October 31, 2009
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.
Somewhere between poop, and God, and Elvis, I actually made some decent money. Things are looking up for sure.
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.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Poker Games, Mind Games
Today was my first day back at work after four days off. It was a pretty uneventful day all in all, but there are a couple noteworthy moments to mention.
We have this player, Vinny, and her husband Alex. They are a strange couple, but fit each other quite well in mood and mannerisms. On the majority, they are both pretty quiet, but strikingly negative. Vinny plays poker while her husband looks over her shoulder at her cards, then paces in and out of the room until the hand is finished and new cards are dealt, ready for a peek. Vinny has a very small head in proportion to the rest of her body. Her arms are like overstuffed sausages at the brink of splitting. Around her left wrist is a very small, very tight ladies' watch. Around the right, two or three very small, very tight gold bracelets. Every finger on both her hands sports a giant ring with giant stones. Even her thumbs. But her hands are small, her head is small, or maybe it's just that her arms are so big.
The noteworthy event here is that I made Vinny smile today. I think it may have been the first time in a long time that this has happened to her. Between her arms and the smile on her face, I was sure something on her body would explode. But it didn't.
Most days, every half hour I am on a break. In the poker dealing world, this is called an "up-down". For 30 minutes I am "up" on break, and for 30 minutes I am "down" at the table dealing cards. Days like this are excruciating, but today my breaks were rather entertaining.
In the back smoking area, I walked up on a conversation three people were having about pot, sex, and coke. They kept looking over at me to see if I was going to have a reaction, but I didn't.
There's a manager at my work, in another department, who I have had "relations" with in the past, a few months ago. Let's just call him "AJ" for story purposes. Recently he's been playing quite a few mind games with me, and I've grown tired of it. The last time we spoke, he ended the conversation by telling me to look him up in the craigslist personals - that there was a picture of him there, from the neck down, naked. Then he hung up. I regret to say that I looked for the ad. But it wasn't there. So, I'm figuring he sent me on a wild goose (or goose neck) chase, just because he knew I wouldn't be able to resist a hook like that - especially involving him. I didn't call or text him, though I wanted to - just to tell him what an ass he is.
I guess my lack of reaction piqued his interest because he came by the poker room today while I was dealing, stood and watched me at the table, then called and left me a voicemail saying that he was watching me deal, while he was still watching me deal. Then he left. I texted him the following message:
"I'd like to actually hang out and talk with you some day. It seems like whenever we talk it's always brief or some obscure topic comes up. I'm tired of that game." To this, there was no reply.
A couple of breaks later, I went to the back again, hoping to come across some more entertaining conversations, but, lo and behold, there was AJ, practicing his bagpipe music. There was no reason for him to be there, in the smoking area. He doesn't smoke. He's never taken a break there before. I sat down at his table and stared at him. He laughed in between piping notes, and kept playing. He never stopped playing, but once asked me what's been going on. I told him a lot of things have been going on. He wanted me to explain. I told him there's too much to tell, and not enough time right now. He played and played. I asked him to stop, but he wouldn't. I stopped watching him for a minute and noticed a very tall black man staring at him, and then at me, and then at him again. This man's mouth was agape for several moments. Then he sat down at the other table and lit a cigarette and ignored us both. I was waiting for AJ to stop playing. Talk to me. Be normal. But he didn't.
On my way back in from break I saw the Lightening Lady in the bathroom. She's one of the nondescript, older people that wanders around the casino cleaning ashtrays and emptying trashes. On stormy days, you'll find her on break more often, staring at the sky, looking for electricity and eerie cloud formations. I rushed up to her and gave her a hug. We whispered in the bathroom about how bad things are at the casino, and she told me she's losing hope that anything's ever going to get better, that she's just moving in and out, day by day, just doing what she can. I nodded in understanding, told her that her hair looks really beautiful today, and went back to work. On my way back from my next break, I saw her again. She was wiping down a slot machine and shaking her head. I caught her eye and we both winked at each other in unison, and smiled.
When I got back to the table, the dynamic had changed a bit. Some players had gone, and some new ones had come in their place. About ten minutes in to my down, I heard the player directly to my right say to his friend,
"Look at AJ, is he hollerin' at that cocktail waitress? Oh my god, I think he is." And then he mimicked what he supposed AJ was saying to her, "If you wanna keep your job, you know what you gotta do, right?" And then he giggled like only trouble-makers do. I looked up to see AJ in a place barely in my view, between the slot machines, caught and tangled in this little cocktail girl's gaze. The first thought that came into my head was that he was spying on me. He is a voyer, likes to watch without being seen. And he hadn't been this close to the poker room for weeks - now twice in one day? The next time I looked up, he was gone. But in my mind, he wasn't.
I spotted one of my favorite poker players, Jessie, just outside of our poker room. He's got to be somewhere around 90 years old, but sharp, and sweet. We shared a hug and had a brief chat about where I've been lately. I lured him into the poker room with a mere mention of our doughnut table. We picked out a chocolate one for him because he is a self-proclaimed choco-holic. On my way out for the day, Jessie, still waiting for a seat in the game, stopped me to say goodbye and gave me another hug and a kiss on the cheek. I wish all my players were as sweet as this. But they aren't.
I work tomorrow, then am off again for five more days. I wish I had more hours to work, but I don't.
We have this player, Vinny, and her husband Alex. They are a strange couple, but fit each other quite well in mood and mannerisms. On the majority, they are both pretty quiet, but strikingly negative. Vinny plays poker while her husband looks over her shoulder at her cards, then paces in and out of the room until the hand is finished and new cards are dealt, ready for a peek. Vinny has a very small head in proportion to the rest of her body. Her arms are like overstuffed sausages at the brink of splitting. Around her left wrist is a very small, very tight ladies' watch. Around the right, two or three very small, very tight gold bracelets. Every finger on both her hands sports a giant ring with giant stones. Even her thumbs. But her hands are small, her head is small, or maybe it's just that her arms are so big.
The noteworthy event here is that I made Vinny smile today. I think it may have been the first time in a long time that this has happened to her. Between her arms and the smile on her face, I was sure something on her body would explode. But it didn't.
Most days, every half hour I am on a break. In the poker dealing world, this is called an "up-down". For 30 minutes I am "up" on break, and for 30 minutes I am "down" at the table dealing cards. Days like this are excruciating, but today my breaks were rather entertaining.
In the back smoking area, I walked up on a conversation three people were having about pot, sex, and coke. They kept looking over at me to see if I was going to have a reaction, but I didn't.
There's a manager at my work, in another department, who I have had "relations" with in the past, a few months ago. Let's just call him "AJ" for story purposes. Recently he's been playing quite a few mind games with me, and I've grown tired of it. The last time we spoke, he ended the conversation by telling me to look him up in the craigslist personals - that there was a picture of him there, from the neck down, naked. Then he hung up. I regret to say that I looked for the ad. But it wasn't there. So, I'm figuring he sent me on a wild goose (or goose neck) chase, just because he knew I wouldn't be able to resist a hook like that - especially involving him. I didn't call or text him, though I wanted to - just to tell him what an ass he is.
I guess my lack of reaction piqued his interest because he came by the poker room today while I was dealing, stood and watched me at the table, then called and left me a voicemail saying that he was watching me deal, while he was still watching me deal. Then he left. I texted him the following message:
"I'd like to actually hang out and talk with you some day. It seems like whenever we talk it's always brief or some obscure topic comes up. I'm tired of that game." To this, there was no reply.
A couple of breaks later, I went to the back again, hoping to come across some more entertaining conversations, but, lo and behold, there was AJ, practicing his bagpipe music. There was no reason for him to be there, in the smoking area. He doesn't smoke. He's never taken a break there before. I sat down at his table and stared at him. He laughed in between piping notes, and kept playing. He never stopped playing, but once asked me what's been going on. I told him a lot of things have been going on. He wanted me to explain. I told him there's too much to tell, and not enough time right now. He played and played. I asked him to stop, but he wouldn't. I stopped watching him for a minute and noticed a very tall black man staring at him, and then at me, and then at him again. This man's mouth was agape for several moments. Then he sat down at the other table and lit a cigarette and ignored us both. I was waiting for AJ to stop playing. Talk to me. Be normal. But he didn't.
On my way back in from break I saw the Lightening Lady in the bathroom. She's one of the nondescript, older people that wanders around the casino cleaning ashtrays and emptying trashes. On stormy days, you'll find her on break more often, staring at the sky, looking for electricity and eerie cloud formations. I rushed up to her and gave her a hug. We whispered in the bathroom about how bad things are at the casino, and she told me she's losing hope that anything's ever going to get better, that she's just moving in and out, day by day, just doing what she can. I nodded in understanding, told her that her hair looks really beautiful today, and went back to work. On my way back from my next break, I saw her again. She was wiping down a slot machine and shaking her head. I caught her eye and we both winked at each other in unison, and smiled.
When I got back to the table, the dynamic had changed a bit. Some players had gone, and some new ones had come in their place. About ten minutes in to my down, I heard the player directly to my right say to his friend,
"Look at AJ, is he hollerin' at that cocktail waitress? Oh my god, I think he is." And then he mimicked what he supposed AJ was saying to her, "If you wanna keep your job, you know what you gotta do, right?" And then he giggled like only trouble-makers do. I looked up to see AJ in a place barely in my view, between the slot machines, caught and tangled in this little cocktail girl's gaze. The first thought that came into my head was that he was spying on me. He is a voyer, likes to watch without being seen. And he hadn't been this close to the poker room for weeks - now twice in one day? The next time I looked up, he was gone. But in my mind, he wasn't.
I spotted one of my favorite poker players, Jessie, just outside of our poker room. He's got to be somewhere around 90 years old, but sharp, and sweet. We shared a hug and had a brief chat about where I've been lately. I lured him into the poker room with a mere mention of our doughnut table. We picked out a chocolate one for him because he is a self-proclaimed choco-holic. On my way out for the day, Jessie, still waiting for a seat in the game, stopped me to say goodbye and gave me another hug and a kiss on the cheek. I wish all my players were as sweet as this. But they aren't.
I work tomorrow, then am off again for five more days. I wish I had more hours to work, but I don't.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Dealing Poker - Meet My Players
I deal poker at a casino here in Vegas. It's off the "Strip", on the east side of town. Most days I enjoy my job, and my players. We have a lot of locals play in our room and one by one, I am giving them my own secret nicknames. Something to make me smile, my very own inside joke commentary while I work.
Frank reminds me of Fred Flintstone, but shorter.
Art laughs like Elmer Fudd, and kinda resembles him physically too, but older.
"The Missionary", Donnie, is the most missionless a--hole I've met at the table in a while. I don't yet have a real nickname for him, as I can't come up with one mean enough. And he's an idiot.
Greg makes me laugh all the time - the Comedian. Always commenting under his breath about people at the table or people walking by. Just plain old-fashioned degradation - funny as shit. He kinda picks on the old ladies that play and that bugs me, but most of the time it's still funny.
Ron #1 is my favorite teddybear trucker. Big ball of sweetheart.
Ron #2 is funny and inappropriate. He wants me to be his sugar-mama. Ha.
Doug is my favorite card-throwing, tantrum player. Gotta love him.
Tiny has his own nickname, an obvious one for a big, bearded biker.
There's a couple of Nick's too. Nick the Croatian. What an ego! But strangely attractive and altogether aloof. And Little Nick. He's got some disability that makes his body from the torso up exactly proportionate for a regular-sized man, but tiny, short little legs leave him about 4' tall - maybe. He reminds me of Benjamin Button in his early years.
There's more, tons more, but for now...welcome to my world at work - and the people who give me things to laugh about - and things to wonder about - every day.
Frank reminds me of Fred Flintstone, but shorter.
Art laughs like Elmer Fudd, and kinda resembles him physically too, but older.
"The Missionary", Donnie, is the most missionless a--hole I've met at the table in a while. I don't yet have a real nickname for him, as I can't come up with one mean enough. And he's an idiot.
Greg makes me laugh all the time - the Comedian. Always commenting under his breath about people at the table or people walking by. Just plain old-fashioned degradation - funny as shit. He kinda picks on the old ladies that play and that bugs me, but most of the time it's still funny.
Ron #1 is my favorite teddybear trucker. Big ball of sweetheart.
Ron #2 is funny and inappropriate. He wants me to be his sugar-mama. Ha.
Doug is my favorite card-throwing, tantrum player. Gotta love him.
Tiny has his own nickname, an obvious one for a big, bearded biker.
There's a couple of Nick's too. Nick the Croatian. What an ego! But strangely attractive and altogether aloof. And Little Nick. He's got some disability that makes his body from the torso up exactly proportionate for a regular-sized man, but tiny, short little legs leave him about 4' tall - maybe. He reminds me of Benjamin Button in his early years.
There's more, tons more, but for now...welcome to my world at work - and the people who give me things to laugh about - and things to wonder about - every day.
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