We made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare - on the 23rd. I got all kinds of shit from my traveling buddies…”Linda’s got airport phobia!”

*edit* And I got all kinds of shit for stating ‘plenty of time to spare’. They were ribbing me because we were three hours early and insisted that I write it here. They forgot to add that my son woke up in the middle of his night to give us a ride and he picked up all of us - in my vehicle - so no cost to them except their lazy butts didn’t want to hang out for an extra hour…wooooooo…bad beat! *end edit*

Yup! Can’t stand the thought of being late and having to run to catch a flight, let alone missing it altogether. And did I forget to add that I just plain hate the plane facts? Like getting to the airport, millions of miles of ropes that cordon us off into little trails that lead to a luggage check-in and boarding pass counter, people jostling and bumping each other, leave your luggage over there - “Is it locked?”, then off to the Security check point and more millions of miles of ropes and little switch back turns to more little trails, then take off your shoes, get your laptops out of the case, take off everything that may beep as you pass through the metal detectors…but be sure to have your boarding pass and ID in your hand as you go through, then slam your shoes back on and your laptop into its case and try to collect all your belongings as other people’s belonging filled trays are already slamming into you and yours, move off to find a thousand people trying to do the same thing you are - board the tram to your gate. Good God! There’s no reason to feel any stress about this type of thing. And then I know when I board the plane, I have NO space that’s my own for the length of the flight…that really hurts. I like my own space.

While we waited for an hour or so to pass, we played Big Deuce, ate, and said ‘hi’ and visited with other dealers that were on the same flight we were waiting for. BTW the buddies owe me a couple of pennies but they failed to narrow down what we were playing for. Not to worry, I’ll get them…the pennies that is.

When we finally boarded, the flight was full. It was the flight from hell. Bumpy, rough, stuffy and overly warm, miserable because the guy next to me was totally rude and had the center seat, he wasn’t a petite little ballerina and he made sure he sprawled out on the arm rests. Ugh! There went my space. David, the dealer/player behind me kept pushing his knees into my seat which hit me just a little lower than lumbar support. It would’ve been ok if he’d just held still. No go! I finally reached back and smacked his knee. He stopped after I explained. The beer was shitty, they had two choices, shitty and shittier. I had one and gave up. Tried to sleep but it was miserable as I had the worst case of Alien Legs I’ve ever had on a plane. What the hell are Alien Legs? Restless Leg Syndrome. My sis and I refer to it as Alien Legs because your legs feel as if they don’t belong to you and they keep trying to drift off somewhere into outer space. It’s the angle of the seats and their shortness that bothers me, they hit me right in the middle of the thigh.

The flight from Miami into Aruba was pretty easy to take. Lots of empty seats and I had three to myself. I managed to stretch out and snooze. One downside to the whole damn flying thing, we were on American Airlines and they give nothing away. Well let me change that to they give away a crappy granola bar, water, and soft drinks. If you want food, you must pay for it. She-it! The shitty beer was $5. Why pay $5 or more for a shitty sandwich?

We made it through customs, found a cab…after the self appointed taxi concierge (a local) tried to flag down a van for us that didn’t stop so he flipped it off and did the fuck thing. We were laughing at how universal sign language is.

We ended up with a female driver. This was a first for me on the island. She explained that it was election day and most of the cab drivers were already home. Also that drinks would only be served in casinos, due to election day all the party joints and stores were closed. It didn’t slow us down too much. We got checked in and hit the beach side of the hotels, drinking all the way. We had to attend a dealer meeting that was scheduled for 8:30 p.m. on Saturday but it was Friday…so-o-o-o….

Our first stop was the beachside bar behind the Wyndham. The Buddies had blended drinks, I went for Ultra…they didn’t have any so I picked another one. We stopped at a beachside bar at the Radisson, jumped up onto the barstools, prepared to order, and the guy behind the bar asked if we were staying there. We said, “No. We’re at the Wyndham.”

“We can’t serve you then.”

“What???”

Another gent behind the bar came over and showed good sense when he asked what we wanted, kind of shooing the first guy away. We thought it must have been because of the election but we didn’t ask. We got one to go (yes, they had Ultra…yoo hoo) and headed for the Holiday. We went into the Excelsior Casino (inside the Holiday) headed for the Poker Room, and I visited with Marta for a moment. I dealt an hour or so for her last year and then played with her at the Wyndham. Nice to touch bases again.

Then we went back down to the beach. We stopped at one point to watch sand crabs or geckos or something and Lisa W. caught up to us. No grouchiness between us this year. We did a hug and make-up thang. She told us everyone was back at the Radisson, to come back and join them. Suzie had just got there with a group of other dealers and players. So we went back. More drinks. Somehow, our first night on the island ended. More later.

I waltzed into the room on Wednesday, started on a break, dealt 15 minutes of a $15-30 H and it was breaking down. They were ready to combine tables. So…I looked around the room, knowing if I stayed I’d be dealing one up, one down, and sitting dead spreads (and yes, I’d already signed the E/O)…time to escape. Kamell let me go and gave me the big X (excused) for Thursday night. Now that I’ve had all this time off, it should be time for me to get ready to deal. Maybe Aruba will find me burning and turning instead of looking for the escape hatch in the form of an E/O. Time will tell. I figure to let Suzie know - immediately - that if she needs me to work I will. But if she wants to send someone out into the night, I’m the girl to look for.

Before I left the room, some of the high limit kids were just cranking up a game in Bobby’s Room. Chip R., Phil I., Barry G., and I believe David G. If it was David, he had his back to me and I didn’t take the time to scope him out.

The Poker Drought in Vegas is about over. Summer is always slow - too many reasons to go into right now - but it’ll be cranking about the time I clock in on Monday, the 10th of October. Festa al Lago will be well underway and we’ll be slamming out cards while the jamming is running hardcore and maxed out at all the tables.

This may be my last post from the shores of the good ol’ USA for about 12 days. Then again, we do have a layover in Miami and if there’s time, and my cell connects to the Internet via computer, I may shoot something off there.

ETD (estimated time of departure) - about five hours. ETFFTB (estimated time for fun to begin) - right now. I’m on holidays. Too of my favorite lunitards are traveling with me. It just don’t get any better than this. We expect to deal poker, drink, sleep a little, deal more poker, drink, sleep…you get the picture. Except this kid still has a date with the beach in the early a.m. so the boys may have to party on with out me. Oh well…their loss.

I woke up to a disturbing email today. My uncle Lee, the last member of my dad’s family (five boys and three girls) is in the hospital in Amarillo Texas. He’s 76 years old and has had numerous physical problems, related to aging, over the last few years. He needs chemo but he’s so weak right now, they won’t prescribe treatment.

I spent some time on the phone, visiting with my sis, Vickie, and we both wondered what he would opt for if he were physically stronger. The question of quality of life surfaces here. It’s easy for me to say where I’d be with it…I’m not there so of course it’s easy. My demand would be, “Give me great drugs and get me out into the desert for one last look at the land.”

My spirit is sad for him. I’m sad for me. I barely remember an image of him when I was little and we visited my dad’s parents. I did get to meet him, visit, and play poker with him at the family reunion in 2002. What a grand time we had. He couldn’t make it to the last few reunions and he was missed. After the reunion in 2002, he sent each of us girls little bottles of homemade wine, grape, apple, peach, and other flavors. It was like a fine sipping liquor…with a kick.

Almost time to close another chapter of my life - one that I never had the opportunity to read and explore all of the fine print.

The good news in the email was that Carl and Ellen live in Biloxi MS and their home suffered some damage - repairable - and all is well with them. Thank you, God.

I can’t think or say or read anything about the devastation in the South. It’s mind numbing. I leave that alone because I can’t handle it.

*****

*Subject change*

Of course I’m jumping right into poker. I did sign the E/O tonight. The room was quiet, I was tired, and…I’m a lazy dudette - what else can I say about it? Apparently every place in town is slow right now. The Borgata Poker Open has all the high limit player action and ours is pretty damn quiet. Even though we may have 20 or more tables running, it looks empty.

I dealt three whole tables before I hit the Time Clock tonight…and I dealt to some of my most UNFAVORITE players. Dr. Pete. He jumped into a $30-60, posted between the Button and the SB, and won the first hand. He played the second hand and lost. He was in the 1s and he kept glaring at the side of my head. Funny how he didn’t glare when he won the first pot. I swear…one of these days I’m going to lean over, wait until he’s looking at me, and then say, “Boo!”

I know it’s childish on my part. But sometimes I want to be childish. I get the same reaction from the same people for 15 years or so and I want to behave like a five year old and throw things at them like, “Nah-nah-nah-nah!” when they lose a pot. If they think I did it to them, why not rub it in a little?

My last game was $20-40 Omaha 8 or Better with a half kill - the game of the future. Yup! That’s what I’ve heard for 20 years now, “Omaha is the game of the future”.

J.C.P. was in the 9s, looking grim and mad at life…that’s his MO though. He glared at the side of my head too. He always acts like he wants to throw the cards or have a fit when he loses but all he does is roll into his black hole and get one step closer to another heart attack. (He had a severe one about four years ago.)

The only semi funny thing that happened during my down was when Rafael moved his chips stacks from the 7s to the 8s. The stacks were way too tall to be stable and he moved one of them over and it crashed right into the side of J.C.P.’s short chip stacks. Woops! There was a tense moment when it would be hard to tell who’s belonged where.

J.C.P. ended up telling Rafael to take what he thought belonged to him and then went on to tell a story about playing in CA when a player got so upset, he threw his chips up into the air and most of them lit in J.C.P.’s stacks. J.C.P. told the table that he ended up giving about half of his own chips back to the player…so…he lost money. And he did it out of the goodness of his heart? GTF outta here. He only hates dealers? For every one else he’s a pushover, a real sweet kind of guy? Excuse me! I have to puke now!

Such a pleasure to deal this game. *sarcasm*

Adam jumped into the game of the future, started talking $40-80 Mixed games, and had an interest list started. I got pushed, took a break, and when I came back to the room, the game of the future had broke. They were all over at $40-80 Mixed. Go figure!

*****

One bright spot and point of interest, when I came in to work, I saw Karina Jett in the audience of a TV event that was being aired on the monitors around the room. When I dealt the $30-60 H game, she was in the 7s. We have history…she played poker at the Mirage before she was old enough to play. Shhhhh…don’t tell anyone. We played together and I dealt to her. She was cute then and she’s cute now.

The crew came to play cards Saturday night. We rammed and jammed through a million chips and miles of Big Deuce hands. Our group has grown. Maria and Mike (brother and sister) were welcomed in a few weeks ago. They both completed dealer’s school and came over for a little ‘in the box’ training. Of course we hooked them right into the Big Deuce game. We play double deck and it’s a bitch. Of course we added a few twists of our own for rules. And Wayne, Jim, and me are taking a deck of cards with us to Aruba…yes, we’re sick puppies.

Aruba is a heartbeat away. We leave Friday, early a.m., and don’t have to be anywhere until 8 p.m.ish on Saturday night. Then we may have to deal - live. Live? Yes, we are going to deal at the Radisson in live games - at least some of us are. We will deal mainly tournament but may be required to deal some live too.

I can hardly wait for this trip. There’s a two-mile section of beach (right out my back door at The Wyndham) that has my name on it every a.m. around 5. Then it’s a leisurely float/swim with the locals, possibly food, then sleep - so I can work my favorite shift, swing. Of course I’m going to opt for the E/O every night. It’s my life. That’s what I do when I’m on holidays.

I’ll be doing the ‘Aruba report’ here and taking pictures. I’m also going to try to keep up with articles and some pictures, focused on the Aruba trip, for the main pages of PokerWorks. And speaking of pictures, I love this one.

If this isn’t love, I don’t what is. This is my baby with his baby. Love those boys!

*****

Jim AKA The Monkey is in town. He’s working, but he’s also firing it up at the tables at Bellagio. We visit quite a bit about poker and the games. He puts a lot of humor into the fact that he’s struggling in the games. I give him an A+ for that. I find it hard to laugh when I’m getting trampled in the face by bad cards and my opponents can always find runner-runner to shove ‘bad beat-i-tis’ up my nose for days at a time.

I talked to him tonight when I went in to work. He was buried in a $30-60 H game.

An hour later I dealt a four handed $80-160 H game. The 5s was new to me and he mentioned to the 4s that the $30 games were really great at Bellagio.

My brain did auto pilot…’Ruh-roh, he’s been in a game with Jim.’

Sorry, Buddy. It was just an instant flash…then it disappeared…NOT!

The room was so quiet that when I’d dealt four games and was on break, my supervisor asked if I wanted to go home. I jumped on it. Kee-rist! I wish I was disciplined enough to say ‘no’ right now but it just ain’t gonna happen. I clocked out and stopped by to watch Jim carve a hole in A-A with A-8. He had chips, the game was short handed, and cross my fingers he has enough cash left to buy me a brew in Aruba. *laughing*

And while I’m talking poker, go to the main page, http://pokerworks.com and download the Titan Poker software, buy $20 worth of chips and register for a free roll. There’s money laying around everywhere. All you have to do is look for it…and playing good doesn’t hurt either.

*post - continued*

I ran out of steam after the $200-400 Mixed game - in both writing and in dealing - but it’s time to continue.

The next game was $10-20 NLH. The 2 and 8s were walking. I snagged $7 from each of their stacks before my butt hit the seat - asked for Time - the game was off and running.

A ‘play-over’ sat down in the 2s. The Play-over won two huge pots and the player returned for his seat. George. I felt terrible for him, I knew he was losing as a very small stack of chips remained in his absence and he returned with a stack of bills to fortify his position. He’s a great guy to deal to, even-tempered, never mean, and two of his children play at Bellagio also…a family affair.

The Play-over was stacking and racking, having won two huge pots.

George was grim; stating that he didn’t want anyone playing over him. He said that he’d only been gone a few minutes, when in truth, he’d been gone for almost half an hour. He said he was there when I sat down. He wasn’t. I reminded him that I’d had to take Time from his stack.

It’s got to be horrible to fade a losing streak and never win a hand and then return to watch someone sitting in your seat, racking up chips they’ve just won when you can’t snag the Blinds, let alone a pot.

He did win one pot before I left the box - it had over $2,000 in it. I hardly ever feel anything for anyone when I’m dealing and they are playing…that’s the game of poker…but I was happy for him that he’d managed a step forward instead of another step backward.

Then it was off to $40-80 Mixed. This little jewel was a slammer. The boys were there to gamble…and they did. David Williams was sitting behind the 2s off and on - nice smile!

Ahhh…let’s talk about $40-80 7-card stud. When I sat down, it was like being condemned to a half hour of hell. The only bright spot at the table was Chris M. and he was playing Troy’s chips while Troy visited with someone.

The 1s left and Nick jumped into it. The 2s - a stranger, the 3s has been around - name unknown, 4s - Gus, 5s - Troy, 6s open, 7s - General Jeff, 8s - aghhh…ouch…pain and grief…none other than Marty.

It started like this. Marty looked at three hands, stated, “My favorite dealer. Deal me out.”

Music to my ears, I’d love to deal him out forever. Numerous other posts about his unwonderfulness. He has to leave the table when Sylvia deals…cause he’s such an absolute idiot, he can’t shut up and just let the dealer deal.

The 3s managed to ’snip’ his cards at my fingers on Fourth Street, with, “Oh…sorry!”

No he wasn’t. He tried to hit me with them

He did the snip thing again a few minutes later. I crabbily said, “Stop sending your cards in like that.”

He never said a word. He knew he was out of line.

Chris was animated, visited with me a little as I dealt, Marty took a walk, the game went on…nothing exciting.

Then Troy returned to claim his seat, Chris sat behind him, and Marty returned…ugh…it couldn’t get much worse…but it did.

Nick got involved in a big hand; semi begged everyone to get out so he could ‘finally’ win a pot. That didn’t work. He ended up heads-up with Gus a few minutes later and every time Gus bet, he showed Nick his hole cards…exposing an Ace that gave him Aces up with the Ace in his up cards. Nick finally folded.

They’re both Greek…maybe it’s a bonding thing. Gus is the one that kept chanting, “Shoot the dealer. But use a pistol, not a shotgun,” or something to that effect about six months ago. He thought he was being funny then, now I have no idea what he thought he was being.

Then the fertilizer hit the ventilator. Marty demanded to know why I was giving a mini-scramble before I put the cards in the Shuffle Master. I replied, “Because Gus likes it that way.”

And yes…that’s the reason. Gus always asks me if I would mind…when I first sit down.

Marty had a piss fit, “You have the Shuffle Master…”

Gus blurted, “Does it bother you?” looking at Marty.

I replied, “Everything bothers him.”

Gus to Marty, “Then why don’t you go take a laxative so you can get it out of your system?”

Marty clammed up…thank you, God!

Then Troy was calling a $40 completion on the Door Card, but put out six $5 chips, three $10 chips and reached back to his stack.

I declared, “Raise!”

Troy was flustered, “Hell no! I don’t want to raise. What do I need out there?”

I pushed back the two $10 chips. General Jeff called $40 and between three players, they built a huge pot. Troy won it.

Nick ended up going all-in a few hands later. At least that’s how I saw it. He called an $80 bet on the River and couldn’t win. He had about four miscellaneous chips of different colors hidden under his arm. He pulled our three $100 bills and pushed one out for the ante.

I told him he needed $400 to take a hand. (Yes…in $10-20 and higher, a player can have one short buy-in in an eight-hour period. But the short buy-in must be half the minimum buy-in, which is $800).

Gus took up in Nick’s defense, stating that Nick didn’t go all-in because he had a $5 and a $1 chip still (yes…$5 is the amount of the ante, and if he did in fact have a $5 chip left, he was entitled to buy $300) but even though I craned my neck, trying to look under Nick’s arm, he wouldn’t move or show that he had the $5 chip. Instead he mumbled, “If the player’s don’t mind…”

There was no mumbling on my part, “It’s not a player decision, it’s a house decision. You have to have $400 to come back in.”

By now I might have had $2 in my pocket and it was like watching Freddie keep coming back - year after year after year.

Nick snorted, “Deal me out then!” as he jumped up. He disappeared, leaving his chips on the table. But even then, looking at them, they were an odd assortment of bright blue, something shiny red, and none of them looked like Bellagio’s chips…so…get the hell out of here Nick. As in do I care?

A few hands passed, Troy won them, and The General went nutz-z-z-! His eyes were flashing and he was barking at me, “From now on, when he raises, you aren’t going to give him back chips and let him just call! He has to raise!”

WTF??? Oh - let’s jump back into The Poker Hand Time Machine. He was talking about the hand where Troy threw out the $5 chips and was trying to call.

It was laughable! I exclaimed, “There was no action behind him! You hadn’t acted. He doesn’t have to raise!”

The next dealer was tapping me out.

The General was livid…I had talked back to him…slap my mouth.

“Yes he does! He has to raise.”

The 3s piped in, “He said raise.”

I replied, “No, I said raise.”

The General went on, “Call the Floor Man. He has to raise.”

I said, “Well you’re a bit late for a decision. It’s over with.”

I looked at Troy as I squared the deck up for the next dealer, “The problem is you won the fucking hand. If you’d lost, it would have been ok.”

Troy said, “You’re right, darlin’.”

Marty jumped in, “There’s a dealer behind you.”

I said, “I don’t need to hear anything from you,” as I pushed out of the box.

Troy threw me a Red Bird. Yipppeee! $7 and all the heat and hell I could take. It just don’t get any better than this.

I told the incoming dealer that Nick needed $400 to get back in the game and that he’d gone all-in.

A few minutes later my butt’s in the seat of a $4-8 H game and these guys are actually smiling and laughing. WTF is wrong with them? Oh yeah…real people that have a life.

I had a front row seat, watched Nick return, the dealer called for a decision, and Dave appeared. I could hear him ask, “Who was the dealer?” as he looked around, everywhere but towards me.

I raised my arm. Nick started screaming at me, “Yes…(Greek swearing)…we know it was you…” a torrent of something came out his mouth as he got dealt in and Dave walked away.

Nick was still barking at me across the heads of my little $4-8 players and I called Nate over. I quickly explained what had happened at the last table and told him Nick was yelling and gesturing at me from the other game. Nate headed that way and Nick clammed up.

Well…as nightmares go and nights from hell never end, this little $4-8 game broke up and I got re-routed. Right back up to the $10-20 NLH game and then another round through $40-80 Mixed.

But the good news is that Pete didn’t need me for the Friday shift. Three days off, thank you, God!

*end post*

One night this week, I ran into all the games that I’d managed to skip for the last few months…there they were, a giant lump, with me pitched into the middle of it. Not dealing for almost a month probably made it a little easier to digest since it appeared to be more entertaining than irritating.

I started on 40B, meaning that within a half an hour, I would be dealing Bobby’s Room. The hardest part of dealing this game is the ‘prop’ bets that some of the players have. Good God…no…don’t think for a half a second I understand any of it, because I don’t. I really don’t have time to even try to think about it because it takes enough concentration just to deal the games and keep the bets straight, give change, and everything else that’s involved in dealing. About half of them were doing the ‘props’ and when they had certain cards, chips were flying through the air to the winner of the bet…along with chips that were being bet on the play of the hand. There were so many chips in transit sometimes I wasn’t sure if I should deal or wait or what the hell was going on.

Chau had a small, bright orange hazard cone by his chips that read I’M ON TILT and during one hand he set it out in front of him and raised. It was funny.

Jim M. was in the daily tournament - that was my next table. Sure…remember? He’s Silent Bob. Totally hysterical from my POV and true to form, he never stopped talking. It got down to Jim and a new player and they cut a deal, with Jim receiving the title of winning the tournament. I ran into Jim later in the night in an $80-160 H…more on that coming.

Table 5 was my next stop. $400-800 Mixed with Layne F., Lee S., Freddie D., David L., Jimmy W., Eskimo, Amir, and Will. Within the first few hands I dealt, Layne won a big pot and went into a ‘read her name tag…took you long enough, Linda…I knew it would happen someday…just didn’t know what year…’

It was funny. We’ve always had a little camaraderie because of the Montana thing.

Freddie had been walking and returned to the 5s. He was wearing some pretty sharp looking shades and Layne complimented him on them and then asked if they were prescription, etc. Freddie handed them to Layne, Layne put them on, and I put up the Flop - 3-3-3.

Layne exclaimed, “Oh my God! I could never wear these, I’m seeing triple!”

Everyone…including me…roared. Well, except for Eskimo and Jimmy.

The game was pretty intense and a lot of chips passed back and forth during my down…these guys were jamming. But they were easy on me and that is a good thing.

I hit a $2-5 NLH. It should have been a slice of pie but the 4s seemed to take a suggestion I made as being personal. He was standing up, looked at his cards, and raised it…and stayed standing. He was an older gent and quite tall. The chair and sitting was probably bothering him. Trying to be polite and not really knowing what a decision would bring, I said, “I don’t know if it’s the rule in this game, but in tournaments, you have to be in your seat or your hand is dead.”

He huffed at me, “Well I’ve been coming here for 30 years and that’s not the rule and this isn’t a tournament.”

Well kiss my grits! I replied, “This is my first day but I do know the difference between tournaments and side games.”

He clammed up and so did I. I’m not sure where he’d been going for 30 years but up until a few years ago, NLH was not a daily game in most casinos. And Bellagio opened in 98…let’s see…30 years?

Next on the list was the $80-160 H with Jim M. in the 1s. He had me laughing through most of my down, talking non-stop, and going through all kinds of faked emotional stress over the 4s’s girlfriend/sweater that had her chest pretty much bared to the world. At first Jim made a comment to her that he was old enough to be her granddad and he couldn’t stand to look. He lowered his head and put his hand out like a blinder while he talked shit for the next few hands. Shit talking? Like asking the 4s to have her zip up the sweat top a little bit. She was giggling and laughing. She did zip it up a little, and then he asked her to unzip it a little.

Sometimes in Vegas where you see it all, I really wish you didn’t see a lot of it. It was embarrassing. More so to the girl, IMHO.

And Jim put the icing on the cake when he said, to me, “I bet those aren’t the tits her mother gave her.”

Then it was off to a three handed, $200-400 Mixed game with K.K., Jimmy G., and David L. Ugh! Jimmy was having one of his bad days and it’s difficult to deal with his attitude and comments. He always acts like it’s something personal going on between the dealer and him…like the moon is out of sync and it’s causing a reaction of discord or something bizarre is throwing the elements out of whack, when in essence, it’s just the run of the cards.

The strangest part of this game was during an A-5 hand in which David was the Button. K.K. discarded two, Jimmy tapped ‘pat’, and just as David discarded two, Jimmy discarded one. Huge turmoil. David and Jimmy were going back and forth…Jimmy arguing that he’d misread his hand, David arguing that Jimmy waited until he knew David was drawing two, Jimmy doing a, “Do you want me not to draw?”

It was obvious David wasn’t happy with the way the hand was going so why argue about it. I called for a decision.

Before the Floor got there, David was conceding that Jimmy needed to leave the discard away from the muck and have someone verify that it was a legitimate misread. Well hello, Layne! Layne bounced over from Table 5, looked at Jimmy’s remaining four cards and the discard, and declared, “Absolutely. There’s no question about it!”

Ok…damn it! The Floor arrived, it was too late, and the boys all agreed that if Layne said so, it was legitimate so the game went on. And yes…Jimmy won the hand.

*post-poned*

1) I dealt a $30-60 H in which the 10s picked up A-A and raised every street - even though he got raised by the 4s and the 4s had raised pre-flop, with the Flop holding Q-little-little. The 10s never slowed down, he couldn’t seem to give the 4s credit for having anything. The pot was huge, multi-way action until the River when everyone else missed their draw. The 4s turned over Q-Q, showing a Set.

The 9s had his cards in his hands and did a fake rip/tear and snarled, “If I ever win a fucking pot in this fucking place….” As he flip, twitched the cards a few seconds longer and then pitched them at the muck.

The 4s tipped me and when I said, “Thank you,” the 10s muttered, “You’d better thank him.”

Like - NO SHIT!

The 10s went on to get K-K beat by A-J off, and a few other hands that were ugly…but he couldn’t slow down. He raised and re-raised every hand.

We had players on the way from a broken game and at the end of a hand, I asked the 5 and 6s to square up as we were going to be ten handed. The 10s snapped, “How about if you just deal the next hand.”

I replied, “How about if you let me do my job, I’m pretty good at it.”

He didn’t say another word until I left the table, then he muttered something like, “Thanks for stopping by…”

I didn’t even waste my breath on a reply.

2) I hit a $40-80 Mixed Game. The 1s had a yellow button and hadn’t played a hand yet. He took the BB when I sat down. It was Omaha 8 or Better, the chips were flying in a four-way action pot, one winner…it wasn’t the 1s. He immediately did a, “Fucking bullshit…nothing ever fucking changes!” as he did the flip/twitch/jerk with his cards.

I said, “Ease up!”

He stopped with the swearing and settled in to play poker.

I know it’s not funny but yes it is. It’s something that should go in a TV show or movie, the real world of poker, as it really happens, not like the glitz and fritz that most people believe poker is all about. In truth, you get to see the worst side of people when they are at the table. (Sure, lots of them have their poker faces on and you see their good side all the time but I believe when a lot of the poker faces take a beat, they would like to react exactly like the person that’s ‘exposing their worst side’).

When I play, there are times I want to flip out and pitch my cards across the room. The long run of beats just make you wonder if you know anything about poker. Of course when you get to that point, you’ve lost it. I try to recognize all the factors that are nudging me in that direction and either take a long walk or just head for home for the night…sometimes for two or three weeks so I can kick it all out of my head and start over the next time I play.

Since I’ve been there a zillion times, watching someone else do it makes me want to laugh…probably more so at myself than at them.

A momentary outburst from a player doesn’t bother me, I understand it, but the following type of behavior, I can’t tolerate under any circumstance.

I settled into a $2-5 NLH game, all guys. The 5s was at least 6′5″, weighing somewhere around 300 lbs.; dressed in all black with ‘party poker’ on his shirt, a long neck chain that held a BIG gold cross, a black baseball cap that read something like ‘terminator’ or ‘prosecutor’ or something that I’d relate to vengeance or pain, dark sunglasses, a dark, short beard, and a giant prescription bottle on the table in front of him that he used to cap his cards with. His whole image was threatening.

There was no laughter or fun going on at this table; it was dark and quiet, as if everyone was waiting for the bomb to hit.

About three hands into my Down, the 4 and 5s had a small pre-flop raising war. The 4s check raised with an all-in bet on the Flop. The 5s instantly picked his cards up and did the high overhead, slam-dunk-splat into the rack with them. The cards did a bounce into the side of my hand.

I bored a look right through those sunglasses and demanded, “Just set your cards down!”

He was instant asshole; “I put them in the muck.”

I pushed the pot and said, “Just set them down.”

“I’ll fold however I want.”

“No…you won’t. Just set your cards down.”

“Call the Floor Man if you don’t like it.”

“I have a lot of experience with calling the Floor Man. Just set your cards down.”

He then did a totally stupid thing, “How do you want me to fold them?

I picked up two cards, tossed them gently in front of him, and said, “Like this,” and then picked them up and did the high overhead, slam-dunk-splat with them right between his hands and his chips and exclaimed, “Not like this!”

Did I forget to add that by now I was pissed? No one at the table said a word in my defense and the 5s was totally threatening with the move he made when he threw his cards.

A few hands later, the 4s threw his cards in and one of them skipped a little and flipped up when it the muck.

The 5s couldn’t wait to jump on that, “Now you’re throwing things at her.”

The 4s quickly said, “It was an accident.”

The 5s said, “Oh…it’s ok if it’s an accident.”

I was still pissed. I said, “That’s enough. Just drop it!”

The 5s said, “I didn’t hit you with the cards.”

I said, “Yes you did. I’m not here to argue with you, I’m here to deal poker. Just play the game.”

It stopped there. Until a few hands before I got pushed. The 9s was feeling something for the 5s - maybe he wanted a date later…hell if I know.

The 9s made a comment like, “Chris Ferguson can throw cards.”

The 5s chortled something that meant he’d found an ally. I ignored them both. When I got pushed, I stopped by the 9s and said, “I’ve dealt to Chris Ferguson. He NEVER throws cards.”

The 9s informed me that I was too hard on the 5s, they were losing money there and I shouldn’t have been so harsh with him.

Sh-e-e-e-it! If I’d been harsh with him, I’d have pulled out a gun and shot him. All I did was stop the crap - not only for myself but the dealers following me.

I queried, “Really? There’s no reason for anyone to do that.”

The 10s stated that he totally agreed with me - well hell…why didn’t he say something when the shit was going on?

The 9s went on to tell me that I should have been softer about it and another dealer would have been.

I said, “You should try sitting there sometime,” as I pointed at the box. I left.

Maybe the 9s could see himself in the 5s’s position, just as I could see myself in the previous accounts, and that’s why he was so sympathetic. Maybe they’re both sick in the head. IMHO, if they think slamming the cards at the dealer is the answer, they need to do something else to release that aggression before they take a seat in a card game.