A few long hours, allergies, and life has put the stopper on writing. Some thoughts that may be only original to self are more in line with dealing and playing but have to be stated to relieve a brain cramp.
1) Why do dealers have to talk to a dealer playing in a game?
2) Why would a dealer think the playing dealer would care to discuss whether the new table felt was hard to deal on compared to the old table felt? Or the food in the Help’s Hall for Employee Appreciation Day was of any importance when the playing dealer just tried to run over 5-2 with A-A and couldn’t beat it on the River when the 5-2 made a nine high straight. PLHHHHHHH! SPIT! GAG!
3) Why would the dealer think the playing dealer was out of line when the dealer made a glaring mistake and the playing dealer stopped the action to correct it?
4) When the playing dealer is stuck and wins a pot, why wouldn’t the dealer say ‘thank you!’ to any size of tip they got? Why do dealers always think other dealers are obligated to throw money in their pocket?
Brain cramp is beginning to eaze-z-z-z-z-z.
One game on ‘top’ at Bellagio the other night. An $80-$160 Holdem, this game played 9 handed. Three of the players in the game, Carlos Mortenson, Mike Matasau, Ralph Perry…tough game under normal circumstances but with these three in it, whose the live one?
Nick, grumble master extraordinaire, $1-$5 7 Card Stud. That’s his limit and his game. He sits like a gargoyle, guarding his domain, glaring at dealers when he misses a draw or loses a hand, and throwing a few shekels to the dealer when he wins a pot. Interjecting comments in his taciturn, gruff manner, he sometimes leans toward the coarse, gross side of life which can put people off the person hidden underneath the shell.
A player next to Nick received chips from a Chip Runner and found a long hair in the chips. Nick said it looked like a ‘pube hair from an Orangutan’. Now honestly, how would he know unless he’s been checking them out?
He was at his best in this game, trying to impress a young lass sitting on his right, he smiled, beamed, talked, behaved himself and tried to show his flirtatious prowess with the cocktail waitress when she came to take his order. He took so long smiling and visiting with the cocktail waitress that the dealer finally asked, “Nick, would you like a hand?”
He threw in his $.25 ante and grumbled, “Don’t bother me when I’m working.”
The dealer replied, “Don’t work when I’m bothering you.”
The Dealer got a bigger laugh then Nick did. He glared for a moment but went back to his sunny side for the lass on his right. She knocked a few layers off that hardened shell.
This post by Chanzes when Linda was taking a break from the Diary.