Don’t let the Bastards wear you down! That was the inscription on a beer mug my youngest son gave me years ago. I’ve thought about it many times over the years, in reference to my sons, life, and to poker, the play of the game and dealing it. Tonight they tried, but it didn’t work.
How can something that starts so good, end up going so bad…a question posed from the beginning of time…ending up being the final question asked when the world ends with a poker game.
I started out in a friendly $15-$30 Holdem game, then $4-$8 Holdem…rock and roll…another $4-$8 Holdem game, $1-$5 7 Card Stud, and more $4-$8 Holdem.
Woops! This is when it all went bad, right up into the Devil’s Mouth, Table 1, $1,500-$3,000, three handed, mixed games. Ugh! It didn’t get any better. $100-$200 Holdem on Table two, $30-$60 Holdem on Table 3.
What? You’re asking…what’s so bad about Table 3? Jimmy, Asian, High Octane Asshole that never has a good day, was in the 8s. I sit down, announce, “Time Collection, $6 for time, please,” and he sits with chips in his hand…ready to pounce on me and tell me to just give him the change.
Great! He slaps, slams, change and amounts and throws out $30. He was right! But the point is…that’s my job. I asked him to just let me do it. He acted indignant and irritated, that I would subject him to letting me do my job, with the statement, “I make it easy for you.”
Easy for me, my ass. Just let me do it and there’s no confusion.
A few minutes later he ended up heads up with Steve W. (Steve is the subject of other posts, from $4-$8 to $80-$160 in a heartbeat and back down) and Jimmy asked Steve if he wanted to split the pot, when I peeled off the Turn.
I said, “No chopping.”
Jimmy did a freak show act and make all kinds of faces and stated, “You made the decision? You the boss?”
I told him there were no split pots and he should appreciate someone that did their job the way it should be done.
He ignored me, almost jeeringly, and when I was dealing the next hand, I know he handed Steve his half of the pot…they were sitting next to each other.
Don’t worry, I was on his shit list after that. He raised Pre-flop once, got one caller, the Flop was little, he bet and got called, the Turn fit right in with the ‘little’, he bet and got called, the River put a four card straight on the board…he won with pocket Kings.
When I pushed him the pot, he took off in Asian dialogue, blah, blah, blahhhh, blah…blah….blahhhh. Then he mumbled something like…broken English is sometimes hard to understand…”You should have let him win the pot. I will never tip you.”
I thought about grabbing my chest and falling back in the chair and screaming, “NO! NO! Help…I’m melting…I just got stiffed. Oh my, God! Call a Medic!” but instead, I dealt the next hand. Where is this guy from, Mars?
Well, the rest of the night was insanity.
A heads-up game of $20-$40 Omaha 8 or Better with a Half Kill.
A four handed, $100 to $400 anytime, Mixed game, on Table 7…none other than Jimmy G., Eskimo, Brian N., and Lee. David S. joined them about half way through my down.
Lee lost the first few hands and mumble, jumbled in my right ear, Jimmy did a, “We’ve got to work on this, Linda,” as he showed me his cards, Eskimo kept telling me to give them a ‘wide scramble,’ as he moved his hand around in a wash board motion…and me? I kept thinking about the glass of wine I was going to have when I got home.
I made it! Hello to the wine!”
Sometimes I just love to hate this job!