Just run this around in your crowded little think tank…get back to me on it.

When you walk down the street, or into the neighborhood supermarket, or go to work, you pass and greet a lot of the same people. They say, “Hi,” and you return, “Hi,” or “Hi how are you?”

You really don’t want to hear how they are; you’re just being courteous in greeting and query. Not that you wouldn’t comfort them if something horrific happened but on a general, run of the mill kind of day, you expect to slip right past them and disappear in the curtained mist of your busy, daily life.

Ha! No curtained mist on Table 1. George P. in the 1s tried to make me the pain and grief of every poker hand he’s had to stomp on and make sure it’s dead before he mourns it and buries it, throughout his poker playing career.

He posted the Big Blind and the Small Blind, possibly lost $500 between the two of them…the blinds are $100-$200…Pot Limit Omaha.

All I did was open the Shuffle Master, remove the deck, cut and deal for each hand. Nothing horrific happened and I was hoping to slip on by with a “Hi,” but he stopped me so I could hear his life in poker with me. “Linda, she is not my dealer! She offers me gum…she is not my dealer.”

Ummhh! Yes I did offer him a piece of chewing gum the other night and was rebuked with, “I have European gum, I do not like this gum,” as he eyed the Wrigley’s Polar Ice gum I held out to him. It’s really not a big deal because I’ve heard him insult the vegetables that are grown in America…”These are not vegetables. They are plast-ick! You cannot call these vegetables.”

Then he continued, “I will go to the bar and have a drink…no offense…I will not play with you as a dealer.”

Shit! Bad beat for me, baby…haha-hahhha-hah!

He played his Button hand. It cost him $10,000 because he just can’t give up a hand…even if it’s a bad one. He stood up, held his cards, looked at his cards, stared at his cards, probably did something immoral to his cards and I stared at the Board and waited for him to stomp his hand to death and then bury it so we could get on to the next hand. It took about five minutes.

He again informed me that I was not his dealer. He was going to the bar. As he walked away, he told the 2s to be sure and let him know when the next dealer came to the table.

As soon as George got eight feet from the table, Ziggy – 5S, busted out laughing, “It’s definitely Linda’s fault. She’s not his dealer.”

I shared that laughter.

George came back towards the end of my down and waited for the next dealer. He wasn’t happy with the next dealer either…even before a hand was dealt.

So…I escaped into the Curtained Mist only to bump into other people that I would have liked to slip by but none as abrasive or ridiculous as “Crete Forever!”