My last month or so was the best of the starting line-ups – right in the middle of the lower limit games and no hassle dealing with money sliding into my pocket on almost every hand I dealt. The last two nights have found me hitting the high limit section.

High limit is a strange land with a completely different poker code than the rest of the room. No one there is chuckling or giggling or conversing about anything in the realm of people and life. They discuss what food they are going to order and where they are going to order from. They dine together over the flurry of chips and cards being dealt, the beats, the wins, the overall stigma of life as a poker player, but never as a pleasurable, chatting, dining experience.

Monday night when I drifted through there, they were playing $1,500-3,000 Mixed. They were not dining, they were slamming chips. A strange wrinkle – Ralph P. was in the 7s and the last to draw in Deuce to 7. (I was told by David G. – about six months ago – to ‘push’ their draw cards to them, not pitch. Ok! That’s what I’ve done every since.) After I dealt his two draw cards to the table and started to push them to him, he demanded, “Pitch my cards to me.”

Linda does a dumb look here. “Pitch?”

Of course he went into, “…well not now, push them to me.”

Where or how this came about, and with him only, I have no idea. The rest of his draw, I pitched to him. But how is one supposed to remember all those zany idiot requests? Push to everyone, pitch to Ralph…shit! Why don’t we have a house standard and stick to it? Because there is none!

Tuesday night it was $2,000-4,000 Mixed. When I sat down, Eli was in the 2s with headphones on. He put his hand out on the table – to me – and said, “Hel–lo, Linda!”

I started laughing.

The eating orgy was on, they all had food coming, it was arriving, chips were slamming. David G. was unhappy because Nate came to take his food order just after he’d lost several hands back to back and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone now…but the rest of them were eating and playing poker. No conversations, no fun, no camaraderie, just graze and fire.

When I got pushed, I put my hand out and touched Eli’s hand. I said, “Good—bye, Eli!”

He started laughing. He threw me $10 and told me from now on he was going to greet me when I sat down because he won when I was dealing…”Hel–lo, Shufflemaster!”

The irony of high limit. On Monday, I made a few $5 tokes out of the $1,500-3,000 game. On Tuesday, I made $2 on each pot that I got tipped on – kind of like dealing $2-4 Holdem, I make quite a few $2 tips on a single pot in that game. Somewhere, somehow…there’s a sick sense about this whole thing. But on the food side, if I make a food run for them – out of the building – they have given me a $100 tip for that service…perhaps I’m in the wrong business.

Maybe tonight will find me dealing to the kids that enjoy playing…hope so.