I was having one of those stress dreams when I finally slipped back into Sand Woman Land, early a.m. for the rest of the USA, late night for me. I was late for work. I found myself parking in a garage that attached to a giant building that appeared to have way too many floors and somehow the corridor I took ended up in a small bar and knew I was lost. I grabbed my cell phone and called my supervisor to tell them I’d be there in just a few minutes and YIKES!!! I looked down to see that I was wearing my uniform shirt (which goes down just below my tush) but wasn’t wearing a skirt or pants although I did have shoes. That was about the time my real phone rang and I pulled myself out of the coma to answer it.It’s been a crazy weekend and it’s over. I’m gearing up to go back to the dealer’s box at Bellagio. I’m sure it will be a steaming, mind boggling mass of humanity, filled with noisy microphones, too much emotional stress, and lots of poker. Look for me there if you are in town.

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Twins might be catching. First Poker Peaker and his family welcomed two new baby girls, and I just got an email update from one of my favorite players, Ron from Texas, and he and his wife delivered twins. Congrats and healthy happiness to all.

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I can’t help but chuckle over some of the brain dead idgits that play poker. One guy that has played in our room since opening, on an intermittent basis (may be a local but could also just come in to town now and then), was in the 10s in a $15-30H game I dealt on Thursday night. He was pitching a quiet sort of bitch because he kept getting beat. The 9s was walking so he was kind of isolated in his mumbling and grumbling.

The 1s won a huge pot from the 10s, with K-8 Off or something like that, and when he filled up he got in a lot of extra bets. The 10s started grumbling, “Monkey. You play like a monkey.”

*How possible. Jim was he talking about you?*

No one else could hear him. He played almost every hand after that, and re-bought, and played more. He mumbled, “You are the worst fucking dealer.”

I turned to face him and asked, “What did you just say?”

He replied, “What do you think I just said.”

“I think you just called me the worst fucking dealer.”

He wouldn’t look at me as he said, “No I didn’t.”

I said, “Just making sure.”

He shut up for the next 10 hands and then just before I got pushed, he took a beat from the 3s. He started in, “You all play like a bunch of jack asses. You’re idiots.”

It wasn’t very loud but it was too much.

I turned to him again and quietly said, “If you make one more comment about the players or their play, or anyone, I will call the Floor.”

He never said another word after that.

When I got pushed, I told the incoming dealer that the 10s had been warned and if he said anything else, to call the Brush.

I went to the Brush and told him and then went to the Supervisor in the office and told him. I told the Supervisor exactly what had been said and then told Supervisor that I didn’t know the guy’s name but I knew he would know him. The Supervisor walked out to take a look and came back in with, “That guy. He’s one of the 10 biggest assholes in this room.”

This brings up a lot of thoughts – I don’t have the time to go into all of them right now so I won’t. How sick is someone that has been warned, reprimanded, kicked out for a day or a week or six months, and they still HAVE TO COME BACK AND PLAY? That’ll be another session when I try to delve into the human mind – but wait, should these type of players be classed as human? *LMAO*
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