I still can’t think of one time during the last Grand Prix at the Golden Nugget in 1987 that felt good, upbeat, happy, warm, or comfortable in the three weeks I dealt through it. I know a big part of the problem was me. If I had been comfortable dealing those games it would have been much easier, as it was, I hacked myself to pieces in rewind every chance I got because I felt horribly inadequate for the job. Continue reading New day, same agony
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The rake, the drop, the drag…
the time pot. Dealers changed every 20 minutes at the Grand Prix at the Golden Nugget. Every time we slid into a new table full of bright, smiling ‘I’m gonna die if I don’t win the next hand’ faces, we collected time. Continue reading The rake, the drop, the drag…
Dealing, Dealing, Dealing, Keep Those Dealers Dealing…
Of course the majority of the three weeks of the Grand Prix Tournament blended into one shift nightmare after another – probably best described as one long, square needle to the frontal lobe. We had a short meet before each shift to get our line-up set and if anything new was in the works we were informed about it then. I don’t remember crap about anything new coming up. Some dealers quit, new ones came in, and on it went.
Continue reading Dealing, Dealing, Dealing, Keep Those Dealers Dealing…