Why I Hate People

Episode III (Reno, January 2004)

Playing $25 blackjack in Reno. Bought in for $500, but it's not going so well. Then the owner of an unattended stack of chips returns from the restroom or whatever and sits back down, but does not actually resume playing. Instead he engages the dealer in a steady stream of small talk, diverting a lot of her attention, and he's still not playing any hands. I endure this for what seems like a polite interval and then pick up what remains of my chips muttering something about "If you're just going to stand there and chat, I'm going somewhere else."

I hop over to another $25 table and invest another $500, and my chips fluctuate up and down for a while and for reasons I don't really remember, I decide to switch tables again and go to the $100 table, which is occupied by a solitary player betting $500 on each of two spots. I am standing behind an empty seat, politely waiting for the shuffle, and holding my player tracking card and five $100 chips in my hand.

The big player glances over and it is immediately apparent he doesn't want me there. He says something quietly to the dealer, the tone and gist of which seems to be a request to raise the table minimum to $500. (Except for special event weekends, this lone $100 table is the highest limit they have, besides the two $25 tables.)

She refers him to a pit boss, who says they'll have to go upstairs to get it approved. Meanwhile, the deck has been finished and they have to shuffle. I immediately sit down, because I know what they're about to tell him: they've approved the request, and they change the table display to say $500, "but it will be for new players only." Stick that in your pipe and smoke it, fellah.

BP is mildly dismayed at this unexpected turn of events but his spirits are clearly buoyed by the fact that I am only clutching 5 black chips. (This guy was so readable that maybe I should have asked him to play heads up $100-$200 poker instead.) He sits out while I play some hands. I quickly lose my first few hands, waver back and forth between 1 and 3 chips, and then have a $200 bet out with only $100 left and need to double down. So I pull $1500 out of my pocket and buy more chips. Hey buddy, there's more where that came from, plus thousands in markers I haven't even touched yet, so get comfy. Jackass.

3-4 shuffles later, he gives up, which is good, because I hadn't yet decided what amount it would be worth losing just to spite him. He asks for a slot cup and starts putting his black chips into it but agrees when they offer to just color him up to $500s. To top it all off, I made my way back to even too.

If he wanted to play alone, he could have just asked me, hey, I'd prefer to play on my own, would you mind moving to another table? Or he could have requested a private table from the casino a long time ago. It's the snotty "Would you please ask the maitre d' to remove this scum from my presence?" manner that he went about it, as if dealing with me directly would be beneath him, that made me irritated (and hence motivated to irritate him).

Unrelated to the above, and not really about hating people, just amusing internal monologue: I was taking advantage of the complimentary continental breakfast in one of the players' lounges. People outnumber tables, and an older gentleman approaches with what appears to be his grandson in tow and asks:

"Do you mind if we join you?"

"If your kid pulls his pants down from around his armpits, sure."

OK, so I didn't actually say that, but I thought it. Subsequent observation seems to indicate the kid is mildly retarded (or whatever the PC term is these days) so I actually felt bad for even thinking it.

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