I am slowly being driven insane. The other night, the Hummer sat at one of my tables. I'm a black jack dealer, in case you haven't read my profile. I've been dealing the swing shift for two years now. You meet the most interesting customers on swing shift. There's a woman who comes in that we have dubbed "the troll" due to her short stature and the fact that she's ugly to everyone, customers or dealers alike. There's a guy we call "the black Don Juan", because he's African American(duh) and every time he comes in he offers sexual favors to one of our floor supervisors-much to her chagrin. And, of course, there is the man I like to call "the hummer" who looks like what Hitler's older autistic brother would have looked like if Hitler had an older autistic brother. Greasy hair, a funny mustache, and a blank expression.
The thing that really irritates me about this guy is that he sits at a table, taps his knee vigorously shaking everyone's chips, and hums. Continuously. One long, annoying hum. He'll break long enough to mumble, "Unbelievable!" under his breath after losing a hand. Because there's nothing more unbelievable than losing your money in a casino. Somebody call Ripley's Believe It or Not.
You would think I'd be used to the crazies after two years of dealing to them and with them, but for some reason this man brings out the homicidal maniac in me. I don't talk ugly to him or anything that would get me fired, but whenever I see him, I imagine myself lifting the lid of my chip tray and beating him senseless with it.
It makes me realize I could never have a career in espionage. If I were caught by the other side all they'd have to do would be to flash that bright light in my face and have an interrogator hum at me. Beat me, cut off both my nipples, dip my head in frying grease. Nothing would get me to spill my guts quicker than hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
Unbelievable!
The thing that really irritates me about this guy is that he sits at a table, taps his knee vigorously shaking everyone's chips, and hums. Continuously. One long, annoying hum. He'll break long enough to mumble, "Unbelievable!" under his breath after losing a hand. Because there's nothing more unbelievable than losing your money in a casino. Somebody call Ripley's Believe It or Not.
You would think I'd be used to the crazies after two years of dealing to them and with them, but for some reason this man brings out the homicidal maniac in me. I don't talk ugly to him or anything that would get me fired, but whenever I see him, I imagine myself lifting the lid of my chip tray and beating him senseless with it.
It makes me realize I could never have a career in espionage. If I were caught by the other side all they'd have to do would be to flash that bright light in my face and have an interrogator hum at me. Beat me, cut off both my nipples, dip my head in frying grease. Nothing would get me to spill my guts quicker than hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm...
Unbelievable!
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| "No, seriously. I'll take the deep fryer. Just...make that bastard shut up!" |
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