Looking back, perhaps I should have taken that craps class after all.
A customer came in the other day and got down on his knees begging me for a Black Jack. No, seriously. On his knees. With his embarrassed girlfriend standing right behind him rolling her eyes, probably wishing the casino would 86 him permanently. I would deal him one good hand out of five. Then he would push the chair he was sitting on out of his way and get down on his knees and beg for a Black Jack or a winning hand, at the very least. When I didn't deliver, he'd say, "Woman how could you! Can't you see I'm down here on my knees? What do you have to say for yourself?"
I replied, "You ruined a perfectly good pair of pants for nothing."
"I ain't wearing pants(raised eyebrows from my side of the table), I'm wearing shorts, so what do you have to say to that?"
"Guess those bare knees are getting a work out tonight."
His girlfriend snorted.
I dealt another crap hand and he started speaking in tongues. I shit you not. Tongues. Those of you raised Catholic or whatever other soulless Christian faith is out there, you probably won't know what I'm talking about. Have you ever accidentally changed the channel to a religious station only to be transfixed by some guy in an expensive suit, waving a bible, and talking at lightening speed in some weird language you just couldn't place? That's talking in tongues. You see it a lot in the Pentecostal church, but I had never dared dream I would hear it at one of my Black Jack tables. He lost pretty much every hand after that, which only goes to show you, if there's a god, he/she/it don't play.
|"Stop calling on the Old Ones, babe. Cthulhu doesn't give a shit about your crap hand."|