Incomplete Information Can Be Frustrating...and Fun

The title of this post could indicate a poker post. As in, “poker is a game of incomplete information.” But, don’t worry, there will be (almost) no poker discussed in this post.  This is a post about salaciousness.

But first, a couple of ‘housekeeping” notes.  I’m finally back home after spending most of the last six weeks of the year in Vegas.  Hopefully I can get somewhat caught up on all those blog posts I’ve been hinting about and promising. But it will take awhile until I have the time necessary to do all those “meaty” posts I have backlogged, as I have some catching up to do here at home before I have enough time to do the long, detailed posts that all my readers (and specifically, Mike, my dealer pal at BSC) like. Also, there's so much to choose from, I have to figure out where to begin with all those backlogged stories. In fact, the title of this post could be referring to all those references I’ve made in some of my recent posts about “more details” to follow. 

But it doesn’t.

Also, I want to follow up on something from a recent post, the one here about the pot-head who wanted to know if three of a kind beat a straight (and was gonna Google it if he wasn’t given the answer by the house).  I mentioned in this in a comment (in response to Poker Grump’s comment), but since many of you don’t read the comments, I’ll reiterate it here.  I spoke to the shift supervisor about the guy’s request, and he said they actually have to answer that question.  It was and is the correct thing to do.  I then told him he needed to tell that to the dealers since most of them—at least from my observation—think they are not allowed to answer the question.

But to get to the point, the “incomplete information” I’m referring to comes from hearing only part of a conversation.

Like a conversation between a hooker and her prospective John, for instance.

It was my last night in town, and I’d hardly seen any hookers on this trip.  It appeared their union had successfully negotiated the holidays off for them.

As I was walking towards the parking structure, I had seen plenty of “sluts” on this night, but no “official” working girls.  Out of the corner of my eye a noticed a couple talking.  They were unusually close to each other.  I heard a few bits and pieces of their conversation.  The “incomplete information.”

The female was saying something about a “having a drink.”

The next thing I heard was the woman saying, “Completely naked.”

Well, that got my attention.  As I gave the couple a closer inspection, I heard the man respond, “Yeah?”  There was definitely a lot of interest judging by the tone of his voice.

The woman nodded and repeated, “Completely naked.” 

I kept walking but by now I had, I thought, sized up the situation.  The man was late-middle-aged, if not older.  He was white.  The girl was young, and black.  I didn’t get a really good look at her, but she appeared to be quite attractive and had a real good figure.  And by real good figure, I mean she had considerably large breasts.  They were revealed in a very tight top (no cleavage).  She was also wearing very tight pants (so no leg, either).

It was clear to me that they were not a true couple, except possible for the next 45-minutes to an hour.

Yeah, I was thinking that they had known each other for no more than five minutes when I noticed them.  And I was thinking that the “completely naked” part was part of her sales pitch.  But that is just speculation, really.  It’s that “incomplete information.”

I couldn’t very well just stand there and eavesdrop, so I kept walking.  I glanced back two or three times as I got farther away—and long past hearing range—and they were still talking.  Then, the next time I turned back, they were gone.  I never saw either one of them again.  I likely would have seen the lady again if she had not made the sale, so apparently, that “completely naked” line was pretty effective.

I had almost forgotten about this (yeah, right) until a few days later when, back in L.A., I got a text from my pal Abe.  He told me about a very interesting snippet of conversation he had just heard at good ol’ BSC.  This was in the poker room, however.

It seems that two of the regular poker room staffers—a couple of lovely ladies who I am quite familiar with—were having a conversation and didn’t notice Abe when he came up to put his name on the waiting list.

All he heard was one of the ladies say to the other one, “it’s a safe f***, you know who you’re with.”

He couldn’t control himself and cracked up, revealing that he had overheard this provocative declaration.

I think he took off without telling them to put his name on the list, although if they saw him, they would recognize him and put him on the list anyway. 

But again, there is a situation of “incomplete information.”  I mean, was the person who made that statement talking about herself, or giving advice to her co-worker?  We’ll never know.

Incomplete information can be frustrating.  And fun.