The Smokin' Hot Waitress, The Bearded Dealer, and Me (Part 1)

(Note:  This story will be presented over several days, in three parts.  This is part 1) 

Here’s a tale that takes place over many months, and in two different poker rooms.  Telling this story is problematic on several fronts.  For one thing, even with my penchant for using pseudonyms, it may be hard to protect identities.  And some—or all—of the subjects in this tale might be a bit embarrassed about what I have to say about them.  Although that might be exaggerated in my mind.  But I’m sure some of the Vegas readers of the blog will be able to figure out who some or all of these nice folks are, so I hope I can trust their discretion.

Also, the story may be just a little bit politically incorrect.  Not that that bothers me, but I don’t want to offend anyone—I mean, anymore than I usually offend people with my posts.

And also, I’m a bit concerned that this may be one of those stories that doesn’t transfer well to the written word.  Or one of those, “you had to be there” stories.  Or, oddly enough, that you have to be Jewish to truly appreciate.  

Finally, to tell this story, I have to reveal more personal information about myself than I usually do on this blog.

So now that I’ve convinced you to just skip this post altogether, before I get started, I would like to point out that the story, at various points along the way, is probably one of the ones most responsible for my pals “Woody” and “Luv Malts” trying to get me to start this blog in the first place, as I explained here.  I think I’ll refer to “Luv Malts” just as “LM” for the rest of this story, seems less awkward.

The first thing I have to tell you is that I’m Jewish.  I know, I know, “vegaspoker” doesn’t sound like a Jewish name, but it was actually changed at Ellis Island.  Apparently I never mentioned that on the blog before, although I have mentioned it in comments on other folks’ blogs.  And it is actually relevant to the story.  But relax, this is the not the exciting tale of my Bar Mitzvah. 

And the aforementioned Woody & LM actually figure into this story too, and thus I have to tell you that they have a mixed marriage.  She is Jewish, he is not.

The story features characters I’ve never mentioned on the blog before, so let me give a brief intro to them and then get on with it.  First we have a stunningly beautiful blonde bombshell cocktail waitress from a more-or-less Eastern European country. With her home country on her name tag, and her rather heavy accent, it is immediately obvious she is foreign born.  Her real name is also be a clue to her foreign heritage, so let’s give her the most American name I can think of, Betsy (as in Betsy Ross).  Betsy’s co-worker is also from overseas, let’s just say it is a sorta-Middle/Eastern European/Asian country.  She too has an accent but it is much, much less pronounced than Betsy’s.  She works as a cashier/podium person at LC2.  Let’s call her Anna, simply because I used to have a co-worker named Anna from the same country and with the exact same accent.  Next, we a have male dealer that used to work at BSC.  He is of Hispanic background (yeah, that too is significant) so let’s call him Nigel.  He has no accent whatsoever and I’m sure he was born in the USA.  But he does look somewhat Hispanic and that’s what is key here.  Finally, in a more minor role, is Nigel’s girlfriend, whose ethnic background is completely irrelevant and for no reason at all other than I need a name, let’s call her Eva.

I’m gonna start with Betsy, because a beautiful blonde with large breasts is always a good place to start, don’t you think?  Betsy worked at LC2.  All that stands for is “Locals Casinos 2” because when I started the blog, I was under the (mistaken) impression that I would be telling a lot of anecdotes from two Locals casinos.  For a story that took place at LC1, see here.  The last mention of LC2 was here.  Now, unlike a lot of locals casinos, LC2 made a decision, when they opened, to not hire pretty girls to serve the cocktails.  No, they decided to hire super models.

Seriously, the girls who serve drinks at this casino are stunning.  It is certain unlike any of other locals casinos in town, where the girls range from good looking to…well, not good looking.  Some of the places have waitresses who were hired during the Johnson administration—the Andrew Johnson administration.

But not this place.  These girls are all knock-outs.  And there is one rather interesting characteristic that almost all of the cocktail waitresses share.  They have large breasts. (I realize that may two interesting characteristics, depending on how you count) I don’t just mean your average, garden-variety (hmm, what garden do you hang out in?) large breasts.  I mean really large breasts.  At least 90% of the girls serving drinks there would not fit into a double-D cup, it would be way too small for them.

You guys think I’m obsessed with bosoms?  Hey, I’ve got nothing on the guy who does the hiring for this place.  He makes me look like a leg man.  By the way, they have really nice legs, too.  Anyway, back when this story took place, they had a girl working the poker room sometimes during the day who was the exception to the rule.  She was incredibly beautiful, to be sure, but she was not especially well-endowed.  There was nothing wrong with her breasts, they were just normal.  And thus she stuck out like a sore thumb in this place.

I swear, it was as if some anti-discrimination lawyer told them they had to hire one girl who only filled a B-cup or they’d get sued by the Society to Prevent Cruelty to Women with Modest Sized Breasts.  But believe me, this gal had such a beautiful face, everyone was happy to see her.

As should be needless to say, the outfits these girls wear are designed to show off their more than obvious assets.  Low cut tops revealing plenty, and I mean plenty, of cleavage.  Of course the skirts were very short for the leg men.

Which gets us to Betsy.  Betsy worked the poker room during the swing shift. When I first started going to LC2, the poker room was so busy during this shift, they had 3 waitresses covering it.  One was black, Betsy was white, with blonde hair, and one was, well, “exotic”.  Maybe Middle Eastern?  Hispanic?  Dark hair, anyway.  Not sure.  But pretty much whatever your type, they had you covered. 

Unless your type was flat-chested girls, that is.  These were anything but.  Now, the other two girls were obviously store-bought.  I mean really obvious.  But Betsy, not so much.  Oh, I don’t doubt that she had been to a plastic surgeon (likely a Jewish one, just to get you started for the political incorrectness to come), but it was much less obvious.  There were times when you could plausibly consider that she might be totally real on top.  At least I convinced myself of that.  At least, if she did indeed have implants, she got a much a better looking boob-job than most girls do. 

But the thing about Betsy was, she was just stunningly, staggeringly, exceptionally beautiful.  I mean, she didn’t need any breasts at all to turn heads with that gorgeous face of hers.  Really, to call this lady hot, to call her a knock-out, to call her a bombshell was to practically insult her.  Her face was so lovely, that whenever I looked at it, I totally forgot about her tits.

Ok, no one is going to believe that.  But she was really dazzling, you can believe that. 

There’s one other thing you should know about Betsy.  She was the best cocktail waitress I’ve ever encountered.  Seriously.  And I’m not saying that because I was mesmerized by her beauty.  She was just incredible good.  She served three drinks to you for every one that any ordinary waitress would serve.  She really covered that room.  And she remembered everyone’s order instantly.  I had to tell her the very first time I wanted a Diet Coke.  After that, whenever she saw me, even if she hadn’t seen me for a long time, she’d take one look at me and say, “Diet Coke?”  Sometimes she’d see me enter the room as she was heading to the bar and then bring me a Diet Coke I hadn’t even yet ordered.

So for awhile, I played a lot of poker in this room.  It was a great place to play 2/4, which was my game back then.  They always had a lot of promotions going on, and the mostly regulars that played there were friendly and not quite as nitty as you might expect.  The dealers were good and also very friendly.

And did I mention the cocktail waitresses?  I believe I did.  Did the fact that the waitresses were all so hot have anything to do with my playing there a lot?  Well, to continue this ethnic theme, it didn’t hurt. 

Now of course, I told my pals back home, Woody & LM, about the place, and specifically about Betsy.  I have to admit, Betsy just blew me away (I do so wish I didn’t have to add the “away” to that).  Upon hearing how stunning the waitresses were, and how gorgeous Betsy was, and how large the breasts were, LM ruled that Woody, her husband, would never be allowed to set foot in the place.  And so far, he has not.  But there was one night when LM was there with me, without him, and she caught a quick glance at Betsy, and agreed she was in a class by herself. 

We started do running gags about milk, because of all the large mammary glands on display.  So whenever I got to LC2, I would text LM that I was in “the land of milk and poker.”  For my birthday, she got me a “Got Milk” t-shirt just to wear in the room.  I did, and amazingly, no one seemed to get the joke.  I would sometimes text her from there that I suddenly had an overwhelming craving for a milkshake.

Ok, enough about tits.  We’ll get back to them, trust me.  So just keep Betsy in the back of your mind.  Let’s move on to Nigel.  As I said, Nigel worked at BSC when I started becoming a regular there.  For awhile, he didn’t stand out to me, but then there were two incidents when we started connecting.  One was when he was actually playing at a 2/4 game there, and was sitting next to Ginger, who was also playing.  I remember having a good time, but the only specific thing I can recall about the session was Ginger’s admission that she liked being straddled.  Of course she was talking about poker.  Or was she?

But another time, Nigel came to the table to deal and immediately got into a long, rather private conversation with a girl who I had been playing with at the table for a while.  It became obvious fairly quickly that she was Nigel’s girlfriend, who we are calling Eva.  Nigel seemed to be having some family crisis with a family member and was telling Eva to call said family member for him, something that he couldn’t do as he was dealing.  Crisis averted, he began to tell the table, and I believe me specifically, since I was sitting right next to him, kind of his life story, what led up to this crisis, how he got to Vegas, how….well, I can’t say any more for obvious reasons.  It was interesting to me, but not really blog worthy anyway.  It was a nice 30 minutes, once he resolved the family issue.

And then….I didn’t see Nigel for awhile.  For a good, long while.  I wasn’t quite yet comfortable with the other dealers to ask about him, and so I almost forgot about him.  If I did think about him, I assumed he moved on to greener pastures.

And then one day I look up and see that the next dealer who was gonna push in was Nigel himself.  Now here’s the odd thing.  At the moment I spotted him, I would have bet that he wouldn’t even remember me, or if he did, it would just be as some guy he recognized from having played in the room.

That’s a bet I would have lost.  As I spotted him, he spotted me and said hello.  Although he didn’t say my name, it was clear that he knew me and also that he was happy to see me.  I asked him where’d he been—had I just been missing him?  Nope, he told me had been out for awhile, and again, to try to protect his identity, I won’t go into details.  Let’s just say he had some bad luck that kept him from working the room for quite a few months.

He began to tell me the details of why he had been out, a sad tale indeed.  But then he told me some good things that were going on with.  Some of this had to do with his girlfriend, Eva.  He mentioned her by name (she wasn’t there that night) and said, “You remember her, don’t you?  I know you met her.”  Wow, that one session had made a pretty big impression on him.  He really did remember me.  It made me feel good.  The funny thing was that he started telling me all this while he was standing up, waiting to push in, and then continued during his down.  And I was sitting opposite the dealer so this information was shared with everyone at the table, tho no one else seemed to be paying attention.

Anyway, now that Nigel was back in the swing of things, I saw him again and again at BSC and we caught up on things. 

Fast forward to one weekend day when I found myself back at the “land of milk and poker.” LC2 had some kind of special promotion going on.  I was playing at one of the several 2/4 games when somebody kind of slapped me on the shoulder from behind and told me not look at the cards that way, or some such.  I turned around and it was Nigel.  He was sitting behind Eva, watching her play.

I said hi and Eva started to berate him for hassling another player that way.  “No, look who it is, it’s Robert.  You don’t think I’d do that to a stranger, do you?”  Yeah, this time he remembered my name.  And then asked me if I remembered Eva and of course I did.  I said hi and we chatted a bit and I got back to my separate game.  Turns out that Nigel lives near LC2 and they play there quite a bit, and also, he likes the sports book there (or maybe he uses it because it’s so convenient to where he lives).  This would not be the last time I run into Nigel—or Eva—at LC2.

But before I ran into Nigel at LC2 again, I kept running into him at BSC.  The next time I saw him there, we discussed LC2.  We discussed the poker room there, we discussed our running into each other there—and we discussed the thing about LC2 that every single red-blooded male would notice about the place:  The fact that the waitresses were all smoking hot.

Yes we did discuss that.  And I know this will shock the ladies out there, because I know you are all under the impression that when guys get together we only discuss sports, poker, current events, political and social problems, classical music, things like that.  But believe it or not, we even discussed how well-endowed the waitresses at LC2 all seemed to be.  Yeah, we both had noticed that and we discussed that.

And of course, we discussed Betsy.  We agreed that she was ridiculously hot.  But that only proved we both had eyes.  And so it happened that every time I saw Nigel at BSC, we discussed LC2 and in particular Betsy.  And of course we would make jokes about the cup size requirements for working as a waitress in this place.  Boys will be boys.

(OK that's the end of part 1.  Part 2 is here.  Followed by Part 3, which is here.)