Cleavage Redhead

Question of the day:  If a person peers over your shoulder and reads something you wrote that was not meant for her eyes—or anyone else’s eyes, for that matter—and is offended by what you wrote about her, is it your fault, or hers?

As you know, I take notes during my poker sessions so I can reasonably accurately report on the more interesting hands I am involved in.  When I started doing this, I was a total luddite and took these notes in a small notebook that fits in my shirt pocket.  For months (years?) people have been suggesting that it would be more efficient and more practical to use my smart phone to take these notes. I resisted because a) I was used to doing it the old-fashioned way and rather set in my ways, and b) I have trouble entering text fast and accurately with the virtual keyboard that smart phones have.  I knew whenever I tried this, it always took longer than just scribbling the notes with a pen.  And that meant I was even more distracted from the game doing it that way than by hand.

But the appeal of doing it on my phone has become more and more obvious to me lately.  For one thing, my handwriting is really bad, even when I am not rushing.  Often I would read my notes the next day and have no idea WTF I wrote!  So that was a problem.  Another problem:  it really attracts attention writing notes at the poker table, and I was drawing undue attention to myself by doing it.  I was getting tired of having to answer the question, “What are your writing?  Are you taking notes on the game?  Are you taking notes on me?”  Note: my standard answer was that I was working on my grocery list.  Or that I was working on a novel.  No way would I ever admit that I was taking notes for a future blog post.

But tapping into a phone attracts no attention whatsoever because pretty much everyone at the table is doing it.  It’s pretty normal these days.  They assume I’m texting someone about dinner plans.  Or perhaps trying to book a booty call on Tinder. 

I should mention that the typed notes aren’t always that much easier to decipher the next day, thanks mostly to auto-correct.  I usually rush thru them and don’t take the time to see if auto-correct has made my notes totally incoherent.  The weirdest thing that auto-correct does is arbitrarily change numbers.  I don’t get it.  Why does it think that 100 is what I meant when I typed 10?  At least I know I didn’t open raise to $100 with King-10 suited.  But sometimes the numbers are changed in stranger ways than that, like 18 becomes 313 or something.

Anyway, so far this trip, I’ve actually been exclusively using the phone to take notes, and am getting more and more comfortable with it. 

There is a problem doing it this way, however.  The fact that the notes are easier for me to read means that the notes are easier for someone else to read.  In fact, I already mentioned this in a previous post, when somebody sitting next me did read something I typed into my phone, and actually assumed I was texting someone reports of the salacious dialog that was taking place at the table (see here).  If only I remembered that story—and acted on it—on the night a few weeks back that this story took place.

I was minding my own business, playing some 1/2 at BSC when an attention-getting woman took the seat immediate to my right.  I guess she was in her 20’s and she had really unnatural looking red hair.  Actually, in thinking about it the next day, it was more magenta than red.  But at the time I was thinking she was a redhead, because as far as I know, there’s no such thing as a magenta-head.

OK, there was one other thing about her that was attention-getting.  Maybe two other things.  The girl was wearing a loose, low-cut top that revealed a lot of cleavage.  And truth be told, she had a lot of cleavage to reveal.  And I’ll say this for her… there was enough revealed to lead me to think that unlike her hair color, her chest was most likely a gift from mother nature. Another clue to this was that the girl was, ummm, not at all skinny.

She also wasn’t at all talkative.  Until the moment I’m about to describe, she didn’t say a word the entire time she was there.  I don’t think she smiled or looked at all like she might be enjoying herself—but in that way, she wasn’t different from any number of male poker players her age.

Anyway, at one point a very nice hand went my way.  The actual poker from this session will be reported in some future post, no time for that now.  But the important thing to know is that on the hand in question, the girl to my right started things off by raising preflop (note: I didn’t win most of the money from her, there was a guy at that the table who was my main benefactor in this hand, the girl just started the action). 

When the hand was over and I had dragged in a rather nice pot, it was time for me to type the notes into my smart phone. I had taken a few notes about previous hands, but this was the first decent pot I’d won, and also the first time I had reason to mention the redhead in my notes.

So I started my note—meant only for my eyes, so that, if this session turned out to be worthy of a blog post, I’d have the details right—by typing, “Cleavage redhead raised to $8….”  I continued the note with the rest of the hand, or at least some of it before I had to put the phone down to play another hand before I finished the note.

I could have just referred to her as “girl” or “lady” I suppose (“player on my immediate right” takes too long to type), but as it happened, there was another female at this table, a rather nondescript middle-aged woman immediately to my left (actually, she reminded me of someone I went to high school with, but that’s not really relevant).  So I had to distinguish this girl from the other woman at the table.  So it was “cleavage redhead.” I should point out that the "predictive text" feature on my phone's virtual keyboard--for reasons I can't even begin to figure out--always seems to predict "cleavage" whenever I begin a word with "cl."  So it's real easy for me to use the word "cleavage" on my phone.

In retrospect, I’m real glad I didn’t go with the other option I was considering for identifying her, which was, I must confess, “Big tits.”

Anyway, as soon as we were both done with the current hand, and before I could pick up my phone to finish my note about the big hand, she finally opened her mouth and spoke, and directly to me.  She said, “"Could you please not take notes on everything I do?  I can see everything you're writing."

Oh shit.

I was mortified. 

All I could think of at that moment was that I had referred to her as “cleavage redhead” and I was 100% certain that’s what she was referring to and that was what had ticked her off.

I didn’t know what to do, or what to say.  At least I hadn’t referred to her as “Big tits.”  So there was that.

I put my phone away and didn’t say a word.  It took me a few seconds to realize that neither one of us was going to be comfortable there for the rest of the night.  And no way could I continue taking my notes as long as we were at the table together.  I didn’t think going back to my hand-written notes in my notebook would fool her.  And honestly, there’s no way I want to be prevented from taking notes, I have a blog to write and cannot depend on remembering details the next day.

I felt I had no choice but to request a table change.  So I got up and asked for one.  Fortunately it didn’t take too long for me to be called to a different table.  The few minutes I spent back at the table sitting next to her were among the most awkward of my life.

So I heard my name called to a new table and I racked up my chips.  As I was about to depart, I leaned and whispered to the girl, “I apologize.”  She grunted something unintelligible.

I was rather bummed out about the forced move—I thought the table I had left was a pretty good table.  The guy who had paid me off on the hand that started the whole kerfuffle was still there and I thought quite capable of paying me off some more.  So that sucked.

I stewed for a while and had trouble concentrating on the new table.  I cursed my decision to use the “cleavage” descriptor in my notes.

But the more I started thinking about it, the more I wondered if I was overreacting.  I mean, first of all, I have every right to take notes at the poker table, right?  A lot of poker coaches tell their students to take notes on big hands to study later, away from the table.  I could have just been doing that (in fact, I do take notes on hands or from sessions that won’t make it into the blog just so I can possibly learn something from them).  And who is she to tell me I couldn’t do that?

You see, if only I had not used put the adjective ‘cleavage” (which of course is not actually an adjective but I used it as such—this is your grammar lesson for the day) in front of “redhead,” I would be totally guilt free.  She couldn’t complain about being referred to as a redhead.  I would have been well within my rights to respond to her request with a retort such as, “I’m sorry, but I like to take notes on my hands to help me improve.  I’m doing nothing wrong. If it bothers you that I’m taking notes, I suggest you request a table change.”

I suppose I could have said that anyway, but when she first spoke to me, all I was thinking about was the rude way I had referred to her in my notes.

In my notes.  My notes.  Notes meant for no one else’s eyes but my own.  Was it my fault that I was sloppy and let someone see what I was typing (yes, but mostly because I wouldn’t want someone to read what hand I had played if it wasn’t tabled), or was it her fault for reading notes that weren’t meant for her to ever see?

I mean, if you read something that wasn’t meant to be seen by you, isn’t that the chance you take?  It’s like the downside of being able to read minds that no one ever thinks about.  Sure it would be great—especially at the poker table—but you’d always “hear” some pretty nasty thoughts about yourself from the people around you, and would you really want that?  If she could have read minds, I’m sure she’d hear a lot of nasty comments about how ridiculous her magenta hair looked. 

The more I thought about it, the more I felt like the aggrieved party, and what the hell was I apologizing for?  She sticks her nose in my notes, and doesn’t like what she reads, that’s her fault, not mine.  Am I right?

It's just that, in my mind, she had seen the word "cleavage" and probably jumped to the conclusion that I was writing other salacious comments about her.  Of course, it's not like what I did write was so bad.  She couldn't deny she was showing cleavage.  I'm sure that was pretty obvious to her when she selected that she was wearing.  I dare say it might have been an intentional attempt to work the Jennifer Tilly effect on the guys at the table. 

It's just that it was tacky that I had reduced her to just her physical appearance/attributes.  But again, that was just for my own use.  I suppose if she had never said anything, if she had never seen my words, I probably would have figured out a way to mention that this anonymous girl was wearing an attention-getting top in addition to the attention-getting hair when I blogged about the session. But she would have been long gone by then and there would be almost no chance she'd ever see it.

Anyway, from now on, I’ll try to be more careful about keeping prying eyes away from my typed notes.  And I’ll avoid descriptions that might offend those prying eyes.  Not that I should have to.

The punch line is that it turned out to be a good table change for me, I did even better at the new table than I was doing sitting next to Cleavage Redhead (again, details in a future post).  So I guess I should be grateful to her and her prying eyes.