"Where Are You From?"

This took place quite a few months ago. There was some drama that was quite a bit more interesting than the poker was for me.  In fact, I will spare you all the “boring hand histories.”  Early in the session I flopped a set of 4’s, didn’t get paid for it, and it was downhill from there.

The drama reminded of an incident that I had been involved in personally over a year earlier.  You can read about it here.  In short, I was in bad mood from an incident at another table, and then, at the new table, ran into an absolute maniac who raised big every single time. He was also a non-stop talker and he just infuriated me.  So when I checked a flop, and he didn’t see me check, he decided to ask me, totally out of the blue, with the action on him, “What’s your nationality?”  I was beyond infuriated (read the old post to get the full flavor).

On this night, I originally was seated in the perfect seat at the perfect table to enjoy the Slut Parade.  But before the provocatively dressed young ladies showed up, our table broke and I was stuck at a table in the back of the room, a seat with no view.  It’s amazing I didn’t blow up just for that, but in fact, the drama this night didn’t involve me.

When I got to the table, I had just won a small pot at the previous table (the last hand before they broke it) and the seat I took was between the blinds, so I had to wait a couple of hands to play.  Thus I had my face buried in my phone making notes on the previous hand and also putting down an accurate count of the chips I took to the new table.  Again, as it turned out, this information is not worth relating to you now.   

There was a dealer change so the old dealer had put a “reserved” button in front of me, so I wouldn’t be charged for a missed blind when I was able to take a hand.

Meanwhile, there was a guy at the other side of table who “welcomed” me to the table.  “You don’t know what you’re in for.  I talk a lot.  One guy already left because I talk too much.”  Thanks for the warning, bub.  But I was busy with my notes and ignored him. That annoyed him.  “What, you’re not going to participate?  You’re just going to bury you face in the phone and ignore us?”

I didn’t respond immediately, but in a moment or two, I received my first hand at the table.  I still had the “reserved” button, which I picked up and returned to the dealer..  But not before I waived it in front of me and said to the loudmouth guy, “You see, I had to be quiet because I had the ‘reserved’ button. I had to act reserved.”  That got a good laugh, even from Loudmouth.

The loudmouth was from Chicago, a fact he repeated at least three dozen times.  By the time his night was over, I think he had repeated everything at least three dozen times.  He was one of those guys.

The player he got into it with was a guy who looked like he might have been Asian, but I wasn’t sure.  He never spoke a word at the table to any of us, but every once in awhile his buddy came over and they would talk to each other in a foreign language.  But just as I couldn’t be sure of the guy’s national origin, I couldn’t be sure what language they were speaking.  He never gave any indication that he didn’t understand English, but I never heard him speak a word of it.  I was pretty sure he didn’t live in the U.S. and was visiting from another country.

The loudmouth couldn’t tell where the guy was from either.  And it drove him crazy.  He kept asking the guy where he was from and the guy just shrugged, or stared off into space.  This happened between hands or even during hands.  I assume the guy understood the question and chose not to answer, for whatever reason. If he figured out that it was putting the loudmouth on tilt, he was pretty dead on.

The mysterious man had an interesting playing style.  He played generally very nitty, but every now and then he’d make a really big bet, or a three-bet.  He kept us off-balance.

Loudmouth was already frustrated with the guy when the two of them were in a hand together and the mysterious man put out a huge bet.  I didn’t note the details but it was a big bet and Loudmouth clearly had a good hand. He went in the tank forever.  He was in agony.  So he asked the guy, “Will you show if I fold?”  The guy said nothing.  The loudmouth was infuriated that he wouldn’t commit to showing.  Finally the loudmouth folded.  As the pot was pushed to him, the mysterious man hesitated and then showed his cards.  It was a total bluff.  He had nothing, he never even had a decent draw.  It was garbage the whole way.  I wasn’t sure, but I kind of think that the loudmouth threw up a little in his mouth.  He was really pissed.

On the very next hand, I raised, the mysterious man three-bet, and the loudmouth said, “My fault, I just gave him the confidence to do that.”  I don’t believe that, but whatever.

Loudmouth would only shut up long enough to text on his phone.  Sometimes, when he was blabbering, he was making comments about the other players.  Just mild stuff, I don’t think it was too bad.  I didn’t hear anything about me.  He was saying some things about the mysterious man.  I didn’t write any of it down so I obviously didn’t think any of it was beyond the pale.

Finally he got into another big hand with the mysterious guy.  And they got it all in, and it turned out that loudmouth had two pair but the mysterious guy had flopped a set of Queens.  Loudmouth was now out of chips. 

He was of course really unhappy.  And so he shouted over to the guy, “Now will you tell me where you’re from, you god-damn mother-f***er?”  Again the guy said nothing, just kept stacking his chips.  But the dealer said, “That’s it, you have to leave.  You’re done.”

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dealer kick a player out before.  As it happened, the shift manager was coming over to the table anyway for another reason, and the dealer explained what happened.  But it didn’t matter.  Loudmouth didn’t argue.  He was already on his way out.  The shift boss just kept on her eye on him to make sure he left the poker room, which he did.

I guess it was only a matter of time before his big, loud mouth would get him in trouble.  Moral of the story:  If someone doesn’t want to tell you where they’re from, don’t press it.

I’ll close this post out with some big boobs.  Because, why the hell not?

What, you say those boobs aren’t big enough for you?

Well, here’s a bigger boob.

Of course, I’m referring to the guy wearing the shirt.  Who would wear a shirt like that? 

Hmm…..maybe there is actually a market for a shirt like this?  Perhaps I should look into marketing them?