I Don't Work Here, Honestly, I Don't

Sometimes I play so much at BSC when I’m in Vegas that it seems like I work there.  Sometimes the dealers even treat me that way.

A few months back, I was playing at my then usual 2/4 game, and I felt a tap on my shoulder and I heard Mike say—to me— "Last hand." This is what dealers say when they are about to replace another dealer at a game.  The tapping on the shoulder is also part of it.  This process is called the "push."  Dealer A is pushing dealer B. Dealer A becomes the new dealer at the table and Dealer B either is on break or moves on to his next table.

I laughed and said, "What, you're pushing me?"  He said "Yeah, why not?  I'll take your seat and play and you can deal for me.  Anything I win, I'll split with you."  I said, "Oh, you want to play with my money???"  He said, "Why not....you'll make money dealing!"  I laughed and said, "yeah, right."  Mike never made it over to deal at my game.

Later that night when Monte, another one of my dealer buddies (like Mike) came to push the dealer, he told the dealer he was replacing that he was done with his shift for the night.  Monte told him,  "You're done.  You're out of here.  Go home."  As the dealer left, Monte then turned to me and said, "You heard me....You're done, you're out of here, go home."  I laughed and said, "Oh wow, you're cutting me off?"  Then I told him the story about Mike and he cracked up.

Now, on my last trip my knowledge of the dealers sort of intimidated another player.  I had just taken a seat at 1/2 game and said hello to Rachael, the dealer, still another one of my dealer pals.  I gave the chip runner what I thought was $200, but I had just one $100 bill and the rest were in twenties.  When the chip runner came back, she gave me $220.  I questioned this, and and asked Rachael if she remembered whether the chip runner said "$200 behind" or "$220 behind"?  She had no idea.  I chuckled because the dealer is really supposed to know that.  I figured out that I must have given the chip runner an extra $20 and returned the extra chips, saying I only wanted $200 (not that it makes much difference).

Since Rachael is a pal, I decided to tease her just a bit about not knowing how much I gave the chip runner.  Nothing major, just "Isn't it your job to know how much is behind?"  But she was kind of preoccupied and I guess didn't realize I was just having fun with her, so she got a tad bit defensive.  The last thing I wanted to do was piss her off, so I immediately said, "It's ok, I was just having some fun.  Besides, I know it's your Monday right?  So you're forgiven."

You see I knew Rachael's schedule and knew that she had been off the past two days.  I also knew that she must have just started her shift within the past hour or two.  And that's kind of the point, that I know BSC so well I even know the schedules of many (but not all) of the dealers there.  Rachael acknowledged I was correct and then laughed and we moved on.  No harm done.

But this conversation hadn't gone unnoticed by a female player at the game, who had been there for hours.  She said, "Wow.  You know the schedules of the dealers.  I think I'm a little intimidated by that."  I just laughed but didn't really respond.  Eventually, I moved next to this woman and we chatted amiably throughout the game.

Eventually Brent came to deal.  Brent is all over this blog, the last time I talked about him was in the post about protecting your hand, here, which has become to date the single most popular post on this blog (yes, even surpassing the debut of Prudence, sorry Prudence).  If there's one thing I know, it's Brent's schedule.  So after a brief restroom break, as I sat down to my seat and saw that the woman I had been chatting with wasn't in the hand, I said to her, "Now this guy here (pointing to Brent), his days offs are Mondays and Tuesdays."***  Brent of course said that's right and the girl was indeed impressed.  By this time though she had seen me play for awhile so she knew she had no reason to feel intimidated by my play.  Actually, Brent and I have done this same bit with other players over the past few months.

But when Brent was about to be replaced 15 minutes later by a female dealer, oh, let's call her Nancy, he threw me a curve.  He looked straight at me, pointed behind me to Nancy and said, "Nancy.  Days off?"

I wasn't prepared for that.  I didn't know her days off cold.  I had a feel for one of them, but wasn't sure if the other day off was the day before or the day after the one I had in mind.  So I kinda guessed.  "Thursday and Friday?"***  Yeah, there was a question mark in my delivery.

Brent said, "That's right!"  Of course, the girl was impressed, and frankly, so was I.

So I said, "Damn, I'm better than I thought!"

But I don't work at BSC, I really don't.

***--In an absurdly, needlessly paranoid effort to protect identities, yes, I actually have given false days off to Brent and Nancy.  I know, I'm crazy.

Subway From Hell

This post is inspired, as it were, from a recent post on ManInBlack’s blog here. ManInBlack recently had an unpleasant experience, to say the least, at the McDonald’s located at The D Las Vegas, formerly Fitzgerald’s, in downtown Vegas.  Basically they refused to give him a soda refill that he was entitled to and it caused quite a fuss.  Go over to his blog and check it out for yourself, it’s a very interesting tale.

Reading it reminded me of a problem I encountered at a local Subway restaurant some time back, probably around 5 years ago, and I thought it might be worth blogging about.  Now, this will be a bit of departure from my usual blog posts, because up until now I’ve limited my content to stories either about poker or Vegas or both.  This tale is about neither, but I feel ok about blogging it for two reasons.

One, although it didn’t take place in Vegas, it did take place at the very beginning of a trip to Vegas, at the last stop I made in L.A. before getting on the freeway to head to Vegas.  So it is Vegas-adjacent.  And two, it’s my blog, and that means, for the time being at least, that means I can put anything on it I want..

So on this day, I left work early, around noon, because I had taken two and half days off from work for a Vegas visit—leaving Wednesday, mid-day, returning to L.A. on Sunday.  Before heading to work that morning, I loaded up the car so I could leave from the office. The car was gassed and I decided I would hit the Subway near my office to grab a sandwich to eat on the road as I headed up to Vegas.

So I drove the few blocks from my office to the nearest Subway and ordered my sandwich.  I’d gotten sandwiches from this particular location numerous times and never encountered any problem.  Now, as a point of information, when it comes to condiments and toppings, I am a “all or nothing” guy.  You will never hear me say, “a little bit of mustard” or “a little bit of onions” or whatever.  If I want something on my sandwich (or hot dog, or burger), I want a lot of it.  Otherwise, why bother?  So with a burger, you will see me put a lot of ketchup on it, and unless it’s a place that has its own topping bar, I will never get enough pickles and onions to satisfy me.

So I asked for my tuna sandwich to be “built” as I always did, with “a lot of pickles, a lot of onions, and a lot of green peppers.”  That’s it.  No lettuce, no tomatoes, no cheese, nothing else.  Typically when I do this, I never get what I deem to be “a lot” on the first try, I almost always have to tell them “more please” and they add more.  Sometimes I have to tell them two times for each topping.  But in the end, I have always gotten the sandwich the way I want it.

This time, the young girl put the first topping on, let’s say it was the pickles, and it was not only not “a lot”, it was not even “a little.”  Seriously, if I had asked for a little I think I would have told her, “well, I didn’t mean that little.”  So I asked for more, and she put a couple more pickles on and I swear, having seen sandwiches for other people made, it was less than they would put on for a person who just said “pickles” and not “a lot of pickles” as I had.  So for the second time, I said, “more please….I did say ‘a lot.’” 

The young lady advised me that this was the most they could put on, unless I wanted to pay extra.  I was rather shocked.  I’d never heard this before.  I pointed out that, although it shouldn’t matter, I was not getting cheese on the sandwich, but I was paying for it, and that there’s no way they could put enough pickles, onions and peppers on the sandwich to compensate for the price of the cheese that I was saving them.  She said sorry, that was it.

Wow.  I seriously considering leaving right then, but I asked to speak to the manager instead. It turns out that the woman nearby who had been observing this was the manager, and she said that no, I couldn’t have any more pickles on the sandwich unless I paid extra.  Both she and the sandwich maker were late teens, early 20’s at the most.  I said that this was absurd.  But she just shrugged her shoulders.  I said I’d never had a problem before at any other Subway store, including this one.  She just shrugged again.

I wanted to leave and go to the next Subway up the street, but I was kind of in a hurry to get to Vegas, and didn’t want to waste the time to do that, so I stayed and said something to the effect that I wanted a lot of onions and peppers too, and I kept begging them for more, and they basically cut me off at what would be a less than normal amount.  I was really pissed off, but I paid for the damn sandwich and got in my car and tried to focus on how much fun I was gonna start having in 4-1/2 hours when I arrived in Vegas. 

I must admit I had a hard time letting it go, it was so moronic.  I ate the sandwich and it was the worst Subway sandwich I’d ever eaten.  Now, whether it was due to a lack of the condiments I wanted or just because the whole incident had left a bad taste in my mouth, I dunno.  But I was fuming about it for at least half of my drive up to Vegas.

I finally got over it by realizing what I should have done when I realized they weren’t going to make the sandwich the way I wanted it.  I should have said, “You know what, I changed my mind, I do want cheese.”  After adding the cheese, I would have pointed to every single topping they had, and said, “Yeah, I want that.”  “What is that?” “Jalapenos” “Oh I want those too.”  “Let’s see, how many different kinds of mustard do you have? I want some of each.”  And mayonnaise….I want both regular and lite.”  “Oh, and definitely oil and vinegar, and don’t forget the salt and pepper.”

Then when they had put every single item they could possibly put on the sandwich, I should have said to them, “That’s great.  I hope you enjoy your sandwich” and raced out of there, gotten into my car and driven to a freaking McDonalds or Burger King for my lunch.  If I had actually thought of that at the time, I don’t think I would have done that, but I tell you, I wouldn’t have felt the least bit guilty if I had for the way they treated me.

When I got back to town, I got on the Subway website and filed a customer service complaint with their corporate office.  I must say, I was not happy with the way they handled it.  I never heard back from corporate.  Instead, I got an email a few weeks later from the guy who supposedly owned that particular franchise location.  He apologized and more or less conceded I was right, but he based his agreement with me on the fact that I hadn’t ordered cheese.  I had put that in as an afterthought, the cheese really shouldn’t have mattered.  Further, he said nothing about talking to his employees about their policies or their lack of customer service skills.  All he offered me aside from the apology was a free sandwich, but he gave me no instruction as to how I would collect.  No coupon was included, he didn’t even say to bring a printed copy of the email.  I guess I would have to keep going back there until I happened to find him actually there?  I dunno. 

Besides, I didn’t relish the thought of dealing with either of the two people who were so unreasonably with me, and I especially didn’t want them to have anything to do with food I might eat, especially if they were reprimanded over my complaint. So instead of trying to claim a free sandwich, I never went back to that particular Subway every again. And needless to say, although I’ve sometimes had to ask a few times, I’ve never again had any problem getting a Subway sandwich the way I want it.  

Rita's Rack

The word "rack" has multiple meanings in a Vegas casino.  It can refer to the plastic, portable tray that holds 100 chips so that they can be carried easily from the table to the cashier and vice versa.  The bigger tray that is built into the poker table that holds chips and cash is also called a rack.  .

And you may also be familiar with the use of the word "rack" as a slang term for a woman's breasts.

This has lead to the occasional use of the double-entendre.  One time, a very heavy set female poker deal with a very large chest made a slight error at a game, quickly corrected, and apologized by saying, "Sorry, I couldn't see over my large rack."  She left that standing for a couple of seconds and then said, "I mean the rack of chips in front of me, of course" and pointed to the metal rack.  Of course, that's not at all what she meant.

Another time at a poker room where the person who calls you for your seat also sells you the chips—and doesn’t wear a uniform—a very attractive young woman with a low cut top was working one day and I placed a $100 bill in front of her for the 2/4 game I was just called to. Looking at the bill, she bent over to reach for chips, giving me a rather pleasant view. “You want a rack? (meaning a full rack of 100 one dollar chips).  It took every ounce of self-restraint I had to avoid saying, “Yes, yours will do quite nicely, thank you” and instead I just said “yes.”

So a couple of months ago, when I was still playing mostly 2/4, Rita was dealing at my game. Rita is the dealer who has twice referred to me as her "future ex-husband." (see here) and is a grandmother.

Jane is a floor person.  She is also a grandmother.  So she comes over to our game with a clipboard and said, "Rita, how's your rack?"  Just like that.  Now there were two female players at this game, the rest were guys.  Most of the guys giggled at this.  The gals didn't.  I should mention that the two female players both had notable racks themselves.  Next to Rita was a young gal with a fairly big chest, wearing something low cut that showed a lot of cleavage. Never saw this gal before, but the other woman was a BSC 2/4 regular that I was somewhat friendly with.  Although she wasn’t wearing anything to show it on this night, I knew from prior times she has a considerable chest herself.  

BTW, the reason Jane was asking Rita about "her rack" was that periodically, they do a "rack count" or a "rack check" to confirm that there is the right amount of cash and chips in the rack at each poker table.  This was one such time. Jane was asking Rita to sign off on the count at this table being correct.

As the guys giggled, Rita, did a bit of a take and then pointed down her dealer's shirt. "My rack? How's my rack?  My rack is fine, thank you.  It's just fine."  Everyone cracked up.  The two gals at the table were laughing too (I made a point of seeing how they were reacting).  Jane laughed a bit too but was mostly business.  I suspect that the two of them had done this routine before but I'd never seen it.  But while we were all laughing at this, the player next to Rita, who seemed like a nice enough guy all night, said, a couple of times., "Rita has a great rack." Interesting, I thought.  I was surprised a guy would say something like that, even though it was clear that Rita herself was making fun of the double-entendre.  I mean, it's kind of low class for a guy to say. And I would never do it....but then, it might have been easier for him, he was probably there for just the night, no one there would ever see him again.  I wouldn't risk saying something tacky and then have to go back to that room with Rita or Jane now thinking I was some kind of sleazeball.  So I gotta hope they never read my blog!

Its not my style anyway, but now I'm always on guard for how I am perceived there.  This guy didn't have that worry....plus he was drinking.  Might have loosened him up.  The other thing I was thinking.....as long as the women themselves were doing all the jokes about their racks, why ruin it by having a male butt in?  No male participation was necessary.

When Jane left after Rita signed the clipboard, Rita kept commenting on what Jane had said. "Imagine getting asked in public how my rack is?"  Again, everyone, including the chicks, enjoyed this.  "Well at least it was a woman asking me.  Imagine if it was a male floor person asking about my rack?"  I did interject at this point...."Yeah, it would be considered sexual harassment."  Rita kept going on...."Imagine a man going through the room asking all the lady dealers how their racks were!"?  And finally...."Well, at least there's nothing wrong with my rack."  The sleazy guy agreed with this much too enthusiastically, in my opinion.

Anyway, the best part for me was how much the two female players seemed to be enjoying all the rack jokes.  I guess it helped that it was another woman making them....and it wasn't their own racks that were being joked about.

And by the way....no racks were harmed in the telling of this story.