I love the Irish. They are never afraid to speak their mind, tell it like it is. I got a little of that from my mother.
It was a regular weekday afternoon, in my old Leeds casino. I had not been dealing Blackjack very long, perhaps six months. My supervisor and friend Linda stood by my side. An Irish gentleman, new to casinos, came to sit at the table. It was evident that he had never played the game before. About three hands in, he suddenly rose from his seat, clearly agitated.
“This game’s f**king fixed!” He yelled, at the top of his voice in a strong Belfast brogue.
I was a mere twenty one years old. I froze on the spot, and raised my hands in the air in total submission. I had no clue what he was talking about. I hadn’t even got to his hand yet. The player on the second box had just drawn a card.
“You’re a bunch o’ tieves!” He was red in the face with anger. “A bunch o’ f**king tieves!”
“Sir, what’s the matter?” Linda asked him, coolly.
“Look! Look!” He screamed. “Dere’s two tree o’ clubs!”
Apparently, he was unaware of the fact, that there were four decks in the shoe.