I was dealing roulette, in a Bahamas casino, to a New York retiree, now living in Miami. She had come over on one of the day cruises, sponsored by the casino. She had availed herself of the free one hundred dollars in slot play, the free lunch, and had decided to land on my game to wile away the hours, until the ship left at six pm. She had turned her meager buy in of one hundred dollars, to a hefty twenty-seven hundred. Every payout I pushed out to her was greeted with absolutely no response. My smiles went unnoticed, my charm unappreciated, for four hours!
Now I’m not saying that tipping a dealer is mandatory, but come on! If you went to Denny’s for an hour, had a pancake, and a cup of coffee, you’d leave a tip, wouldn’t you? It’s all about the service, right? I had listened to her gripe about the humidity in Florida, the service in the casino, (apparently the four or five cocktails she had been served, didn’t elicit a tip either) the lousy boat trip, and the impending bus ride back to the ship, all with a sympathetic ear, and a warm smile. For four hours! I gave up, I was stuck with her. “Just spin the ball”, I told myself.
One of her fellow Miamians took a seat at the table. He was a sweet little old man with a crooked back, and a wicked little smile. He bought in for twenty bucks. I gave him a stack of chips which he spread across the layout haphazardly. The ball dropped, number eight. I paid the Queen of Mean one hundred and five chips, for the three she had on the number, she didn’t even look at me. Then I paid the little old man thirty five, for his single chip. He threw me two bucks, with a wink.
I smiled at him, thanked him, and after changing them for cash chips, I bashed them as hard as I could on the wooden rim of the wheel.
“Dealers’s! I yelled. The Queen of Mean jumped.
“Why did you do that?”, she asked.
“It’s for the benefit of the blind madam.” I informed her casually. “Those who can’t see we accept tips, can bloody well hear it!”