Monthly Archives: April 2014

Sweeping the layout, hands free!

He was a famous London nightclub owner, originally from Yorkshire. He had had two major clubs in Leeds, during the seventies, and was something of a celebrity. He was a very debonair individual, always with a pretty girl on his arm. His arm candy of the night was, let’s call her Fuzzy Fox, apparently a star of adult movies.

Breast augmentation was relatively unheard of in Britain, at the time. We were all in total shock when she walked onto the casino floor, her boobs entering thirty seconds before she did. She wore a short, black, strappy number, with a deep plunge. She was proud of those babies!

I was dealing roulette to an older Chinese gentleman. He methodically placed his bets in the exact location every spin, he had a system. One of those systems that allowed him to win one chip, practically every spin.  We didn’t get a break every hour, so I had been stuck on this table with him for nearly two. It was a monotonous, game. I awaited my break anxiously. Then Fuzzy turned up at my table.

She was trashed. Loud, and obnoxiously giggly. She was very attractive, with Frizzy, dyed red hair, although nobody was really looking at her head. She had a fist full of £1 chips. I had already spun the ball, the Chinese gentleman had finished placing his extremely precise bet, when Fuzzy began to place her chips on the layout. Unfortunately, when she did, her oversize mammaries hit the layout before anything else. They swept up and down, dragging all of the Chinese gentleman’s meticulously placed chips out of place. He jumped up and down, frantically waving his arms, at the end of the table. She seemed totally oblivious to this fact, either due to the amount of alcohol she had consumed, or the lack of sensitivity in her triple Ds? Es? Fs?

“Miss, Miss, your er…” I tried to think of a way to tell her what she was doing. The Chinese gentleman was about to have a coronary.

“No spin!” The supervisor yelled. I dutifully picked the ball out of the wheel.

“What? What did I do?” She asked in bafflement. The supervisor whispered into her ear, and she giggled, and then apologized.

We invited Fuzzy to make her bet first, which she did while holding up her girls with her left arm, and then allowed the Chinese gentleman to make his bet. All’s well that ends well.

No midgets were tossed in the making of this Blog!!!

So Frick and Frack walked into a bar!

Actually it wasn’t a bar, it was the daytime pool area at an undisclosed casino, and their names weren’t Frick and Frack, but for the purpose of the story we’ll go with it.
Frick was a Vanilla Ice wannabe. Puny looking white dude, with a backwards ball cap, lots of tattoos, a heavy gold chain, and jeans that sat an inch below his butt. He walked in a way that used the forward projection of his shoulders, while his arms hung limp by his sides. Hey! This is hard to describe!
Frack was the mirror image of Frick, down to the exaggerated gait, tattoos, and gold chain, apart from the fact, that Frack was a midget, er… sorry, little person, er… extremely height challenged individual. He walked roughly three feet behind Frick. They were a force to be reckoned with.

They walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. Frick casually leant up against the bar, Frack underneath it. They scoped the area, nodding their heads to the music, like those little dogs people used to put in the back windows of their cars.
“Yeah, we bad!”

I looked at the dealer to my right. He was smiling and shaking his head. The floorperson walked up behind me.

“What the f**k?” He asked in disbelief.

“Shhhh!” I told him. “They’re looking this way!”

“What’s he gonna do? Nutbutt me?” He walked off.

It was then, that an extremely tall, say six foot-five, muscular black youth approached them. He high-fived, knuckle-bumped, did that wrist-wrappy-hand-shaky thing, and then bro hugged Frick. He apparently didn’t know Frack, as Frick then introduced them. He kind of squatted in front of Frack and held out his hand to shake.

“You dissin’ me motherf**ker?” Frack yelled. “You dissin’ me?” Frack was doing a lot of head bobbing and index finger throwing.

If he’d wanted to, he could have hurled Frack a couple of hundred feet, but instead he took the high road. Well to Frack it was high!

“Nah bro, we cool!” He said.

It was hilarious to see this huge guy put his hands up in submission, while the midg…er… little… er… Frack, jumped up and down yelling at him. Kudos to the big guy.

 

I loved working in the Bahamas. So different from England. The warm balmy weather, the beaches, the tropical vegetation, the bugs.

I was dealing Blackjack in the main pit, when a young couple approached the table, They had just come from one of the many patio restaurants. She sat down on third base, while he stood beside her.  I smiled at them both, and took in their appearance. I took a step to my left, putting a little distance between us.

“Er sir…” I muttered. “You can stay, but your friend’s gonna have to wait outside.” I pointed to his arm, just below the shoulder. There was probably the biggest cockroach I have ever seen in my life. It had to be at least four inches long.

Now this guy was about six-two, six three, and had quite a build on him. He looked at his sleeve and screamed like a girl, and frantically brushed the bug from his sleeve. It landed in the middle of the pit, where it began running around the floor. My floor person ran as far as she could screaming like a lunatic, to the far end of the pit. When it looked like it was coming in my direction, I too screamed, and began jumping up and down. One of the floormen tried to stomp on it, but missed. It changed direction. A pit clerk, and another floorlady began screaming and dancing, trying to get out of its way, as it ran around their feet. Soon the pit resembled a poor rendition of The Mexican Hat dance, as dealers, floor people, pit clerks, and players, jumped up and down screaming. Finally one of the floorpeople threw a clipboard at it.

That was when it got real interesting. It was not your common cockroach, it was a Palmetto bug. Those suckers can fly! It took off, looking like a German helmet on wings. Now people were screaming, dancing and ducking! It headed in the direction of the Baccarat pit, an enclosed area.

Within five seconds, half the occupants of the Baccarat pit were out on the casino floor. Screams could be heard from inside. The bug flew out of the room and toward the craps pit. As it flew over one of the tables, the players scattered. We could hears the cries of grown men;

“WTF is that?”

While others around him panicked, one of the Bahamian floormen, used to seeing insects of this proportion, simply whacked it midair with his clipboard, and then deftly brought his heel down on it, when it hit the floor. He picked it up with a tissue, threw it in a trash can, and carried on as though nothing had happened.

Even Paradise has its down side.

Wet and warm!

I had just started my 10am day shift, in the dice pit. Not much happening, just two players on my end of the craps table. The residue of the graveyard shift. One guy stood next to the stick man, the other on the hook. Both had just a line bet with odds, nothing really to think about. I had no bets to pay, so I just stood there, waiting for either the point to roll, or a seven.

Suddenly, I felt a warm damp feeling in my right shoe. I looked down. My right pant leg was wet, as was my right foot. I looked at the rail, (the shelf beneath the table, for drinks, purses, and anything else not allowed on the actual table.) Someone had spilt something, and it had run the length of the rail, and was dripping into my shoe.

“What the…?” I notified the boxman of my dilemma. The floorman scanned the rail for the offending liquid.

“You dirty son-of-abitch!” He yelled.”Give him his bet back!” He ordered, waving his arm for a security guard.”Get the f^^k off the game!”

It suddenly dawned on me, that the guy on the hook had peed into the rail, and the warming sensation between my toes was urine!

Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

 

Round and round…part deux

So there we are with a horrible sticky roulette table. Nobody knew what the hell to do.

So Charlie, acting shift manager, Made a managerial decision. He yanked Naseem out of the kitchen station, and brought her armed with rubber gloves and a bucket of hot, soapy, bleach water to the table. I watched as she gagged, while picking up all the offensive wheel chips and then, dropped them in the bucket.

They were made of Bakelite, back in the day, not sure what they use now. We watched open mouthed, as all the brightly colored wheel chips turned to white in the bleach. Apparently the coloring of the chips was added after the making, and did not go all the way through. I’m sure they were never intended to be thrown in a bucket of bleach. Not sure it was the right call, but then what the hell else could Charlie have done?

Thank God, the next day, there was a brand new layout, and a new bank of wheel chips on the game. Given the price of a Huxley wheel I’m sure it was just cleaned and put back out there. Pity the guy  who had to clean the frets out!