The Dice man cometh

So it’s ten o’clock in the morning, I’m just a little grumpy. I had worked a double shift the day before, finishing at about three-thirty in the morning, and here I am again at ten. I’d had about four hours sleep. They had done me the HUGE favor of allowing me to sit box, because I’d put in fifteen and a half hours the day before, on my feet. They were all heart.

The guys in the craps pit were all talking about some comedian a group of them had flown over to see in Miami.
Andrew Dice Somethingorother. I had never heard of him, meant nothing to me. I ran down the high limit checks in my bankroll, checked my dice, and set them in the bowl before me. I’d had coffee, but probably needed more. I was a little irritable, just plain tired.

My friend Naz, a Turkish born, London floorperson, was standing floor behind me. I’d heard him laughing and joking with a few of the other floormen. He was in a good mood, he’d just got back from Miami. He’d had two days off.

I was putting the high limit chips away, when Naz leaned over the game. He looked at the dice, ready to write the serial number on his paperwork. The normal question he would have asked was;

“What’s your dice number?”
That would normally illicit a quote of the dice number from me, as I picked one out of the bowl to show him. However, what he actually asked was;

“What’s in the bowl bitch?”

“What????”

Like I said, I was a little irritable, rather tired, and ready to rip someone’s face off. It was tough enough being a woman in the dice pit, so if you think you’re gonna call me a bitch and get away with it, think again sunbeam! I stood up from my game, pushed my chair back, and turned to face him.

“Who the f**k are you talking to?”

“Shirley!  It’s Andrew Dice Clay!” He held up his hands. “It’s Andrew Dice Clay! He’s comedian, he’s comedian!” He turned on his heels and grabbed the nearest floorperson he could find.

“Tell her! Tell her!” Naz ordered him.

“He does nursery rhymes.” the floorman informed me, and then quoted the whole “Little Miss Muffet” thing. I wasn’t one hundred percent convinced that I hadn’t been insulted, but I gave Naz the benefit of the doubt. I let him live!

Still luv ya Naz!

 

 

 

 

 

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