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Gambling before/after We had been hanging out, playing pool in a local bar until it turned 2:30 and the staff really seemed to want to go home. But we did not. There was no after-party. And no place was open. So...to the casino. Why not? It never closes. There is no sense of time there. No windows. No clocks. ...so there I was, high out of my mind, at 5:30 on a Sunday morning, playing poker against a mouthy cripple in a red diablo... ...and I had a straight! A straight! No way could I lose... I had just run the craps table for...god knows how long. I have been watching and analyzing craps for a long time now, and I realize that the throwing *style* of the dice toss influences the outcome as much as anything. Don't shake them. That brings up sevens like mad. Toss them neatly. I assiduously took the dice, and rotated them until the 2 was up on the outside, and the 4 was up on the inside, grasped them with my thumb and forefinger, with the index on the 2, and side-arm threw them, almost gently down the table. Robotically. The same motion, over and over and over. Muscle memory. Mechanically. Yes, the odds *always* favors the house, but I have to wonder if they take into account a hyper-intelligent high-on coming into their midst, analyzing the fuck out of a game, and then RUNNING THE FUCK OUT OF IT. I could have been more aggressive with my bets. But I was high. And in the zone. Nothing entered into my bubble, but snatches of conversations on the periphery. "Bring us some luck, pal!" or "SIX THE HARD WAY! SIX THE HARD WAY!" But they didn't understand. I was operating on another plane. And I had gotten to the casino at about 3:30 in the morning. It just seemed like the right thing to do. And the dice kept coming up---six, 4---six---8. People were winning money all over the place. The dealer was getting uneasy, and grumbled about how I threw. "Watch him," the portly pit-boss ordered quietly. "There's nothing *illegal* about it," the dealer replied. It kept going. On and on. And my stack grew. Finally, the fatal throw. I threw it mechanically as always, but someone bet on something they hadn't prior, with a large stack of chips. One die bounced, hit that stack, and came up wrong. Seven. Everybody's busted. Then I went and cashed in, the dealer waiting for a tip, but getting none. I've never quite grasped tipping the dealer. I tip waitresses and service people quite well. I know their wages suck, and they depend on tips. Casino dealers? I just don't see it. Fuck you, would you tip me if I had lost? Doubt it. Maybe I should tip, I don't know. And my pal and I wandered the Greed Palace in a haze, stopping to play a few slots, realizing the whole ridiculousness of it. Seeing the greedheads attached to a barstool, pumping money into machines and repetitively slapping buttons late in the night, hopefully humping along until they get that one last Big Win, which is never to come. There is no time in a casino. No windows. No clocks. We had been hanging out, playing pool in a local bar until it turned 2:30 and the staff really seemed to want to go home. So...why not? The casino it is. It never closes. And then after all that we found ourselves by the poker room. I conversed with the counter woman, who told me they just so happened to have a cash game going at the time, and it was 50 bucks to get in. 50 bucks? Well, shit, why didn't you say so? There were two seats available. One by the cripple in the red diablo, and one at the end of the table. I took a seat at the end of the table and surveyed the players. Creeps and scoundrels. So many with glassy eyes it almost seemed normal. No one spoke. No one, that is, except for the cripple in the red diablo. She was, most likely, the only one sober amongst us all. And she talked. And talked. And talked. About NOTHING. Chirp, chirp, chirp. Her whole strategy was to get under your skin. To be entirely honest, I tuned her and her bullshit out until it was just white noise on the edge of my perception. The guy next to me tried to make small talk with me. It didn't go well. I think he was out of his head as well. "Just tune her out." he said. And then, I pulled the beginning of a straight. As the cards were laid out, one after another, HOT DAMN! A STRAIGHT! All the way through q-9. So I bet, raised, accidentally re-raised. And she chirped, and chirped, and chirped. I felt bad for my friend, who had to sit next to her. Raise, re-raise. Then I thought, 'fuck it'. ALL-IN. The betting continued, some people thinking about it, most folding. We all showed our cards. And the crazy bitch flopped a flush! My chips went away, and I looked at my friend. He looked disgusted. And stoned. But it was not with me. No, I knew that. I had played the odds well, and had just been beaten by a cripple in a red diablo. She just had better cards, on odds that don't happen all that often. The next hand, he didn't have shit, and just went all in so we could get the fuck out of there. Walking towards the cafeteria he said, "Man..." "I know." "That sucked." "Yeah...I wanted to beat that cripple in the red diablo. Like...physically." "Me, too." "It wasn't about the money, either." "No." "She was just THAT GODDAM ANNOYING." "Right?" "I've never wanted to physically aggress a handicapped person before." "Me, either...but I think I'd make an exception for her." "Lets go get a bagel and cream cheese." So we ate, talked some about his family and their problems, and then drove home. Made it into bed just before sun-up, tired, and maybe a little bit more wiser for the experience.
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