Tuesday, May 27, 2003
This weird thing happened on Sunday. I went gambling at the Drift On Inn. (Yes, I know that's not weird. Be patient!) It was in the middle of the day and Melissa was feeling nauseated and crappy and unable to get out of bed so I dutifully took care of her until she went back to sleep for a long nap and then I took her car and drove up North with about 40 bucks in my pocket and the intention of playing for a couple of hours. Which I did.
It was pretty empty when I got there - hardly surprising since it was a glorious day and Memorial Weekend and even degenerate gamblers have to take a holiday sometimes too. Well, not all of us. I took first base at a table with two others – a middle-aged woman at third base and, playing two spots in the middle, this 30-something dude with slicked-back hair, 5 o’clock shadow, leather jacket. He was betting big - $50 and $100 bets on each spot – and he was kind of manic and talking to himself. Looked to me like he was wired on something and I couldn’t tell if he was a bad-news kind of guy or just acting like it. He could have been a mobster or an accountant fronting.
The woman went broke and left soon after and then it was just me and Slick. I’m playing one little $5 spot, just taking it easy. He’s betting his ass off and playing pretty erratically but he’s doing well, a big stack of green $25 chips in front of him. There’s an empty seat between us and at one point he leans over, puts his hand on it, looks at me and mutters something. I’m trying not to pay attention, just looking at my cards and the dealer’s upcard, watching Slick out of my peripheral vision, and I don’t hear what he says.
A few minutes go by, Slick wins a couple hundred more bucks, I’m still betting my little old five dollars. I happen to look over and I see, sitting on the empty seat, two $25 chips neatly stacked, one atop the other. I’m staring at them, realizing that Slick put them there but at a loss for why. Is he holding the chair for someone? Is he stashing them there for later? I can’t figure it out, and then he leans over to me and says, “You should put those in your pocket before something happens to them. Or bet them. Whatever you want. “ I give him a blank look and he says, “Go on, those are for you.” He motions to his pile of winnings. “I’m doing really good here. Go on.”
My first reaction is, who is this creep? Like I’m gonna take his charity and be in debt, karmically or whatever, to this greaseball? For a half a second I feel myself start to get angry. And then I think, hey, why the fuck not? Fifty bucks is fifty bucks. If this idiot is so desperate to give away his money, I may as well collect some before the casino takes the rest. I say thanks and I stick them in my pocket. A few hands later I think, fuck it, and drop one of those greenies down for a bet. And lose it.
I go back to five dollar hands but I start losing now. And so does Slick. His big green stacks start dwindling and I almost – almost -- start to feel bad. But he’s playing like such an idiot while making like he’s some kind of big-time gambler that it’s hard for me to conjure much sympathy. And there’s no way in hell I’m gonna offer to give his money back, especially after losing half of it.
The table’s gone cold now and I’ve lost my money but still have $25 of his gift. I get up and mutter a quick thanks to Slick who is now playing two $15 hands. He ignores me. I move to the next table over and Slick’s money keeps me going for another half hour. I hit the bathroom before I leave and, walking past, see that Slick’s now playing one lowly $5 spot. I decide against telling him that I’ve blown his money too.
It was pretty empty when I got there - hardly surprising since it was a glorious day and Memorial Weekend and even degenerate gamblers have to take a holiday sometimes too. Well, not all of us. I took first base at a table with two others – a middle-aged woman at third base and, playing two spots in the middle, this 30-something dude with slicked-back hair, 5 o’clock shadow, leather jacket. He was betting big - $50 and $100 bets on each spot – and he was kind of manic and talking to himself. Looked to me like he was wired on something and I couldn’t tell if he was a bad-news kind of guy or just acting like it. He could have been a mobster or an accountant fronting.
The woman went broke and left soon after and then it was just me and Slick. I’m playing one little $5 spot, just taking it easy. He’s betting his ass off and playing pretty erratically but he’s doing well, a big stack of green $25 chips in front of him. There’s an empty seat between us and at one point he leans over, puts his hand on it, looks at me and mutters something. I’m trying not to pay attention, just looking at my cards and the dealer’s upcard, watching Slick out of my peripheral vision, and I don’t hear what he says.
A few minutes go by, Slick wins a couple hundred more bucks, I’m still betting my little old five dollars. I happen to look over and I see, sitting on the empty seat, two $25 chips neatly stacked, one atop the other. I’m staring at them, realizing that Slick put them there but at a loss for why. Is he holding the chair for someone? Is he stashing them there for later? I can’t figure it out, and then he leans over to me and says, “You should put those in your pocket before something happens to them. Or bet them. Whatever you want. “ I give him a blank look and he says, “Go on, those are for you.” He motions to his pile of winnings. “I’m doing really good here. Go on.”
My first reaction is, who is this creep? Like I’m gonna take his charity and be in debt, karmically or whatever, to this greaseball? For a half a second I feel myself start to get angry. And then I think, hey, why the fuck not? Fifty bucks is fifty bucks. If this idiot is so desperate to give away his money, I may as well collect some before the casino takes the rest. I say thanks and I stick them in my pocket. A few hands later I think, fuck it, and drop one of those greenies down for a bet. And lose it.
I go back to five dollar hands but I start losing now. And so does Slick. His big green stacks start dwindling and I almost – almost -- start to feel bad. But he’s playing like such an idiot while making like he’s some kind of big-time gambler that it’s hard for me to conjure much sympathy. And there’s no way in hell I’m gonna offer to give his money back, especially after losing half of it.
The table’s gone cold now and I’ve lost my money but still have $25 of his gift. I get up and mutter a quick thanks to Slick who is now playing two $15 hands. He ignores me. I move to the next table over and Slick’s money keeps me going for another half hour. I hit the bathroom before I leave and, walking past, see that Slick’s now playing one lowly $5 spot. I decide against telling him that I’ve blown his money too.
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