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DEMOLITION DAYS, PART 86
That reminds me of a story. After that last one, I thought you might all enjoy a short follow up. After Al, Chuck, Leo, returned to their other lives back in the world, they kept getting requests from various Agencies and Bureaus for more mine closure data, mostly focusing upon lines of documentation. The various Bureaus desired monographs, road guides, technical reports, and most importantly, detailed step-by-step “How To” manuals. My guys, now my fully credentialed doctored colleagues, were predictably reticent to write up “How To” manuals for something that was obviously not of their authorship nor inception. “Fuckin’-A, Rock,” Leo tells me in a phone call, “They want me to fuckin’ basically claim-jump you writing up mine closing procedures. What’s with these goatfuckers? They figured they paid you enough and are now trying to run a goddamned end around? Collective shitheels. No fucking way I’d even think of crossing, even accidently, the Motherfuckin’ Pro from Dover.” I replied that I had no idea, as after the initial contacts after the field season, I had heard precisely dick from any of the bureaus. Which is fine, as I’m busier than a one-armed paperhanger in a windstorm getting ready to shift the family some 12,700 kilometers east. I thanked Leo for the intel and told him not to worry, it’s just bureaucracy misfiring at its finest. “Fuckin’-A, Bubba,” replies Leo as he hangs up. It suddenly goes all dusty in my office. “I’ve trained that boy well,” I sniff and chuckle heartily. A short while later, Al wrote me that he’s been contacted by the Bureau/Agency and they are desirous that he lead a field trip with a gaggle of professors from various universities. They are also not all geologists, but Environmental Scientists, Hydrologists, something called an “Environmental Engineer,” and other forms of societal detritus. He tells me that they wanted him to lead a group of these characters out into the desert for a couple of weeks and show them the mine closure procedures which he developed. He was most adamant in assuring me that they contacted him, and that the terminology was also theirs. He was already otherwise engaged, so he naturally had to decline. However, he made it abundantly clear that he would never even entertain such a notion like the one they had posited. I wrote him back, as he was down in Patagonia doing something more or less interesting and/or exciting, thanking him for the information and wishing him well on his expedition. Since he was in the field, I also included a couple of the recipes we enjoyed back in the Nevada desert. He later tells me that the Gauchos he was working with down there have never heard of Pineapple Upside Down Cake and they absolutely were delighted by it. Come to find out, they also like potato juice and citrus drinks as well. “Good ol’ Dr. Good-deed. Aide to all men.” I pondered. I talked with Esme about all this and she was of the opinion that either they knew I was headed east or they wanted me to have some time off. I had been doing a lot of ad hoc work for both Agencies and Bureaus over the last few years. “Of course,” I replied, “Never ascribe to malice what can best be defined by governmental bureaucracy and officiousness.” So, time puttered on. We were holding weekly ‘GROJ (Get Rid Of Junk) sales’ on our weekends. Since everything electrical we possessed was 120 VAC, and the rest of the world, it seems, is 220 VAC, I had to part with all my antiquated electronics. My Fisher Studio-Standard stereo system, Akai reel-to-reel 16-track tape machines, EMI TG12345 MK IV recording console, and Harmon-Kardon turntables and amplifiers. It was painful. However, I rationalized, if I were to stick them in storage for a decade or two, I’d have re-paid for them via rental fees a couple or three times over. Plus, and all that sitting unused in a storage locker certainly wouldn’t be good for these vintage electronical gizmos. Still, it was a painful time to pack them into the back of someone else’s vehicle. I had to take all my firearms to my Brother-in-Law for safekeeping. Since he’s in Kentucky, he was both happy to accept and vowed to give them regular workouts. Even though he’s some form or another of mechanical engineer, I guess I could trust him. One day, the home phone rings. It’s Chuck and he’s livid. “Rock!” he hollers, “You know what those chapped bastards at the Bureau want from me? They want me to step in on your turf, and take a clan of idiot pseudo-geologists out in the field for a couple of weeks and train them in mine closing. Can you fucking believe that?” “Chuck,,” I say, “Whoa. Cool down. Leo and Al report the same, so it just looks like you were next on the list. So, going to take them up on their offer?” “Don’t make me laugh, Doc!” Chuck asks, “First: I’m busy. Second: I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea how to handle logistics, camping, explosives, and all that other bureaucratic horseshit you somehow put up with. Third: I really don’t want a midnight visit from you and your bag of tricks because I’ve pissed you off by taking credit for what’s rightfully yours.” “What is the fucking deal?” I ask Chuck, “I’m not like that at all. Everyone thinks I’m going go out and frag them because the Bureau asks them to do a job I did previously. Damn, I’m the most laid-back, gregarious, and even-tempered person on the planet; and I’ll mutilate the miserable manky motherfucker that says I’m not.” Chuck laughs nervously. “Hyperbole aside,” I continue, “It’s just that they know I’m headed out to the Middle East and don’t want to bother me right now; I suppose.” “Umm, Rock,” Chuck clears his thought, and gulps, “That’s not the reason they told me.” “Is that a fact?” I ask, “What did they give as a reason?” “Now, Rock, don’t take this wrong. This is Bureau-speak, not me,” Chuck wants to make the point vodka-clear, “But they felt you were the wrong person to lead this group of ‘scholars’. They were concerned with your…” Hesitation. “Spill it, Chuck,” I say. “Demeanor,” Chuck says, “Your conduct, your deportment, your behavior…” “I see someone got a Thesaurus for Christmas,” I said. “Rock, that’s them, not me,” Chuck continues, “They said you are too ‘wild and wooly’ to conduct this field expedition of ‘noted scholars’.” “Is that a fact?” I ask, rhetorically. “Just reporting to you what they told me, Bossman.” Chuck offers. “I appreciate it, Chuck. Thanks.” I reply, “Don’t sweat it. I’ll take it from here.” You could hear an audible expression of relief when we broke connection. After a couple of cocktails, I had simmered down a bit. Esme says that I need to call my Agency buddies and get the lowdown on the situation, as they’ll know what’s going on. For once, Esme is also very, very pissed off about the whole situation. Mama Bear’s claws were getting sharpened. “You are gone for months,” Es exclaims, “Train a bunch of greenhorns, exceed project requirements by over 200%, supply crucial scientific data on forensic activities, and take out a disaster they didn’t even know existed in that mine with the locker full of explosives!” “Yeah,” I reply, “Does seem a wee bit unappreciative.” “And then they pull this kind of shit!,” Es yells further, “Those ungrateful bastards. Fuck ‘em. Let them stew in their own futility. They call and you tell them to get stuffed. After all you did for them…” “Now, now, Dearest,” say, “Let me call Rack and Ruin. If anyone has the skinny on all this, they’ll have all the latest dope.” “Bastards!,” Es cries, “You damn near get killed several times over and this is their thanks?” “Yeah, I know, Darling,” I say, “Does seems a bit ungrateful and duplicitous.” Esme hands me the phone. “Phone. Call. Now.” She orders. Looks like I just got my marchin’ orders. “Yes, my love,” I reply. Even I know when I’m out-matched. RING RING RING Agent Rack answers and we go through the usual pleasantries… “What the flying fuck you mean ‘I’m too dangerous’?” I question Agent Rack. “Well, Doctor,” Rack tries to explain, “Your ‘cavalier’ attitude towards explosives. More of your ‘relationship’ with them. Not showing the proper deference…” “WHAT?,” I roar, “Ask anyone that has worked with me in the field! ‘Safety first, last, and foremost’. Just that I don’t fret and quail around explosives like a bunch of phonophobic, jumped-up, wet-pantied shuddering schoolgirls, when I have to demolish something, doesn’t mean I’m anything other than a goddamned consummate professional.” “Plus, Doctor, ” Rack continues, “It’s not the 1880’s any longer. A Stetson? A sidearm? A .454 Casull Magnum at that…” “You have got to be yanking my crank here, Rack.” I angrily reply, as I really hate it when someone calls me Doctor like that, “The hat keeps the sun off my head so I don’t get addled like those fuckers you’re talking with at the Bureau. The sidearm is for safety. Oh, yes; there’s that word again. It’s a fucking tool, just like my Estwing hammers or my galvanometer.” “Can’t kill anyone with a galvanometer,” Rack replies. “But I could with a hammer, myriad ways” I reply, “And give me five minutes, I’d figure out a way to ‘extract’ someone with a galvanometer...” “Doctor, do let me let you talk with Agent Ruin; I’m needed elsewhere,,” he tells me. Agent Ruin takes the phone. It’s the old Agency Two-Step. “Doctor is distraught,” he observes. “No, ‘Doctor’ is just plain damned mad.” I reply, “They contract me for a job that has never been attempted before and I complete it beyond their wildest expectations! This is my recompense?” “Well, Doctor,” Ruin continues, “I’m sure it’s strictly a business decision. It’s obviously nothing personal.” “It sure as fuck sounds personal,” I gripe back, as now I’ve gone from annoyed to genuinely pissed off, “I’m surprised they didn’t say something derogatory about my Hawaiian shirts.” “Oh, they did,” Agent Ruin lets slip. “Oh? OK, Fine. That’s is then,” I reply, “The joyfulness of this whole experience has left the building. Tell them to strike me from their fucking list. I’m done with them. I wash my hands of them. I’m off east anyways. Fuck that bunch of paper-pushing, deskbound, pencil-necked dickheads. Fuck them. Fuck them solid. Fuck them ‘till they bleed.” “Strong message to follow,” I add. “Doctor,” Agent Ruin reminds me, “Do I need to remind you that all our conversations are recorded?” “Oh, fuck no. I know that. So fucking what?” I growl, “Like I’m going to get tossed in Guantanamo for expressing a personal opinion? I can still do that in this fine country. Or has the First Amendment been repealed in my absence?” “Doctor, you’re obviously agitated,’ Ruin adds, “Perhaps we’ll talk again later when you’ve calmed down before you head to the Middle East.” “Yeah, about that,” I reply, “You shady characters can cross me off your fucking list as well. You’ve done nothing for me on this latest concern. Nothing! You couldn’t even give me the courtesy of a motherfucking heads-up. Guess that tells me all I need to know about the future of our relationship. Goodbye, Agent Ruin. Give Agent Rack my ‘Da Svidonya. I won’t be answering your calls any longer. “Doctor, I, um, wait…”Agent Ruin sputters. I continue: “And as long as I’m at it, tell that other Bureau to go hang as well. They want more data or shit from me, tell them to go find it elsewhere. And also tell them good luck with that. The three experts that exist in the world apart from me already told them to get bent. At least they possess loyalty and a dollop of comradeship. I’ll be shipping your phone and other items back via parcel post. Hasta la vista, Herr Ruin. Have a day.” CLICK-KER -FUCKING-SMASH! I hang up in the rudest way possible. “Clapped-out assholes,” I muse. “All those years of working together. All those years of building relationships around the world. It’s all kyboshed over a fucking Hawaiian shirt. I guess it was inevitable. Either I became too specialized or evolved myself out of being useful to them. Ah, well, their loss. Can’t be helped…” I take a healthy swig right from the prime vodka bottle. OK, several. “FUCKERS!” I scream at the wood-paneled ceiling, shaking my fist in vehement rage at the clouds coolly cruising by outside my window. Esme doesn’t come running. She doesn’t have to. She knows the score. I ship the Agency’s toys back to them with a terse note: “Thanks for all the nothing. Here’s your shit back. Dr. Rocknocker. PS: Get stuffed.” Not my best effort, I’ll agree. However, I was really pissed at that point. Now I have the time to devote solely to relocating my family and I overseas. Gad, there’s so much crap one must go through. What to sell, what goes in storage, what to trash, what to give away…the lists are endless. First to go are all my power tools. Fuckbuckets. It took me decades to amass that collection. I got a good price, sure, but now I’m more or less without a hobby. We decide to put all Esme’s lapidary equipment in storage. It’s too specialized to generate much interest, much less a decent price. Besides, they won’t rot in our absence. I can ship my fishing gear and golf clubs overseas. They’re American, but at least not 120 VAC. Our house goes on the market and we have to get it spiffed to within an inch of its life. Got to have that ‘curb appeal’. Good, let someone else do it, I’m busy. More unexpected expense. I give our house contractors out in New Mexico their marching orders. It’s going slow and will be a seasonal thing, but they guarantee me the house will be ready by next summer if they can source the slabs of Baraboo Quartzite I want. Splendid, that’s something I don’t have to follow up on every day. Then there’s our aquarium. 250 gallons of treated Houston water, loaded with native Texan fish and a couple of cranky Jack Dempseys. All the gear, filters, pumps, water polishers, heaters, treaters, all of it. Has to go. My ex-Utah Mormon drinking buddy down the road expresses interest. I basically let him have it gratis on the one condition he takes everything, fish included. He has to keep the fish alive and happy their entire lives. I’ve raised some from minnows and have grown attached to a couple of the gaspergou and a certain smallmouth bass with those big brown eyes… Digger, my stalwart mechanic, is going to purchase my truck. It’s a bittersweet parting, but at least I know it’ll have a great home. Digger is going to use it as both his personal truck and his company’s hot-shot vehicle for pick-up and delivery of everything from batteries to full drivetrains. I know the vehicle will be in good hands. Our Land Rover is up for grabs. Few are interested, though; buyer’s market. It’s a couple of years old and has lots of miles, due to Houston being so stupid-big. I order an extra-large bottle of AstroGlide as I know I’m going to be taking it up the ass on this one… Finally, our pets. Reluctantly, I’ve agreed to take the cat. It’s a stupid little feline that I figure we can just toss in a suitcase and drag it with us overseas. No, I guess we’ll get a cat-carrier and figure it out with the airlines. Then there’s Lady. 135 kilos of dopey puppy. She’s getting up in years, as well, especially for a giant breed. Luckily, overseas we’ll be living on a Western compound. So if we go through all the rigmarole of quarantine, getting her a ‘pet passport’, and shipping via a specialist service, Lady can bark at the tenets of pre-Islam (dogs really aren’t haram), and actually join us in our new home. This is going to cost a fortune, but I don’t care. She’s an integral part of the family, she is going to join us. I find a Pet Relocation Service and begin the masses of insane paperwork. It’s an ‘all-in’ service, basically door-to-door. But do not be deluded, they charge every micrometer of the way. Vaccinations, chipping (she already was fitted with an RFID chip), booking, boarding, securing vet services, obtaining health certificates, securing import permits, dealing with all issues related to customs clearance, interacting with foreign agents, supplying IATA approved crates, and obtaining Municipality tags registration for new arrivals. Gonna cost me a couple-three-four kilobucks. Worth every penny. Esme, the kids and I are working on beginning packing, tossing this, wrapping that, sentimentalizing over the other thing when we get a ring at the door. It’s a bonded courier. He has a package for me. It’s of the size that would contain about 6-months’ worth of Playboy magazines, and has no external address. I sign for the thing and walk back to the kitchen. “What you got there, Rock?” Es asks. “Not sure,” I reply, “But it came via bonded courier.” “Well, open it,” Es smiles. She loves surprises. I do so and it’s a series of articles, re-prints, and other information regarding Nevada, mine closures, and the Mine Closure Act. There’s also a number of newspaper and magazine clippings that had been photo-copied into a dozen-page document. All of them, write-ups and reviews from different newspapers, house organs, and journals citing my work with the guys out in the field. I open it further and there’s a personal note from Dr. Sam Muleshoe, and a certified check, made out in my name. Seems I was correct. After exhausting their leads with Al, Leo, and Chuck, they have spent near a month trying to find someone to take over the project. “To fill my shoes,” as Dr. Sam Muleshoe notes. They came up totally empty. “Told ya’ so.” I gloated. Esme smiles a wide schadenfreude-fueled smile. I look at the check. It’s plenty healthy, but not superhero strength. I show Es and she laughs out loud. “So,” Es whoops, “They think they can get back in your good graces by buying you off? Hah! Fat chance,” she says and regards the check, “Hell. They’re not even close.” I agree with Esme passionately. I write a quick, hand-scribbled note to Dr. Muleshoe, thanking him for the information. I give several options, some admittedly anatomically impossible, regarding what he can do with the check and the Bureau’s offer. I wrap it back up with duct-tape, call the courier service, and return it to Reno, COD. A couple of days later, I receive a phone call. Surprise, surprise, it’s from Reno. “Rock, it’s Reno!,” Es tells me. I shake my head “no!” slicing my hand through the air in the head-chop mime. “Tell him I’ve gone bush in darkest Outer Albania and you have no idea when I’ll be back,” I say. Esme looks a bit sheepish, as we can hear the phone remark: “I can hear you, you know.” “Fuckbuckets,” I think, “OK, hand me the rap-rod.” “Yeah?” I growl, very grizzly-like into the infernal communication device. “Hello, Rock. This is Sam Muleshoe,” the phone reports. “Damn,” I exclaim, “I guess you characters can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Which word fucking confused you?” “Rock, what’s the god damned deal?,” Sam asks innocently, “Why all the bloody hostility?” “Oh, double-fuck me!” I say metaphorically, “Don’t act like you don’t know. Try and snake the latest field mine closing job out from under me and try to snag my guys. Then, when that fails, give some sort of bullshit report to Rack and Ruin. You think I’m ‘too cavalier’, too “wild and wooly’, and think I’m some goddamned 19th-century throwback that loves horrible Hawaiian shirts…” “Doc?,” Sam asks, “Are you currently fucking drunk? What the actual fuck are you rabbeting on about?” “Sam, I’m stone-cold fucking sober,” I reply, “Yeah. I know, that’s a first. But listen here Scooter. You must have balls of brass trying to sweet-talk me into running another field course after all you did…” “Rock,” Sam pleads, “Please, believe me, I have no idea what you’re on about. Can we talk and maybe figure this thing out?” “No!,” I holler, “I’m done talking with the likes of your Bureau. Nothing you can do or say to rebuild the bridges they’ve burned with me.” “OK,” he says, “Doct…, err, Rock, buddy. Calm your tits. Give me the Reader’s Digest version. I’ll look into it, because I have absolutely no idea what this is all about. This really sounds serious, with fuck-up overtones. Trust me, I’m serious as the last cold can of beer on a field trip.” “Marvelous.” I say, “I guess I owe you that much. Professional courtesy. At least one of us has the grit to employ some.” So, I run through the tale of the travails of Al, Chuck, and Leo. Then my little difference of opinion with Agents Rack, Ruin, and the Agency. Plus my severing of ties with both that Agency out on the east coast and the Bureaus in the great American Southwest. “Doctor,” Sam says intently, “I know it’s going to be difficult, but I swear on a box of your finest cigars with a vodka chaser that I didn’t know anything about all this nor did it come from this office. Por favor señor, let me do some digging. I’ll be back in touch.” “Sam,” I say, thinking over the situation, “Yeah…I must apologize for my previous outbursts. I should have known you’re not behind this idiocy. Yeah, go do some fossicking. Let me know what you dig up. Again, sorry. I was a bit…animated.” “Rock,” Sam chuckles, “Do you think that I’d dare anger someone like you? You must think I’ve got a serious case of cranial lithification to cheese-off the Motherfucking Pro from Dover!” At this point, I knew that Sam was also only collateral damage; he too was caught in the crossfire. Ground zero for the original attacks lie elsewhere within the Bureau. Esme and I go back to preparing for our trip coming up in 2 months. But Jesus Q. Christwagons, there’s so much to do. Everything you own; it gets packed, stored, or trashed. It’s the decisions that get so tiring. Keep. Toss. Sell. Burn. Leave on someone’s doorstep. I propose to Es that we just do the basic necessities. Then we hire some firm to finish up for us. It’d be worth the cost since just think what we’d be saving on aspirin and Ace Bandages. Esme readily backs the idea that we should turn the job over to someone else. Plus in the interim, we can take a trip back home to Baja Canada so the kids could visit their grandparents, we visit our family, and all of us could cool out a bit before the big trip east. I need to drop by Big Ray’s Tap for a few hours/days anyways. Old commitments. We’d go the beginning of our last month here in the States, spend a couple of weeks visiting family at home, leave the kids with the grandparents to get spoiled rotten. Es and I would return to Houston to finalize everything. Then Es and I would fly from Houston to that damn sprawling annoyance of an airport on the big lake in Illinoise. The family would meet us there, handover the kids, and we’d all haul ass eastwards to the Middle East. I readily agreed. Anything has to be better than dealing with this crapola. Lady and the stupid cat would go to the pet schleppers a little early. Sure, it’d cost a few more dinars, but that’s one big headache sorted. So, late one afternoon, I’m sitting in my office, trying to figure out exactly what reference works I couldn’t live without. Compton’s? Save. Field Guide to Fungus? Toss. No, wait a minute. Could prove useful. That’s why this is taking forever. The phone rings. It’s Sam. “Hello, Sam,” I say, “What news?” “Goddamn it all to fucking hell and back,” Sam roars. “That’s a unique greeting,” I reply. “I finally drilled down to the bottom of all this horseshit.,” Sam replies, “And it’s a real bowl of fuck all the way south.” “I’m listening,” I say, “Actually, Sam, hold on. I need a drink. Moment.” I give Es the high sign, note it’s Sam on the phone, and that I’ll be in my office if she hears any screaming. I amp up my drink and return to my office, closing the door behind me. Lady is here, waiting to keep my feet warm. “OK Sam, your nickel,” I say, “What’s the scoop?” “Would you believe?,” he begins, “That all batshittery this came from accounting and bookkeeping?” “Well,” I reply, “I’ll have to admit that I’m not overly surprised.” “Yeah,” Sam continues, “I was off on holiday. My first two weeks off after 5 years. My very temporary replacement received a memo from the head of the Bureau that there was great interest in you leading a shortened version of your last trip to demonstrate to a bunch of different university PhDs in the care and feeding of abandoned mines. Seems the Bureau Chief was very impressed with what you and your team accomplished.” “OK,” I reply, “With you so far. So, where did things get wrapped around a tractor’s nuts?” “Right,” he replies, “Here’s where things first went off the rails. Whoever vetted the list of potential attendees sorted the list alphabetically, not by field of expertise. Of course, the obvious first choice would be for geologists; especially those with mining, field, and blasting experience.” “Ah,” I replied, “No wonder it was such a miscellaneous bunch of baloney-loaf whole-grain enviro-types that Al had mentioned.” “Yep,” Sam agreed, “But before anyone with any brains got sight of that list, some fucknuts in the Bureau’s University Liaison department sent out invitations.” “Invitations?” I asked, “To what?” “That’s just the thing,” Sam continued, “They sent out invites to a program that didn’t yet exist, run by someone who had yet to be contacted, much less secured.” “Oh, hey! That’s some good work you guys do down there.” I snort. “Indeed,” Sam agrees, “So once that hit the mail, we started getting back replies and acceptances.” “And there was no project, no leader, no logistics…?” I asked. “No shit,” Sam scoffs. “So, what did these idiots here do? Contact the attendees and explain the problem. Take a little flack, but get it sorted out then try again?” “Let me guess,” I said, “No?” “Nope,” Sam sighs, “By that time, it was in the works and in the hands of accountants.” “Oh, fuck,” I commiserated. “I feel your pain.” “Yeah,” Sam continues, “They see that you’re the hookin’ bull on the last one and they dig into your contract. They figure, ‘Whoa, he’s way too expensive, just look at these expense accounts’, so they do an end-around and contact your colleagues.” “Al, Chuck, and Leo. They’re damn good guys,” I said, “Fine field scientists, all. But I don’t think any of them have the moxie or experience yet to run a whole field course.” “These accounting shitheads never bothered to find out,” Sam groans, “It was all ‘bottom line’, so you got caught in the squeeze.” “OK,” I reply, “I see how that happened, but what about all the shit about me being a 19th-century throwback, that I’m unsafe, wear horrible Hawaiian shirts, and all that shit?” “Comedy of bloody errors,” Sam says, “Actually, the Bureau Chief likes your fashion sense; you should see some of his shirts. But your slime campaign was based on unreliable evidence, tall tales, folklore, and outright fabrications. It was easy to pimp someone with a personality like yours, it’s been said. Someone was trying desperately to cover his ass. However, we have identified the perpetrator.” “Next time I’m in Reno,” I said, “I’ll pay him a friendly little visit and arrange his transport to Neptune. One way. Y’know, it’d be easy for someone with a ‘personality like mine’.” “Ah, yeah. He won’t be here,” Sam says, “In fact, we don’t know where the hell he went. He was immediately sacked, as were a couple of the more boneheaded accountants.” “That’s redundant,” I smirk, “They really don’t want to talk with or see me anytime soon.” “Right, then Rock,” Sam says, “We green again?” “Yeah, Sam,” I reply, “Sure. Green as a New Saigon. But you’ve got to call Rack and Ruin for me. You have to let them know how this whole clusterfuck came to be. We had some words a while back.” “Oh, yeah,” Sam remembers, “I talked with them the other day. They said they’ll be in Houston in a couple of days.” “Cor! Just what I fucking need right now,” I lament. “Ah, it is what it is.” “OK, Rock. Now, back to reality. You interested?” Sam asks. “Send me a JD (job description) and the project particulars. The price of poker’s really going up this time, Sam. Stratospheric. Sorry, it’s all just business.” I relate. “Yeah…,” Sam sighs, “I figure we’ll really owe you if you can drag our ass out of the campfire on this one.” “You have no idea,” I chuckle. We exchange farewells and ring off. Now I have some talking to do with my significant other. Since we were all set to go back to Baja Canada, I could use those two weeks to go to Nevada, if necessary. I can be back in Houston with Es for the last two weeks before we’re slated to travel, and we can sort out the house. “This won’t be an easy sell,” I muse, before chatting with my darling, brilliant, and ever-so-forgiving partner. “I’ll need a drink first”, I declare. Esme notes that it would be nice to have a little spare cash with us when we move overseas. You could have dropped me with a Claymore. Es never fails to flummox me. So, provisional OK from the powers that be. Now all I have to do is wait on Sam’s prospectus. The next day, the doorbell rings. It’s Agents Rack and Ruin. One is holding a box of very expensive cigars, and one is holding a bottle of very expensive bourbon. I turn to Es and remark, “Look here, darlin’. Geeks bearing gifts.” “Hello, Doctor,” Rack says, bristling, “We need to talk. “ “Why?” I ask, “I do seem to recall that I’m no longer associated with you people any longer.” “Doctor,” Agent Ruin cocks his head contritely, bowing ever so slightly, “May we please have a moment of your time?” I look to Es. She shrugs her shoulders. Luckily I’m partial to Es’ opinion. I am also partial to good bourbon and cigars, especially when someone else is paying for them. So I shrug my shoulders as well and tell them to make entry. “My office, “ I say, “You know the way. Mind the boxes.” Once in my office, the Agents stack their offerings and go on in great detail, basically collaborating Sam’s story. I remain steadfast and stony as the Harney Peak Granite of Mr. Rushmore fame. I’m not giving anything away any longer. “Well, Doctor,” Agent Ruin finalizes, “That’s the story, warts and all.” “Yep, it is pretty warty,” I agree, “So?” “We would like to rekindle our relationship,” Agent Rack reports, “These are for starters.” He hands me the cigars and booze; plus another box. “Thanks,” I say, “But just because I accept your peace offerings, that doesn’t mean we’re going to turn back the clock.” “What are you suggesting?” Agent Ruin asks. “No more consulting,” I reply, “I want in. The ‘Full Monty’, as it were. If I’m going overseas and work for some twitchy Middle Eastern sandpit’s national oil company, I want perks, tabs, and my ass duly covered.” “Work two full-time jobs simultaneously?” Agent Rack asks. “However you want to structure it,” I say, “No more consulting. From here on out, you want me, you’re making me a full-fledged full-timer.” Agents Rack and Ruin look at each other, enquiringly. “Doctor,” Agent Rack replies, “We are prepared to offer you an ad hoc Agency appointment. You will be fully attached but you will be also doing your full-time job in the other country.” “I’m listening. Tell me more,” I ask, “What exactly are you offering?” “Full access to all pertinent information,” Agent Ruin continues, “Full entrée to appropriate facilities and, um, assets. Security for you and your family in case of, well, shall; we say, ‘difficulties’. Monthly minimum payment of [$$$] to any non-US bank of your choice. Extra duties would be duly compensated. Top clearances. An enhanced potential payment package, bonus possibilities, and full benefits for you.” “Full benefits for me and my family,” I say, “Or there’s the door. Non-negotiable” I point out. “Very well. That had been anticipated.” Agent Rack replies. “Gentlemen,” I say, “Let us shake on what I hope turns out to be a beautiful relationship.” We shake hands and I sign my life away. I’m really in it now, up to my neck. I have to learn to shut up more and just listen. “Now, gents,” I say, “In order to seal the deal, let us break out the drinking stuff you’ve brought along. We will also smoke together so that we will know there will be no lies or deceit between us.” “Also anticipated, Doctor,” both agents agree. My ‘new’ old colleagues prepare to leave a while later, after a cigar, and far too much of what was a full bottle of expensive gift booze. They always get you in the end. Contained within the other small box were my new Agency credentials, updated version satellite phone, secure codes, and a nifty new Swiss Army Knife, with a built-in cigar cutter. With renewed dedication and expectations all ‘round, Agents Rack and Ruin take their leave. They hope to be able to meet me and the family, remember, they are Uncles Rack and Ruin, overseas one day in the not too distant future. My information, further updated cards, registration, and all that official business guff will come to the specific Middle Eastern country’s US Embassy for me once we arrive and get settled. “Marvelous,” I muse. I receive an Email from Dr. Muleshoe explaining what we talked about and his hopes for my stickhandling a ‘quick’ 2-week field excursion for the approximately 15 Ph.D. types from around North America. Seems there’s a couple of Canadians and one Mexican professor that expressed desires to join. They had actually forwarded funds to be included in our number. Sam suggests I drive out in my truck and proceed as per the last trip. Get the trailer, fill it with noisemakers, and the Bureau would sort out transportation and lodging for the attendees. Seems some want to camp, like real geologists, and some want to lodge in hotels, like real non-geologists. I write Sam back: First item: this is a 2-week sojourn into the desert. It’s a field meeting, emphasis on the field, not a tour of Nevada’s many fine hotels, resorts, and casinos. Item two: I no longer possess my truck. The Bureau will provide me with the appropriate vehicular equivalent. No passengers, this will be the Camp Chief truck from the onset. Besides, I am the only one licensed to drive the vehicle when coupled to an explosives-laden trailer. Item three: I will be flown to and from Reno from Houston. No buses, trains, or automobiles. It’s business class or zilch. Item the fourth: the Bureau will source the necessary support logisticians to provide food, drink, and toilet paper for the 16 professionals while we are in the field. They will also need to provide cooks, dishwashers, camp tidiers, and the like as I don’t have time to deal with 15 potentially field-fresh, whiny waterhead PhDs. Item the fifth: The Bureau will provide for all pre- and post-trip handling of participants. They can handle hotel rooms for the early arrivers or late-stayers. They can manage arrivals, registration, signing of necessary documents, and assuring vaccination records are up to snuff, waivers are signed, etc. They will also handle the transportation of participants to/from and during the field project, when and where necessary. Item the sixth: I include a new version of my contract. Force Majeure, ‘Take or Pay’ clause. Door to door coverage. Plus my, ahem, augmented day rate. Absolutely non-negotiable. Item seven: I have final say over what is done in the field. I am in command, the boss, the head cheese, the head honcho, and I require absolute discipline, especially where explosives are concerned. “My way or the highway” will be the theme of the trip. Gain, non-negotiable. To be continued.
I've seen people TRYING to be a "crew." Most people who think they can count cards, can't. Right after that movie 21 came out the casinos were flush with confused college kids whispering to each other, "What's the count again?"
Honestly, I have no idea. You can e-mail the prostitutes in Pahrump before going in and they would tell you if they offer the service and how much it would cost.
Yes, I have basic strategy memorized and some dealers are allowed to assist players, it depends on the casino. I only keep count if I'm bored or I suspect someone else on the table is counting.
Enabling Wild Waseland turns the Wild Wild West Casino into a casino based on the Wild Wild West movie adaptation starring Will Smith; I don't recommend it. Plus the walls get all clippy.
Very few people actually try to cheat here. Spotting card counters is all in the way that they bet. It's a certain formula with very few methods of deviation so if they don't follow it strictly it doesn't work so nobody is worried about the amateurs. If a dealer suspects someone of card counting, they report it to their pit boss who then watches the game. If the person IS thought to be card counting they are simply denied service at the casino.
There's too many security guards, surveillance, and key cards to take it in cash. It's not Ocean's 11 security but they know what they're doing. The only other option would be to steal chips but the large denomination ones are RFID tracked so that would be a bust as well. I'd have a better success rate applying for a loan at the bank.
The 3rd mortgage story is actually pretty rare. Most gamblers are actually quite good with money. But there are signs we look for to spot problem gambling patterns and direct them to appropriate help.
I deal all of them as well, although I'll admit craps is not my forte. I'm always impressed with the ones who do it well. I prefer low-level stakes myself. Baccarat's a hellishy boring game to deal.
If you think a dealer has made a mistake you are correct in telling him immediately. The floor should be called if the situation isn't immediately solved. If the money in question is a small amount (say a dollar or two) then the house usually neutralizes the dispute by putting in the missing money. Larger amounts would go through surveillance though.
Locals actually have quite a few perks. Some strip clubs, dance clubs, shows, and etc. have a locals discount or "industry night." The Vegas lifestyle is available to the locals at a cheaper rate but just remember not to do it every day. To get a job as a dealer I filled out an application, passed an audition. Simple as that.
I was hired for my current job in late 2010. I had all standard table games on my resume and I was auditioning for poker. Resume's aren't as important in dealing as the audition. If you've been dealing for 30 years and you mess up during the audition, they're going to go with the guy with only 1 year of experience who aced it.
The largest tip I've received was 600 dollars. I saw a player toss a cranberry (5k) chip to a dealer once. Tips are a big "X" factor for your income and if you're not working at a casino full time it can be difficult to budget.
I'm sorry, I completely missed your second question. Picking up a casino employee is possible and not really frowned upon. Don't expect much from the girls dealing in the "party pits" though.
No, roulette dealers cannot do that. Roulette wheels are checked for bias electronically and any suspicious patterns would attract attention. I've work/ed at newer casinos and older ones. I prefer the character of the older houses but I think the Aria is amazing. I've been dealing for about 10 years now.
I've personally never heard it but I wouldn't be surprised if it was a common term. Gaming slang is a lot of rhyming and alliteration. I'd much appreciate it if the whole world would please stop saying "Winner, winner Chicken Dinner."
By far the best magic show, in my opinion, is Mac King's show at Harrah's. Simple, but amazing illusions in an intimate-sized theatre and very funny. Penn & Teller are great as well. The tickets can be picked up for a discount at ticket booths around the strip the day of the show. The kiosks are called Same-Day Tickets or Half-Price Tickets and are a good value. Stay away from the Criss Angel show. It's terrible.
If you're going to play low-limit table games you're probably going to want to go downtown to Fremont Street. Set aside about 40 dollars apiece and play the minimum that the table allows. If you want to see a show there are kiosks around the strip and in many casinos that offer discounted tickets for shows on the current day. Clubs are expensive to get into (30 dollars is about average) and the drinks are quite expensive as well (10 dollar beers and god help you if you order anything remotely fancy).
Yes, you'd have to sign a tax form similar to a W-2 to receive the money. Depending on how much you'd gambled in the past year you'd have to pay about 30 percent of it to taxes.
Gambling is generally the quickest way, and slots are the worst but I think some of them are pretty cool. I'm someone who likes flashing lights and noise. Many new penny slot machines have been arriving with preset minimum bets like 25 credits but they pay out odd amounts. This usually leads to a player leaving 19 cents or so on the machine and walking away. There's people who just spend all day wandering from casino to casino looking for unclaimed spare change on the machines. It can be lucrative.
The hiking in Red Rock Canyon is great although you'd need a car. First Fridays down in the arts district is always fun. There are countless shows (stand-up comedy, theatre, etc.) off the strip. If you're unsure of what to do in a particular stretch of time and need ideas pick up a Las Vegas Weekly. They're available for free all throughout town.
I don't know but I suspect it's cost-related. Most table games have a 5 dollar minimum bet with a dealer to keep action moving. An undercover cop on the slots could control the pace. I think it's a waste of money either way.
No, the possibility of fraud is far too high to give away money. There really isn't such a thing as "house chips." There are non-denominational chips that are used in roulette as well as specialty chips used for tournament-style play but use of those would blow the cop's cover, obviously. Also, as long as the hookers aren't pestering every player they come across, the casinos don't really mind them so much. They'll need a bed eventually. To learn blackjack strategy (or really any casino game) I'd actually recommend sitting in front of the computer a wee bit longer and visiting wizardofodds.com. It's a great resource for gambling smart.
As a dealer, you develop quite thick skin. People will call you names and curse a lot but very few actually cause much of a scene. If a scene is caused, security is usually called and they usually eject them.
Actually, many of the major casinos offer free classes that teach you how to play, usually in the mornings from 9-11 am. Many casino games can seem confusing or intimidating. My advice would be to take the free lesson and, if it seems fun, don't be afraid to throw a few bucks on the real thing. Just don't spend all your time in the casinos.
You are right. Tips are voluntary and even if we suggest it, we do it in a way that makes you think it's your idea. Some dealers have no tact and that's sad.
Yeah, it is but some still resort to it since many people don't know. Most guests that aren't accustomed to tipping will tip after realizing it's the social norm ("when in Rome") but if coerced into tipping will not be likely to later.
Tips are earned on a table-to-table basis when you deal cash games in poker. Table games (everything else requiring a dealer) generally pool tips and divide them equally on a 24-hour timeframe. All dealers rotate into all games (except for Poker, which is usually a completely separate department) at one point or another. Unless there's a generous high roller most of our money comes from the more numerous, smaller tips from low-limit games.
They usually get a line of credit for the higher stakes players, yes but you'll occasionally get the high roller that throws up a few grand on the table in cash. I've seen more than a few people carrying 10k bundles around. There's a guy who plays poker down on Fremont Street called The Duke of Fremont Street (you don't say?!) who carries around a violin case full of cash, gold, and gold money clips stuffed with cash. Some people just like the attention.
Most poker dealers will get a dollar a hand as a tip. Since poker isn't a house game that tip isn't necessarily a "thanks for the lucky hand" but more of a "thanks for moderating the poker game." If you're playing 25 dollars a hand and you are dealt a blackjack, the blackjack will pay 37.50. A common tip on that would usually be the 2.50 but we appreciate a dollar tip/bet. Anything over 5 dollars (that isn't a high-stakes game) would be considered generous.
I've seen it done to varying degrees of success, it's just not very common anymore, at least in Las Vegas. Most card counting groups operate in smaller Indian Casinos where the dealers are less likely to be trained against it. Opening a brand new casino in an area new to gaming is like ringing the dinner bell for card counters.
The odds of a video poker machine dealing you a royal flush on the deal is a little under 650,000 to 1 (happened to me once). As a poker dealer, I've dealt four in 10 years, although I've run into dealers who've gone their whole careers without dealing one.
I could easily see myself doing this for awhile. It's fun, easy money and casinos are the best places in the world to people watch. If I moved up I'd probably like to teach dealers. I view dealing as somewhat of an art form and I'd like to reteach the "right" way.
Pretty much everyone is called a dealer whether they actually "deal" anything or not. I have worked craps and roulette as well. I'm kind of bad at craps, I'm sorry to admit but roulette's fun.
I think many of them are just trying to unique. When you line them up right next to each other one mega casino is pretty identical to the next so they have to out-gimmick each other in every way. Also, many casino's carpet is actually coded to indicate areas where minor are and aren't allowed. There's usually a yellow brick road of sorts to registration and elevators.
Not really, in my opinion. I honestly think it could be a decent (can't believe I'm saying this) reality show but the corporations that own the casinos would never let us speak frankly.
Most casinos use Kem or Copag cards for poker. Anyone who plays cards at home should pick some of these up. They're pretty difficult to mark, bend resistant, and they're perfect for parties. You can wash them in the sink! Blackjack and other card-based table games generally use custom cards made for the casino. I've never really paid attention to what brand they are since they're changed out so often.
I've always thought the LVH (the old Hilton) has a really nice sports book and their odds have always been fair. The kind of live betting you're looking for is usually the kind of action you'll get from the other patrons in the sports book. The casino doesn't have time to set odds on that short of notice.
Craps is confusing because the objective of the game changes so frequently and the odds are somewhat strange. Unless you want to go in-depth with game strategy I'd suggest putting your money on the pass line and throwing the dice until they tell you to stop. Not the best advice, I know, but I'm not a huge fan of craps.
It's a little pricey to get in (40 dollars last time I was there, if memory serves me correctly) but the Moon nightclub at the Palms Hotel is pretty damn cool. Open air at the top of the building. I'd buy the club tickets in advance since they're usually the same price. Half-price ticket booth the day of the show you want to see.
Proper etiquette is to shore up your hand against the dealer's without harming the other players. Hitting when the dealer is showing a bust card has started more than a few fights that I've seen. Practice basic strategy and try to make sure you're playing with people who do the same.
The two popular swingers' clubs are The Green Door and The Red Rooster. Ladies get in free (of course), single men pay a pretty high cover charge, and couples get in for half price. They're... interesting places to meet people.
Tipping is one way of diverting attention and, yes, it does work. However, as I stated elsewhere, card counters have to adhere to certain rules and formulas regarding their wagers. They've made blackjack a business and tipping is bad for business.
Ask for them. The biggest thing is shyness. There's a lot of people gambling in a casino at any given time so if you want your play to be evaluated for comps, simply tell the dealer or floor manager. I don't eat at the buffets too often.
That's up to you man. I know people who've had bad experiences with them and I've had people who've had great experiences. Not all hookers are diseased and misguided. Some are business-minded and know that they're offering a service and do so professionally.
I enjoy a lot of the smaller places. The Clarion is a great locals hangout and so is the Greek Isles. I was at the Trop yesterday. They recently remodeled almost the whole place. Looks great.
I couldn't resist the Rat Race reference. Yes, prostitution is illegal, BUT you can drive about 45 minutes west to Pahrump and get a legal hooker at a brothel.
Thanks. This is pretty fun, I've got to say. This is my first AMA and I genuinely like informing and entertaining people. It's probably why I love my job.
Poker strategy is slippery and no one credo or saying is right. If you're a beginner it's best to play a little more conservatively but you'll need to able to change gears eventually.
Also, the savvy prostitutes will only pick up guys from table games. Vice cops can play slots undercover to try to lure in hookers but can't play table games.
Last updated: 2012-03-28 10:18 UTC This post was generated by a robot! Send all complaints to epsy.
[Table] IAmA Casino Pit Boss with years of experience in Table Games and Casino Ops and would love to answer questions you may have about the business!
Verified?(This bot cannot verify AMAs just yet) Date: 2014-04-08 Link to submission (Has self-text)
I saw a guy lose $1,000,000 once, I actually was dealing when he lost about $200,000 of that in about 15 minutes. It made me sick, but he didn't seem to mind much. Later he attempted to sue the casino because "clearly his drinks were spiked," but he later recanted that.
How to get comps: Play for a long time and/or have a strong average bet. Buying in for large amounts and then not playing won't get you comps. Alternatively, be a fun person and the supervisor will probably hook you up because we appreciate the fun (not drunk) people.
Those two words likely don't go together. Trust me, we deal with SO many people every night that if you're drunk we are probably throwing you in with the others no matter what.
Counting cards is not cheating at all. You're not doing anything but keeping a running total in your head and basing your play off of that. That being said, casinos are private businesses and can refuse service to anyone for any reason. Yes, people have been caught counting cards. The majority of them aren't that good at it, to be honest, and so we let them think they're getting one over on us (and still lose.) If someone wins "too much" or does too well, they will be approached by senior management and told that they can still play but can no longer play blackjack.
Generally I'm looking to see if they deviate from a reasonable basic strategy and have an abnormal success rate on hands where they make questionable plays. At that point I'll run a count as they play and see if they are changing their strategy and/or betting patterns when the count is in their favor.
Honestly these days it's all computerized. Your play (on your players card) determines the comps you get. If it's your first time or your birthday (or you've played and/or lost a lot) you'll get more than you "should."
Some casinos (ours included) don't use the electronic betting recognition sofware. If you don't see the dealer pressing a little button before each hand, here's my advice - bet big right at the beginning. A lot of supervisors will put in your average bet when you first sit down and they swipe your players card and then won't adjust your average bet unless you made big changes throughout playing.
My favorite person in the world is my lovely girlfriend, who asked me to do this and also supports me in literally every aspect of my life. She's an incredible person, I'll tell you that much!
We've permanently evicted people for threatening physical violence on other players and/or employees, getting into fights, things like that. A man peed under a blackjack table once; he was evicted and arrested!
Good lord, don't do this. Best-case scenario you get away with it, worst-case scenario you're arrested. You could also get thrown out if they don't want to deal with the cops or it wasn't that large of an amount. But seriously, just bet the don't from the start. You make your money off of the odds anyway.
Cheating is less common than you may think these days. The technology we employ is really advanced, as most places have upgraded their surveillance tech. We can see a lot now. The best ways that people cheat now aren't by physically manipulating things, but by "taking shots." Little things, things like making a hand signal that could be interpreted as a hit or a stand and then raising a fuss if it doesn't go your way. Most casinos will just give you the money if it's not too much instead of fully investigate it.
Some casinos use RFID (they'll have a more plastic feel to them.) Honestly, even high-value casinos' chips are subject to counterfeiting. I've seen stickers replaced, I've even seen people paint lower-denomination chips to look like higher-denomination chips.
The best odds of all the table games is betting the Don't Pass with max odds behind it. Second-best is the Pass Line with max odds behind it. Those odds are true odds, the casino has ZERO house edge.
I HATE auto-shufflers. No, they have no way of knowing how many people are playing at the table or which cards go to the dealer. It's legitimately random, moreso than some dealers who have specific shuffles.
Honestly, I'm probably not looking unless you're winning a large amount or you're making really large swings in your bets. I won't let you know if I suspect you, I'll have already called surveillance and they'll be running down (counting along) on the next shoe to see what you're doing. If you see security or people in suits near your table, just color up and leave. They won't do anything to you, but they're preparing to talk to you about what they've found and might back you off.
Most states will publish the odds for slot machines. Honestly most machines at reputable places (as in not bars) will have a return rate of 95-98%. That's a lower house edge than carnival games or even roulette.
The best perk? Honestly, that it pays well and I don't actually have to DO too much, haha.
I'm fine with people making "dumb" moves. Generally the dealer will say "Are you suuure?" if someone is about to split up their 20 or something like that. Other players do get mad when someone does something, but we protect our players. If someone wants to make a nonstandard or risky move, they have every right to. I personally wouldn't let a player berate another player, and it has nothing to do with the casino's interests.
Facial recognition software has always been pretty strong going back for quite a while now. There aren't really too many ways it's used other than for people who have cheated or who have overall suspicious behavior. That's the only reason we'd want to run the software on someone.
The only time players will get mad is if you're right on top of them. Stand back, see if you can get a pamphlet on the rules of the game you're watching, or just ask the dealers or supervisors! Honestly, they want you to play - not because they want to take your money, but because it's fun to teach and show someone. As for "easy" games, roulette is pretty easy to learn, dice is the most fun but can be overwhelming, carnival games (Three Card Poker, Mississippi Stud) are very easy since they're all poker-based.
We're not allowed to tell someone that we think they have a problem, but we can respond if they tell us they do. We have paperwork on it, we're trained to spot it (chasing losses, claiming to bet money they can't afford, etc) and we also have a hotline they can call. Additionally, players can fill out self-exclusion paperwork banning themselves from the casino if they feel they can't gamble responsibly. If they come back while banned, they can and will be arrested for trespassing.
Table Games pays VERY well compared to other departments. Your housekeeping and security is probably making $10-$12/hr (more than they would at non-casino businesses, but still) and your slot techs are probably making $14 or so an hour. Dealers with the toke rate start above $20/hr, and as you go up (supervisors don't make tips where I work and at most places, although some places give supervisors a cut of it) you make more. Especially for the amount of work I do, I get paid well.
You wouldn't get in trouble at all. Just turn away from the table. Although for comedy purposes, the waitress could come back and say "7&7?" as she brought the drink really loudly, then the table sevens out and blames her.
Before I started working at my current place I heard a story that happened there where the dealer was using their back foot to stop the Big Six wheel (never play Big Six; happy it's gone) early which meant that the people playing knew where it would stop. He was physically handcuffed at the table and arrested. DON'T CHEAT.
You can just push a chip forward and say "For you." They'll thank you and drop it! -Not really, no. Play what you want! Stay away from unruly people in general, wherever they may be. Enjoy yourself!
Years ago a guy was playing blackjack. He lost, left, and then came back with five crumpled up $1 bills so that he could make a $5 bet. He lost, was gone for another hour, and then came back and did it again.
I'm okay with people who come every day, some people enjoy it. But I hate to see people play with money they shouldn't bet with.
It's a lot less stressful than you're worried about. Go in, talk to people, enjoy yourself. It's seriously not that big of a deal, just enjoy your first time! Bring an amount you're okay with losing. Don't bring your ATM card in. Don't chase losses (I know I just lost my last bet but I know I can win the next one!)
It's in your head. The day of, they probably kept tabs on you because you happened to be in an off-limits area with a money transfer. Now, they wouldn't remember or care.
It depends on the casino. Most places I've worked bring in 60-90% of their floor revenue from slots (10-40$ from tables.) Smaller places pull in six-figures per day easily, even on slower days.
It's not part of the dealers' jobs to berate someone that's winning. The only things that should bother a good dice dealer are when people are throwing in tons of late bets or are being rude. If you're winning, good for you! Keep winning! Sounds like they were just being jerks.
It's me, I'm the pit boss. I've come across a couple. The most recent one is a lady that our surveillance ran a report on and concluded that she's definitely counting. She's not that good at it, though, so we let her go because even though she bets big she doesn't actually win. We have the camera on her every time she plays, though.
Mississippi Stud, by far. It used to be Three Card, but it's all about Mississippi Stud now. Total tables at our place is ~40 or so. We haven't had too many new games, lately it's just been adding bonus bets to existing games (three card bonus bets on pretty much all of our carnival games now.)
Most casinos have a tip policy. I can't accept chips or money at all (dealers can accept chips, obviously.) We can't accept non-monetary gifts with a value of over $50 as well.
As a dealer, I've been tipped in orange ($1,000) chips before by high-limit players.
It's hard to say. The amount of people cheating with old methods (counting cards, etc) has declined. The amount of people taking shots (pretending they didn't want that hit, things like that) has increased, but it's harder to prove.
There really aren't ways to maximize it. Increasing your hands per hour won't matter to the computer system, you'd honestly be better off betting more at a slower table because then it shows a higher average bet over a longer period of time.
You apply when a job is available and when a casino is starting/advertising a "dealer school." Some places will offer the training which is usually free, but you're not technically hired until after the class.
Great question! Everyone has to get a responsible alcohol server card, even people that don't serve drinks. It's a basic class that goes over how to spot intoxication, drinks per hour, things like that. People who can serve drinks also have to have a bar card. Where I work, dealers and supervisors can't cut people off. The Pit calls a Beverage Supervisor who makes that call.
It's an interesting question. Some places in the US don't serve free drinks. Everywhere is different. I don't foresee it actually taking, it's a pretty big part of "the experience."
All carnival games are the same. Let It Ride is reverse Mississippi Stud, all the other games like Three Card and Flop are just variants of poker. Live poker is a little different, you can read and learn about it! There's always blackjack, which is simple and fun.
16 tables per supervisor? Different casinos have different terminology, ours has a floor per 4-6 tables and then a pit that oversees it all. 16 seems crazy to me.
Interesting. We have about 40 tables total across multiple pits, but only one pit manager who oversees it all and runs the pencil/rosteroadmap. 1-3 floors per pit, depending on the size (4-6 tables per floor)
Personally, I'd like the tip instead of the bet. One of the places I worked at trained the dealers to always take it instead of betting it. Those bets have house odds; give me the money!
TV shows are dumb. We have cameras everywhere that can zoom in pretty well (no ENHANCE! ENHANCE!) Huge places in Vegas probably do have very sophisticated technology, we're smaller and so we have tons of cameras, security, electronic locks and vaults, things like that.
Last updated: 2014-04-13 00:47 UTC This post was generated by a robot! Send all complaints to epsy.
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