This week I vowed to work and not put my name in the book. I vowed to work all 39.5 hours I was rostered.
Work had other ideas, naturally. At 35 hours we start getting paid extra for “overtime”. Of course, they’d prefer not to. I ended up working a total of 34.85 hours when they sent me home for the week. I have to say, it was disappointing. I wanted to finally hit overtime, so it’s a shame I missed it.
Oh well, next time.
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Tonight I was told by a customer that “You can’t hit the broad side of a barn door”, in regards to his being unable to win a single bet on roulette.
To this, I state an obvious but overlooked fact:
As a dealer, I have the uncanny ability to always spin the winning number. It is up to the customer to make sure he bets on it.
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I enjoy my job. I really do. My workmates probably don’t realize this given I’m always getting out early, but that’s just because while I love my job, I also love free time.
The job isn’t exactly glamorous or morally rewarding, but there’s a level of skill in it that makes me feel proud.
In fact, I’m always trying to improve. Before shifts, and sometimes during shifts, I’ll slip into the (usually) empty training room and practice my chip work. This involves simple things from proving stacks1, and chipping2.
The act of doing these things is simple enough and any dealer can do it, however being able to do them quickly and neatly is another thing.
My main focus in my practice time is that of chipping. Talking to people who have been in the industry for years and years, they’ve commented that when they used to chip up “back in the day”, dealers were able to spin the roulette ball, and chip up five stacks (100 chips) before the ball dropped. Trying that myself, I can only get three stacks done.
I’ve begun timing myself chipping up four stacks of chips, as that feels like the best way to track whether I’m actually improving or if all this work is for nothing. I’ve only been tracking it for three shifts, but there has been significant improvement. At first it was taking me roughly 30 seconds to do all four, but now I’m getting must closer to 20-22 seconds.
I don’t know why this entertains me so much, as I’m sure anyone merely reading about it here is already immensely bored. I’ve never felt a need to succeed in any other job like I do here, and it both scares me and makes me happy.
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On the way home from work, I was confronted by people more aggressive than normal. I was challenged to a couple of fights, and was threatened to be “rolled” as well. Along with that, I had a short conversation with a couple of city-goers.
Greasy guy: Hey man, do you know where the Apple Bar is?
Me: What?
Greasy guy: The Apple Bar! Do you know where it is?
Me: Uhh, no I don’t. Sorry.
Greasy guy: Well, that just makes you a gay cunt then doesn’t it?
I stood there staring at him as he started to turn and walk off, resisting the urge to point out to him that by not knowing the location himself, he was in fact also a homosexual vagina.
However, another more important thought crossed my mind, entering my entire being. This one thought troubled me the entire way home, and made me question life, religion, and for a brief moment my sexuality.
What was the thought? I hadn’t mentioned Rubenerd or his amazing sexually arousing website on this blog in forever.
Well, that’s done. Thank you everyone.
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The other night, I took part in the Adelaide Casino Dealer Championships. They’re nothing spectacular; it’s an internal event where those croupiers who take pride in the occupation perform in front of some judges. Each croupier deals fifteen minutes of blackjack, then fifteen minutes of roulette, and are assessed on multiple things including productivity, chip work, procedure and customer service.
It’s great because not only do you get extra experience and show that you’re keen for the job, but for those who don’t win (like myself), you can get feedback to know what needs to be done.
I was so nervous coming up to my turn to deal in it that I had to go practice chip work for a few minutes beforehand just to stop my hands shaking. I tried to deal to the best of my ability, but I second-guessed myself in a few places and made a mistake or two. Comes with being nervous I guess. It didn’t help that the judges were all people of authority in the casino who I respect. Having to perform in front of them, you want to try your best but end up falling on your ass.
Using this photo again, because I can and it’s the only dealing related photo I have.
In the end, I didn’t make it through to the finals, which happened today. I got the participation gift of a couple of decks of cards in a stylish metal case, and will be seeking some feedback on improvement tomorrow from the judges.
Now that I know that it actually isn’t so bad, I look forward to trying again next year once I know what needs improving.
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Tonight I got to deal in the VIP room of the Casino for the first time. I even got to wear a bow tie!
Girlfriend has confirmed I cannot have a fez. Damn.
I went in with the notion that it was going to be a completely different experience from what I’ve been doing for the past near-three years. I wasn’t entirely prepared, and I was a little nervous. It turned out instead to be a rather chill experience. I recognized one or two of the people in the room as players downstairs, but apart from that everyone seemed to be VIP-exclusive.
It was interesting, while the Commission Baccarat tables were your typical people (and one or two really nice and polite ladies who understood it was my first time in the room), the people on the Roulette and Blackjack seemed to be for the most part, really relaxed. There were the usual people who complained about losing and hating everything, but apart from that, many seemed to be enjoying hanging out with their friends.
While everything IS about the gambling and trying to make easy money, it was a different atmosphere. I’m just not sure if I like it yet though.
What I really wanted to talk about was what happened after work. I grabbed a coke from the 24/7 across the road, then went to begin my long walk home. As I’m walking past McDonalds, fiddling with my iPod I see a tall guy walking towards me. I swerve to go around him, but see him reroute to be in front of me again. I move further to the left, and he follows suit to still be in front. I slow down, and he calls me, “Hey man.”
Alright, I think as I move to him and stand. “Sup?” I knew what was sup, he was probably drunk and wanted money or directions.
”Can I have a sip of your drink?” I’m not one to part with my drinks that I pay good money for, but I’m not for pissing off drunks.
”Sure sir, in fact, just have it. I just had a donut and feel pretty full.” I hand it to him and he stares at me.
”You got two dollars?”
”No sir, I just spent it on my coke.”
”What about fifty cents?”
”Sorry, like I said I just spent it on a coke, the one you’re holding.”
”Look dude, do you have five cents?”
”No man, look, if I had anything I’d give it to you. I spent it on my drink.”
”Alright, let me have a sip and think about this.”
I was worried about what he’d have to think about, since it seemed rather open shut. He took a sip then offered the drink back. I point out that I gave it to him to keep, as I wasn’t thirsty any more. Wanting to just leave, I said, “Well man I got to go, see ya.” And tried to walk away. As I’m reaching for my iPod I hear him yell to come back. Since he’s only a few metres away, I oblige, but cautiously. I almost facepalm when he speaks again.
”You got two dollars?”
”No man, I have no money.” I was getting frustrated.
”What about five?” Well, if I didn’t have two dollars I wouldn’t have five.
”No.” I said, annoyed.
I don’t know what to make of the next minute, but it was weird. He looked at me, and said, “Look.”, then grabbed the back of my head and tried to put me in what seemed like the sloppiest and strangest attempt at a headlock ever. He pushed my head down and started to push me into his arm, but he did it in the slowest way possible, as if he were moving in slow motion.
He moved so slow I was able to move out of whatever he was trying to do, saying, “What the fuck, man?”
”You don’t got two dollars?”
”NO!”
With that answer, he points down in the direction of Rundle Mall and says, ”Then fuck off THAT way.”
With pleasure, faggot.
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Commission Baccarat. More importantly the stress this game gives me. I’m completely new to the game and only started dealing it yesterday, but the level of customer assholery that I had to put up with was off the charts. I’m not going to go into detail about it, but the point is that I’m having trouble adjusting from basically having “control of the table” to having a bunch of bratty shits running amuck.
Angst angst angst angst.
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These are hard posts, I tell you what. It’s really hard to pick things I’m proud of, as the majority of the times I felt proud, that moment was fleeting and I move on rather quickly.
The least nerdy (Oh my god I just chain-stabbed three people in Team Fortress 2!) would be how proud I was to be accepted into Roulette training school at my job. The feeling of knowing that I was moving up, however minimal, in my job and earning more money, learning new skills, was something else. It felt great to be essentially told “You do a good job, so you’re moving up in the world.”.
I’ve gone and applied for the next game at the Casino, Commission Baccarat. While I’m starting to doubt I’ve been accepted into it, I’m okay with that; it just means I’m not quite at that level yet. If I don’t get into the school, I’ll find out what I did wrong and seek to improve on that.
Also, I can juggle.
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Thanks to a friend, I have been introduced to the curious idea that is…well, read the title. The idea seems cool enough, and although I’m not exactly the most interesting guy around, I figured it couldn’t hurt to participate. The photos below are taken from 12 noon until around 4am the next day. Unfortunately being a night shifter I don’t get to experience a typical “day”, but still.
In order:
AWWW YEAH.
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Today while dealing roulette, one of the Pit Bosses came up to me and helped chip up a little, to make my job easier. This is all normal, but the small talk caught me off guard:
“Oh hey, I read your blog the other day James.”
“Wait what? Uhh, which one?”
“Um, something skittles.”
“Oh yeah. What post?”
“The one about Infinite Fortune. I wasn’t the one who found it, one of the shifties did, and showed us.”
“Oh…what did he think?”
At this point I’m shitting myself. I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to write about work, even though it was positive there was always a chance they’d seen something they didn’t like. Not only that, but I’m not exactly proud of my writing, and it’s kind of embarrassing having my boss see it; it’s like someone stumbling upon a video of me failing at the guitar, or of me humping a milk carton. Oh wow, thank god they didn’t see that.
“He was just like ‘free advertising!’. I mean, it was all positive. He called us over to check it out and was all ‘Is that…’ and we just nodded and replied ‘Yeah, that’s one of our dealers.’”
Thank god. It’s going to be okay. The embarrassment remained, but at least I wasn’t going to be in trouble or anything.
“Oh ok. I wasn’t sure if we were allowed to write stuff like that, even though it wasn’t derogatory or anything.”
“Nah James, it was cool, don’t worry about it.”
“Guess I’ll have to watch what I write on here, in case I write something incriminating.”
He laughed, then left to go perform some other job. It’s kind of scary when you find out other people have read your stuff, in particular when those people happen to be your immediate superiors.
Needless to say, I’ll have to watch what I write on here from now on1.
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