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Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Ice Button Chicken

Monday - Day 10 - Continued

Another blackjack table, another adventure. It seems every time I sit down to play this trip, I meet someone interesting, but twice in one day? In a word, yes.

Back at T.I., I head up to the room, and just as I walk to the bathroom to shower, I hit my Fatbit 10K steps. So that job is done. Now I can go have nine highballs and a fattening dinner.

Thus restored, I pour myself a generous traveller, with room. On my way to the elevator, I play a game of Ice Button Chicken.

Here's how it works. Take a glass, cup, or other vessel, and fill it generously with some grain-based likker. Proceed to an ice machine that has a recess with an ice spout about two feet off the ground, and a big red button approximately 18" to the right, and 18" up. The big red button will be labeled something like "PUSH FOR ICE".

If you were stupid, you would put your traveller under the spout, leave it there, and then hit the Joy button. A cascade of marginally safe ice would avalanche into your cup, either displacing half of your precious booze, or possibly even knocking the whole thing over.

Only a complete idiot knocks over a traveller.

So, you have to press the button with one hand and catch the ice in the other. Now, where is your precious loving cup? This is where it gets fun!

You hold that cup securely in your left hand, away all surfaces, which are rife with every manner of skank, scum, dust, mites, vermin, hepatitis X, and legionnaires disease.

You press the button to get ice with your right hand. The avalanche starts and falls through the grate. You release the button and the avalanche stops. There's the fun part - to try to get your hand the 18" from the big button to the unreachable ice jackpot that just fell through the grate.

Repeat this as many times as it takes to figure out that it can't be done. And even if you get your hand into the recess in time, the ice mostly bounces off it.

One way or another, I do get ice into my happy traveller, and I don't spill any.

Speaking of virii, I seem to have shaken whatever was threatening. Clean casino living and lots of experiments with different doses of my 'medicine' have done the trick.

I make a quick stop at the 50 cent 'good' machines and lose $20 in an instant. Point taken. It'll be blackjack.

I find a table and sit, not really paying too much attention. They are between shoes, but it's an empty spot at a $5 table and that's good enough for me.

There's a guy sitting to my left with thin, stringy blonde hair, the kind that looks greasy because its so thin, but it actually isn't. Across the table are a hubby/wifey team that will prove to know their way around the table a bit.

I buy in for $100 and notice that Blondie has two sets of chips out, beneath each of two betting spots, like he's reserving his territory. But he hasn't bet.

"Are you playing two spots - I can move over one..." I offer.

"No, not at all," he says. "I just wanted to start the shoe with three people.”


“Yeah, I know, that makes little to no sense. I’m completely weird.”

"Hey, whatever works for you," I say, instead of totally agreeing with him.

We start play and it doesn't take long but I realize that Blondie seems to know quite a bit about the game. He assesses every card, every hand, and makes some really insightful observations about what card might randomly show up next. One time in thirteen tries, he's correct.

After fifteen or twenty minutes I start to get tired of his patter. It's non-stop, like he's calling a golf game on TV.

"C’mon thirteen - twenty three, you’re good, nice... King of Spades for me, if I get another King of Spades… man, that’s the biggest bonus you can get on this bet, literally…"

He proceeds to explain all the rules, odds and paybacks of the carney side-bet - the very same ones that are printed on the felt in front of each of us.

Blondie mutters, "Son of a B."

"He likes that," I say, sarcastically.

“I don’t like it. I tell them, look, they have to follow me. It’s my table!” says the dealer.

“I didn’t say the word, I just said son of a ‘B’”

She laughs.

All of a sudden, I remember! This is the hilarious Sarcastic Dealer from about a year and a half ago, the one who, when I asked her if she wanted to be my friend said, "No speak English.".

He gets the second king of spades.

“I just wasted two kings of spades.”

“Okay, it’s you, not me,” says the dealer, and laughs

On another hand, Blondie gives the play by play, but miscounts the dealers hand as it comes out.

“No nineteen, there we go, there we go… ah sixteen… we got one to go…”

She deals a five for twenty one.

“Can you add?” she says to him. “Can you add?”

“Twenty one... Yeah, I can..” he says. 

“I can’t." I say, "I don’t wanna add."

“You don’t have to add. He - he need to add,” the dealer says to me, pointing a Blondie.

“Twenty one... “ he sighs.

The cards losing bets are collected and put away and we put our chips out for the next hand. Blondie shoves out a bet three times bigger than his usual.

“Okay, no fear, no fear...” he mutters.

The Sarcastic Dealer mocks him. “OKAY, NO FEAR, NO FEAR,” she says mimicing him, and  rolling her eyes. She lets out a huge belly laugh.

I love this dealer.

A few hands later, I hit a situation where I split cards, and then get dealt another pair, which I also have to split. And there are doubles involved as well.

“C’mon kings…  another red card, so pretty…  ah man… he’s gotta split ‘em, I love him - that’s my man right there. Gonna have a nine, better than a ten… C’mon… threes - threes or faces - faces, that’ll work. Three face face. C’mon eight, nine. Dammit… good job though..."

He continues. "All right… four. Four or face. Ah, got the thing, but I didn’t make the bet. Small… double it - there you go. Good luck, split, fives on top. Fives or fours for my friend, here… fives, fours, sixes…  thirteen, wave it off - give him a five or -”

I can barely concentrate on this hand, which could make or break my session. I'm sick of his aimless drivel and I've finally had enough.

I turn to Blondie and say, "Do you want to play this hand, or can I play it?"

He doesn't say a word. I win it all.

Thirty seconds later, he's at it again.

“Okay, simple ten… that’s okay, we got where we needed to go," he says.

Sarcastic Dealer comes back with, "Where you ticket?" 

She wants him gone. She needles the guy at every opportunity, but he won't take the hint. Other than listening to him blather, the table is a riot. We're all laughing, even Blondie.

I make a large bet and bust.

"Booo hooo so sorry for you... " she says, then laughs.

"You are not!" I say.

She chuckles. I'm out of dollar chips and I want to make some bets for her.

"Can I have some of those blue ones, please? Ten or twenty of them?"

"Tomorrow - come back and get it," she says.

"I'll be here!"

"But I'm not here!" She laughs.

"Do you want the tip or not?"

"Doesn't matter!"

I point to the carney side bet. 

“Do you think this is a good bet?”

“No.” She's so blunt all the time that it is funny.

“Okay, I’ll put you on it.”

“You not gonna get it - anyway! I tell you before, no good. I tell you the truth.”

“I know it’s a terrible bet - that’s why it’s there.”

She laughs.

“All of these side bets are terrible - unless you hit it.” I say.

I get dealt one of the low carney bet winning hands. I have two bucks for each of us, and it pays 4-1.

“Eight bucks! I can’t believe I won.”

“See," she says, pointing to the dealer bet I put out, "That’s my money there, that’s why I give it to you.” She pays off the bets and picks up her tip. 

“Thank you, dear,” she says.

“You’re welcome.”

After another half hour or so, the Sarcastic Dealer finally manages to chase Blondie away. Soon after that, S.D.'s shift is over. With the new dealer I do really badly, and have to buy in for an extra $20 to complete a double.

After that, though, I went on a tear, making back my buy-in plus $55 profit.

As I am ready to cash out and get dinner, I think what the hell, and ask the pit boss if I have played enough to get some dinner. She offers buffet, or coffee shop and I go for the coffee shop - because I've had the buffet. It's a nice session when you have a blast, win $55, and get a $30 dinner on top.

Wonderful old-school comp slip.
For dinner, I have some things from the Vietnamese side of the coffee shop. For appetizer, I have some stuffed cock in condom rolls, and for main, Kung Pao chicken - which was absolutely delicious. Highly recommended.

I can't tell you how good this dish was. I can try, but I can't.

I round the evening out with a bit of VP and that's that.

Straight flush fail.

Revisit the Sarcastic Dealer from July 2016 in Don't You Want To Be My Friend?

Machines Day: -$155
Blackjack Day: +$75

Trip: +$105


    1. Not sure what your traveler was made of but if it was a plastic red solo type then you hold it with your teeth.

      So Kung Pao emigrated to Thailand? Good to know. LOL

      1. Yeah, the place is primarily Vietnamese, but they have to cover a few other bases with some typical Asian dishes.


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