Warning! Warning!
You have been warned.
The Peppermill, early hours, and the night had not been going well. Hundreds upon hundreds had been layed on the table with no effect. The bankroll was hurting, and so was Syph.
Then...She walked in. Sat down beside me, and smiled. My thoughts raced to the question all counter's ask themselves at such moments:
"What would Kenny do?"
(Special thanks to Alex Mundy)
Ask any counter after hundreds of hours of full-time play how socially functional he is, and well...we hurt. Nonetheless, this is our turf, and we can shine.
Slapping a few hundred more on the table, Syph proceeds to snatch the cards mid-air (a practice my former mentor ZG had more than once admonished me for), and spreading from 1-3 hands with impunity, I start climbing back up.
The girl is impressed.
The pit is not.
A tap on the shoulder ends the session.
"Why are you leaving?" Pumpkin asks.
"I am no longer allowed to play. I am too great of a player." I respond
"What? They can't do that!"
"I assure you, they can, they have, and in the future, they will again."
"That's bullshit!"
"It's part of the game...are you hungry? I could tell you all about it?"
A request for a dinner comp doesn't even elicit a smile from the pit critters.
* * *
Dinner went well, we discussed Christianity, Buddhism, Grace, phenomenology, and blackjack.
* * *
Daisy drove me to the Atlantis after that. As play started, I took a fairly aggressive approach (even for my style of play, which shuns cover), and quickly half the table (no, I don't normally play at crowded tables, but I needed an audience) is asking for suggestions.
Splitting tens, I receive the admiration from everyone when the dealer busts...
"Hey, great play!" and "You're really good!" comments my peers.
"He's a professional!" pipes in Daisy.
10 minutes later, I receive a tap on the shoulder.
* * *
Railcity, the pit boss despises me from the get go.
(I whisper to Daisy, "12 minutes and I'm history.)
Consolidating 3 bets into on (with a few chips stacked on top for good measure), Syph receives a blackjack.
* * *
"What I find odd," I mention as we walk to the car, "is that he not only barred me, but you as well. You weren't even playing."
"That's bullshit!" mutters Daisy.
I like Daisy.
* * *
We arrive at my place, it's 4am, I've been backed off 3 joints in 6 hours, but I met Daisy.
"Would you like to..uhm...come up and see my blackjack books?"
"OK"
* * *
Daisy was an angel, I'm not sure I'll see her again. My lifestyle doesn't really allow for another, but I felt I did the right thing.
Even as a full-time player, the lifestyle must allow a certain quality of life, and after a little deliberation, I'll happily get backed off a hundred joints to spend another night with a Daisy.
I'm certain Kenny would approve.
Best wishes to all,
Syph
You have been warned.
The Peppermill, early hours, and the night had not been going well. Hundreds upon hundreds had been layed on the table with no effect. The bankroll was hurting, and so was Syph.
Then...She walked in. Sat down beside me, and smiled. My thoughts raced to the question all counter's ask themselves at such moments:
"What would Kenny do?"
(Special thanks to Alex Mundy)
Ask any counter after hundreds of hours of full-time play how socially functional he is, and well...we hurt. Nonetheless, this is our turf, and we can shine.
Slapping a few hundred more on the table, Syph proceeds to snatch the cards mid-air (a practice my former mentor ZG had more than once admonished me for), and spreading from 1-3 hands with impunity, I start climbing back up.
The girl is impressed.
The pit is not.
A tap on the shoulder ends the session.
"Why are you leaving?" Pumpkin asks.
"I am no longer allowed to play. I am too great of a player." I respond
"What? They can't do that!"
"I assure you, they can, they have, and in the future, they will again."
"That's bullshit!"
"It's part of the game...are you hungry? I could tell you all about it?"
A request for a dinner comp doesn't even elicit a smile from the pit critters.
* * *
Dinner went well, we discussed Christianity, Buddhism, Grace, phenomenology, and blackjack.
* * *
Daisy drove me to the Atlantis after that. As play started, I took a fairly aggressive approach (even for my style of play, which shuns cover), and quickly half the table (no, I don't normally play at crowded tables, but I needed an audience) is asking for suggestions.
Splitting tens, I receive the admiration from everyone when the dealer busts...
"Hey, great play!" and "You're really good!" comments my peers.
"He's a professional!" pipes in Daisy.
10 minutes later, I receive a tap on the shoulder.
* * *
Railcity, the pit boss despises me from the get go.
(I whisper to Daisy, "12 minutes and I'm history.)
Consolidating 3 bets into on (with a few chips stacked on top for good measure), Syph receives a blackjack.
* * *
"What I find odd," I mention as we walk to the car, "is that he not only barred me, but you as well. You weren't even playing."
"That's bullshit!" mutters Daisy.
I like Daisy.
* * *
We arrive at my place, it's 4am, I've been backed off 3 joints in 6 hours, but I met Daisy.
"Would you like to..uhm...come up and see my blackjack books?"
"OK"
* * *
Daisy was an angel, I'm not sure I'll see her again. My lifestyle doesn't really allow for another, but I felt I did the right thing.
Even as a full-time player, the lifestyle must allow a certain quality of life, and after a little deliberation, I'll happily get backed off a hundred joints to spend another night with a Daisy.
I'm certain Kenny would approve.
Best wishes to all,
Syph
