A limo trip to the Shooting Star last Saturday night went horribly awry for one man. It started out innocently enough, but once certain elements were introduced, there was really no way it was going to end well.
Bad decision #1: Letting Jon-Jon convince me that wearing NBA arm sleeves would be funny. Under no circumstances is a 6'2'' white guy wearing a Ron Burgundy t-shirt, white button-up, and white arm sleeve funny. However, in my defense, it is probably slightly better than a 6'11'' white guy with a red t-shirt and red arm sleeve. A.I. and D-Wade, we ain't.
Bad decision #2: Jello shots on the limo. I told Leah and Annie not to bring them...
Bad decision #3: While stopping at the bar in Crookston, after checking scores and seeing us go 3 for 3 in college bball picks, doing celebratory shots. However, this did lead to seeing a dude in the bathroom in an old-school Winnipeg Jets jersey, and me dropping a pretty sweet Teemu Selanne reference on him. He seemed not to like it so much.
So needless to say I am pretty tuned up by the time we get to the Star. However, do not misconstrue the preceding paragraphs as me admitting fault for what happened. I'm just saying that once those events occurred, karma was not on my side.
Me, Russell, Bergman, Jon-Jon, and Steve hit the tables right away, while the girls went to the slots. I am treading water for quite a while, running my mouth in a good-natured way, the dealers love me, all is good. This goes on for an hour or so. Then, right when we start getting a little hot, out from the bullpen comes Julie, the lefty specialist brought in to shut me up. Everyone knows I can't hit lefties.
Now Julie has obviously had a bad day (or life), and I am not helping it. The one thing I will aceept responsibility for is swearing. When I'm drinking, I have a sailor's mouth, and when I am drinking and playing cards, all bets are off (pun intended.) However, Julie's ridiculous attitude is what took this thing to Defcom 5. Here is an example of one of our (many) exchanges:
Me (after doubling an 11, getting a 2, then watching Julie draw out a six card 21): Jesus Christ, would you look at these fucking cards right now?
Julie: No swearing at the table.
Me: I mean, wow. You've gotta be kidding me. You're killing me, Jules.
Julie, getting louder as the sentence progresses: Sir, do you realllly think that I'M IN CONTROL OF WHAT CARDS COME OUT?!?
Me: Ummm....no, I don't. It was a fucking joke.
Julie: NO SWEARING AT THE TABLE!!!!
And so on and so forth. Details get hazy at this point, but undoubtedly I was becoming more and more of a prick. I have absolutely no problem with dealers taking my money, but when they are assholes while they do it, I am no basket of cherries myself. I actually don't remember the knockout punch, but Jon-Jon filled me in:
Me: I want to tell you something Julie, and I'm gonna be real honest with you. (pause to make eye contact with her and put on my serious face.....) You are the worst blackjack dealer I have ever seen in my life.
Annnnd that's the game!
Supervisors were called over, then pit bosses, then THE pit boss, and I was on my not-so-merry way. I then spent the next hour wandering around, alternately taking things from the closed down buffet, telling everyone in earshot how unjust this was, and trying to get back on the tables. Three separate times I was chased from the blackjack area, until finally Russell found me and brought me to the high-roller room. There I get hot again, and recovered almost everything I lost to Julie, when the eye in the sky spots me, and the head pit boss comes storming in and tells me that no blackjack MEANS NO BLACKJACK, and that my services are no longer needed in the casino anymore.
Though I was pretty pissed at the time, I'm not real worried about it. I don't think I'm blacklisted with my picture up or anything, and I probably won't go to Mahnomen again anyway. However, it was interesting that the same schtick that 95% of blackjack dealers I have encountered love, got me thrown out on this occasion.
I blame the arm sleeve.
