One Day in Casino

For your information, I was trained to deal the game Super Six Baccarat, Three Card Poker, Casino Stud Poker, Casino War and some minor games I don’t mind telling (not important). I was upgraded a few months ago, and was trained to deal the Baccarat in which you deduct five percent to the player’s winning if they bet on Banker’s side, and I was also trained the game of Blackjack, or more commonly known as 21. 

For more information about the game, just type it in Google. I don’t have the whole page for training amateurs.

Since my major game was Baccarat, that’s where I started to get the feelings that I’m not a human. Players would blame me if they lose. I don’t fucking care with your money! And I’m not the fucking one to blame! You are just simply unlucky when we met. Here goes my story of everyday life in the casino.

It’s Monday. I think. I don’t know which date it was anymore, I've been working for seven straight days. Nope, I’m not hardworking; it’s just that that’s really the way it is here, in our casino. You’re lucky enough to be working for just five or six days, minimum is seven days. Some even work for eight or nine straight days. Before, we work maximum of eleven days a week. Even a week doesn't have eleven days, right? And my colleague would often tell me, even God, rested on the seventh day He made the world, right? But that was long before, good thing they changed their ways (in the stupid scheduling department). The max now is eight. We were asked to report early today, instead of three o’clock in the afternoon, at two, because there will be a fucking power shut down. So meaning, I have to go to work by one o’clock to fucking put my make-up, in which my face is staring to age, and do my stupid hair bun, which exposes my bare forehead. I feel naked without my bangs!

Bangs are no longer allowed when we had that stupid, very stupid hair and make-up training. I wasn't willing to attend but we were forced to. And you’re dead if you didn't.

I have one player seated on the table when I got there in the VIP part of the casino. Well, as usual, I feel jittery with the tax, because I wasn't really confident and to be honest, I’m really not a good count. Before I go to work, I pray to have a kind hearted inspector, easy betting from players, and no Banker winnings. The player was nice, until… one old fat Chinese bimbo came over to my table and BANG! Banker wins consecutively. Seriously, could this day get any worse? He was kind of lucky. They bet and bet, confusing bets, (Rolling as they call it; in which whatever you won, you put on top of you bet. So every deal, the bet gets higher. And confusing.)

Just to give you an example. Player bets 10, 000 on Banker. If it wins, I’ll deduct five percent from his winning, so I’ll just pay him 9500. He can give me part tax, 500. Then I’ll give him 10, 000. Or he can give me 1,000, and I’ll pay him 10, 500. And when he adds some more, like if he “rolls” it, he would have bet, 19, 500. So what is the tax? I don’t know. I based it on chip reading. Let me imagine it… the tax would be… 975. So I have to pay him… 25 … 525… 18, 525. Am right? . . . Just checked the calculator. Yes, right. See how hard it is? But once you get to it, I know that we can do it! (Just like Dora’s song!)

And this crap old Chinese bloke keeps betting 100, 000 etc. He wants the table in it’s maximum! Crap! And when he loses one deal, he would say he’s jinxed. Hello, sir?! You already won a lot. You’re a greedy helpless gambler geriatric crackpot!

And please, can we take it slow? Don’t be in a hurry. There are lot more players that wants to bet. And this isn't your table. It’s everyone’s table. If you want, go ahead and ask for a reservation. It’ll be all yours I promise.

Good thing my inspector was okay, he smiles a lot and quite friendly. There was just a little problem with his “S” sound, which I find funny. I can’t joke about it with him; he might get offended and wouldn't help me with my tax. Every shoe (a shoe is a set of eight decks of cards, shuffled) has a long banker. My gosh! Would this day end? I hope this day would be over.

The bloke was already gone, after a few loses. The man on my table, who started my shift making me worry when he will go, stayed. I never got enough time to breathe! Even relationships have enough space, but me? I don’t. Crap! I was violently abused that day!

He was nice, but he keeps on losing. Man! You know what’s on my mind? I really wanted you to win, because you’re not that bad! He still smiles even if he loses. His friend came and we finished another shoe. “Shuffle” – this word is so stressful! I asked if I could rest, jokingly, but the friend said “He will go home by 9pm.” I thought okay, that was fine, I have an hour to rest.

That was a thought… But it never happened!

I checked the time, it was 9… And 9:10, he was still there. 9:30… Still dealing. 945. Crap, I’ll never get the rest I deserve. And 10pm, okay, just waiting for someone to change me. And the shoe was done. Gosh! Marking the cards and the man said he’s finished. And the next dealer is standing right behind me. God! I never get the chance to rest! And the lucky dealer sat there, smiling. Cursed him!