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Playing To The CrowdTHIS TIME OF year I put on my bright red-and-white costume and go out in public. No, I'm not a Santa Claus ringing a bell. I deal blackjack and craps and poker, mostly in downtown Seattle hotels, but also in Bellevue or Kent, or sometimes at private parties. As the holidays unfold, it's a lot of corporate employee parties, Costco or a division of Microsoft. Maybe a car dealership or a biotech firm. Not folks who generally go to casinos or Vegas for the weekend. And though at the end of the evening folks don't walk away with empty pockets or buy champagne for the house, because it's all play money, there are expensive prizes and the betting feels real. We dealers all wear tuxedo shirts, with bright black studs, and a red vest festooned with dice, cards, stacks of chips and dollar bills. We stand behind regulation tables, the green felt crisp and expectant, the piles of chips gleaming. We are a cadre of folks of all ages, looking to make a little extra spending money. Folks who like gambling so much they don't dare go to a real casino. We run the tables, teach the games and, for the first hour or so, are allowed some liberties at the table. Like not too long ago I was dealing blackjack. At my table I had three women and an older couple. One of the women had 11 showing on her two up cards. You might want to double down, I said to her, explaining that a 10 was the most likely number to come up on the blackjack table, and she might as well double her bet and take a chance on getting 21. She didn't quite get it, so I simply reached over and made the bet for her — two black chips and a yellow, $7,000 — doubling her bet, and gave her a down card. As it happened, she pulled a four and lost to the dealer's 18, but I pushed her bet back because I'd helped her make the right bet. So she lost nothing. I always slide the cards from the shoe with my left hand and put them down with my right, taking the chance to see the card. That way, I can have a little fun at the table. Like this same woman — she was wearing a white evening dress, and why not, when do people have a chance to dress up anymore? — she had stopped taking cards at 16. So when I saw I had a 5 in my right hand coming up in the deal, I just dropped it on her cards. Just like that, her hand added up to 21. Winner. We are a culture that believes in symbols. After all, lottery tix get redeemed for greenbacks, at least every once in a while. And at the end of our evening all the chips get counted, and there are prizes given for high rollers, or sometimes raffle tickets are awarded in proportion to winnings. If someone gets hot on the craps table, or a dealer is particularly taken by a nice smile, the monies can get quite remarkable. I had a guy come to my table late in the evening that same night. The Fairy Godmother — our pit boss, she who organizes these events — had just cried out, "Dealers, put up your hands." We did as she requested. "Last hand," she roared. We'd been playing no limit for about 35 minutes. That is, no limit on the betting amount. This fellow came to my table. Hadn't seen him before, which was unusual; people typically stick to a table for the night, or wander away and wander back. He had scrip for a million bucks and a fistful of brown chips, each worth $25,000. He was hellbent on winning one of the prizes, which were pretty good, an iPod, a bunch of other stuff. You could feel the table tighten, like someone had banged it hard. He leaned in, the bill of his baseball cap close to my face, and said he wanted to win. He put his chit and chips on the circle in front of him. Even with play money, a million dollars is a helluva bet. I got nervous, stood a little taller and became a little more formal, and dealt the cards. He was happy with the 10 that appeared, but when a 5 turned up next, he bellowed menacingly; he wanted a different card. "Can't do that," I said brightly. "When the betting is unlimited we play a straight game."
That's how it goes during the evening. The first half of the night we fill their pockets. The last half, we more often than not take it away. It's a caution, no doubt. That rattled me, when he leaned in like that and insisted he had to win. I was glad he lost. And I didn't have anything to do with it, I swear. David Berger is a Seattle freelance writer. He can be reached at dab20@aol.com.
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