STREETWISE Blackjack

Losing My Religion

What did he do to deserve this dubious distinction? It wasn't simply the fact that he was roaring drunk. No, he was beyond drunk. He was polluted, industrial strength, the Love Canal and Mexico City of inebriated casino customers. Staggered. If the casino were a bar, he'd be sent packing. This man was so sodden he was couldn't distinguish a nine from jack, a face from an ace. About 25-years-old, loud, and spoiled like rotten meat, he was falling down on the floor, flopping on the table doing a marvelous impression of a fish fresh out of water.

He was also interrupting a live casino game in progress. That part didn't seem to matter to this man we'll call Hugo. He was imported to the table with three others. There were two quiet men who immediately denied close connection and a very attractive woman who wasn't wearing much. Quite possibly, that was a strategy designed to distract attention from Hugo. Or she was just an exhibitionist. In any case, she succeeded for a time. But then Hugo's obnoxiousness was just too overbearing to ignore.

He demanded money. These days, most casino customers use their own cash to buy cheques (chips) used to play blackjack. But some deposit money with the casino, or apply for a credit line. Once credit is extended, terms for repayment are clear. These are customarily 30 days, after which interest penalties are applied. After 90-120 days, depending on the amount, casino credit people come calling.

These folks aren't menacing knee-snappers. Those days are long gone. Casino credit personnel are corporate and legal. They can use the legal system very effectively to get their money. Most people pay, understanding a casino marker is a temporary loan or an interest-free credit card advance that needs to be paid ASAP -- particularly if one hopes to show one's face in the same casino anytime soon.

As our tale unfolds, it appears Hugo took a $20,000 marker sometime in late February or March. Prior to embarking on this latest sojourn to Las Vegas, he sent a check for $10,000 -- a clever ploy. He'd only repay half of his losses, and have $10,000 available to him. So when he demanded money, even in his disoriented state, Hugo was sure he had some coming.

Nervous pit personnel quickly called casino head of credit Joe Smith. Hugowas a major headache. Since his grand entrance, nary a hand had been dealt. Providing a total distraction, this idiot had demanded a cocktail waitress more than once. Pounding on the table until one came over, he gave his order for more drinks, insisting his friends join him, then held up the proceedings until they arrived. Reaching into his pocket to find money to tip her, he sent multicolored pills flying in all directions -- the blackjack table, chair, and floor, everywhere. Then he had to rescue his medicines.

Joe came over and the real test started. After looking at his account, 30-year casino veteran Joe made the call -- no more money until the $10,000 balance was paid in full and allowed to clear. That news sent Hugo over whatever edge remained on his precipice.

Hollering at everyone around, he demanded justice and money to be delivered immediately! Screaming he was a great customer of this place for the last 10 years, he wanted instant gratification. But Joe held his ground. This went on for ten long minutes before Hugo finally slumped over, too drunk to talk, and Joe departed.

Hugo's misadventures span the decade. The last trip he made, was notable for the lobster incident. Hugo and friends invaded the blackjack pit after the stroke of midnight. Hungry, they called for room service while at the table, ordering cheeseburgers, chocolate milk shakes and fries -- it seemed like a good idea at the time. After a while, the food was delivered on a cart to the pit and it was then Hugo announced he wanted surf and turf, demanding a lobster. Roaring drunk, he wouldn't let anyone touch the burgers until a cooked lobster was summoned.

Upon delivery, Hugo placed the lobster encased in its shell on top of the cheeseburger patty, opened his mouth, and stood there as the lobster was ejected from the arrangement. It went flying through the pit, landing underneath a nearby blackjack table. Nonplussed, Hugo swam over, grabbed the flying crustacean, stuffed it back between the buns and chowed down, shell and all.

I imagined we could now play blackjack. Wrong. Hugo reached into the depths of his pants and pulled out some wads of one hundred dollar bills. More pills went south scattering all over, but Hugo didn't notice. He took the wad and lumped it near a betting spot. It happened to be mine. I thanked him for the bet and offered to split the money if we won. He didn't hear me. The dealer uncrumpled the wad, smoothed and counted it then moved the money closer to where Hugo was staggering.

We got our cards, with the dealer showing a 10 and Hugo began the process of adding his two cards together. He laid them down to show us his five, which we all advised was worth a hit. He motioned for a card, and then waved off another hit to stand on nine. When the dealer flipped another ten to make twenty and his money was gone, Hugo swam away, cursing the dealer, casino, and life.

We returned to playing cards and I thought I'd seen the last of this no-brainer. But it was not to be. The next night, he and his friends, minus the starlet, were back. This time, Hugo wasn't drunk, or quite as lit. He and cohorts settled into their seats, but his act wasn't nearly as amusing the second time 'round. Screaming for the cocktail waitress and a host, he demanded more drinks and money, swearing he was calling for a bellman to move his things to a different hotel if none of the above was forthcoming.

This time, the host on duty, Ron, came over and was already informed. He gave Hugo the same explanation as the previous night. Hugo argued but was outmatched. Ron left and was quickly called back. Hugo wrote the casino a check for $10,000 and Ron smiled. Hugo demanded money and Ron, noting it was 2 a.m. told Hugo the check would have to clear and waiting period would need to pass.

Hugo's next tactic was to make everyone around him thoroughly miserable. Commenting on every hand, every bet, complaining about everything, he acted every bit the spoiled brat. Before he could accomplish his task, most of us who could departed. I shrugged sympathetically at the dealer who rolled her eyes. The next night I was told by her Hugo and his friends were chased from the casino by Gary the shift manager -- and kudos to him for intestinal fortitude. There's no call for allowing such detestable rudeness to continue unpunished.

I have seen many bad players through the years, but Hugo takes the cake. I can only hope he or one of his friends reads this column and recognizes his rude behavior despite his altered name (begins with a "P"). Folks, if you can't distinguish the difference between your rumpus room and a public casino, you won't be finding many places welcoming you with open arms. This is a plea for a little decorum. It's not too much to ask.