"What a dipshit," I thought as I watched the jackass across the table push another fifteen bucks out to split his Kings against the dealer's face card. With my chin in my hands, I watched the guy's one winning hand turn into two losing hands as the dealer pulled another face card to beat everyone at the table. The click click click of chips stacking punctuated the steady rumble of slots spinning and dreams dying. The last swig of my ridiculously not free beer reminded me that I should visit the ladies' room before long. As I stood up, I politely asked the dealer to hold my spot and he said, "I need you to take your chips with you and I can't hold this spot for you." Now, mind you, I've been playing Blackjack since before I was actually old enough to legally gamble. Never has getting up to go to the bathroom been an issue at any casino with any dealer, so I don't think I was out of line to ask, "Is that a new rule?" The dealer officially became a dick when he replied with, "No, it's always been that way." I tried to call bullshit and responded with, "I was in this very same casino not one week ago and several different dealers held my spot for me." He came back with, "I don't know where you play, but we don't hold spots here and I'm not responsible for your money." While I stood there reeling from the blatant lies, the lady next to me offered to play my spot till I made it back. In the following fraction of a moment, I simultaneously pocketed my chips and plotted my revenge. "I'll be right back," I spit, as I sprinted like a Kenyan to the nearest restroom. I nearly knocked over the attendant as I barreled into the first stall and took care of my business. A few seconds later, she just stared as I washed my hands in a fury of soap and water that she'd likely be wiping up later. I slammed a one dollar chip on the wet counter not so much with authority as with a rarely seen sense of urgency as I dashed back toward the table. When I reached my seat, the dealer was taking bets for the next hand. He looked at me, waiting for my bet, and said, "That was really fast." I looked right back at him and as I pushed my chips in without breaking my spiteful glare, I replied, "I didn't wash my hands."
I lost that hand. Maybe it was karma. Maybe you just can't win 'em all. Either way, as the dealer took my chips with a smug glance, I smiled and winked, nodding toward the stack of now supposedly diseased chips in his hand.
No matter who you are, where you go, or what you do, you're gonna have to deal with a dick sooner or later. We all know there are many ways to handle such a situation, but sometimes, the most satisfying option is to simply out-dick them.