Thai Mullet, "Jessica" & The Old Man I Made Cry
Posted by Al Pastor
3/8/05 Oaks Club $2-4 Hold’em
1:45-3:00 PM
In $60 Out $0 -$60
4:15-7:15 PM
In $50 Out $135 +$85
Hours Played 2005: 61.5 YTD-$445
THAI MULLET: Man, smell like you step on a skunk.
ME: Oh, uh, yeah, guess I should be more careful about that.
(He shows me the king and queen of clubs, which I quickly compare to the clubless 2,4,5 the dealer has flopped in the center of the table, before slapping them down.)
THAI MULLET: How come? Everything legal now anyway, right?
ME: (unintelligible)
I am guessing THAI MULLET is Thai. He may be Chinese or Vietnamese, though. He is probably a little younger than me, mid-thirties, his mullet hanging out the back of a AAA cap. He has a goatee and seems to be fresh from work, wearing a transmission company sweatshirt. This exchange occurs around six, he has been sitting at the table for maybe fifteen minutes and is on his second HenekenTM. He will presently place an order for beef with Chinese broccoli over rice and another Heineken, “Chinese, not American!” he will admonish the waitress as she leaves.
I must remember to wash my hands before returning to the table.
!
Sat in the Arizmendi parking lot listening to Philosophy Talk, reading INFINITE JEST and eating a vegan banana nut muffin until one, then went inside the club and signed up for the $2-4 table. Took a long time to get a seat, nearly 45 minutes, but I was wagging around IJ, so I sat down patiently to read and wait. I was craving bacon and should have ordered myself some, but I didn’t. I should have. The protein might have helped my play.
The only person I recognized a was a quick raise-everything Russian guy whose name I thought was Peter but it turns out is O.T. or O.P. or O.C. or something. He was at the far end of the table. Between him and me, along the straight edge of the table’s oval opposite the dealer were a few young dudes, one of whom looked about 9, who I almost pushed out of a big pot when we both had three queens. He had a 9 for a kicker and I had a six. Took a big bath on that hand. Got my last money in on pocket kings when the flop fell ace-jack-4. The 9 year old’s buddy called my all-in bet and turned over an ace-jack. The other two cards did not help and I got up for a little contemplation, barbecue and Foster Wallace.
!
"Jessica" is hot. One time I heard Bobbye, the surly lady floor man, say, after “Jessica” walked past a group of guys who all flirted with her and paid close attention as she walked away, that “Jessica’s” secret was that she was little but she had big hips. I think she is Cambodian, because her face looks like the big stone faces I have seen in pictures of Angkor Wat, and because while her Oaks Club name tag says “Jessica”, just like that, with the quotation marks, but her City of Oakland dealer permit badge identifies her as Anh Quach.
Today she is wearing a kind of purplish lipstick. She is also pissed off. Sometimes she has this sly little smile, like she is sort of amused by us, but today she is not the least bit so. She sits down an hour and a half into my afternoon session, and is immediately distressed that the money in her chip tray is not correct. “Why do I hafta care if nobody else care?” she says, ostensibly to herself but loud and clear enough for the whole table to hear. Mr. Singleton, the old African-American guy sitting to my left, who keeps tossing off his chips until he can get all in and then winning enough to stick around, begins this awful kind of criticism/flirtation. “Uhoh. Here come a terrible dealer.” Which “Jessica” manages to ignore, causing him to attempt redelivery. “She a terrible dealer.” And when she give him nothing he adds “Hurry up. You too slow. And you better git yo money straight”
She deals for a while without incident. Singleton can’t come up with anything more original than “Hurry up,” so she doesn’t ever really acknowledge him. Finally, though, she says sort of distrac-tedly, like she hasn’t heard anything he has said to this point. “Hmmm?” she says. “I say you too slow!” She sort of huffs a little and deals. She doesn’t say anything but is clearly bothered. When she is slow bringing the flop Singleton says “Come on, check around, let’s go, girl!” She was not real slow, just a few seconds delayed with the chip runner, getting her money together, which is an important part of her job. She doesn’t say anything but is clearly agitated.
During my short playing history, I have seen a fair amount of dealer abuse, and this, while not pleasant is not really that bad. But there is a guy at the end of the table, an Asian guy with gold hoops in both earlobes and gold framed glasses, head to toe sweatsuit gray Radiers gear and a voice and accent that, if you weren’t looking at him but were only hearing him speak, you would think he was a black guy, and he is becoming obviously annoyed with the situation, and he is trying to concentrate and play cards.
“Come on, Singleton. Let her alone.” He sort of smiled when he said it, and there was no threat behind it but there was a little bit of pick-on-someone-your-own-size-who-isn’t-already-having-a-shitty-day about it.
And for a minute, Singleton was quiet. Then, when “Jessica” was a little slow, the old Chinese guy to my right says “Hey, man, tell her to hurry up.”
!
I played pretty well in the afternoon. Early on I amde a straight that I did not see until the round of betting after it had come, so I missed a few bets, but after that I paid closer attention and got some good cards.
I made one hand playing in an early position with a 6,7 of diamonds. This is not a great play, out of position with lowish suited connectors, but not terrible and everybody callled without raising, so there was a pretty good pot. The flop--5d,9?,7?--made me an inside straight draw, 3 to a flush, and a pair of 7s; a couple of medium weak draws and middle pair. The old white guy to my right who replaced the troublemaking old Chinese guy bet, I called, maybe another player called, I can’t quite remember.
The turn is a king of diamonds. The old guy checks, I bet, hoping he has a pair of nines or something I can scare him off of to take the pot right now. The other player, if there was one, folds, and the old guy raises me. A check-raise, meaning he either has a pocket pair-aces, or kings or nines for a set, or a flush draw possibly better than mine that he is betting very brilliantly. I call because the pot is giving me the right odds to try for one more diamond. The ace of diamonds falls, one more big card out of the way if he has diamonds too. He bets. I raise.
“Fuckin godddam runner runner diamonds!” He yells throwing his pocket nines at the dealer. I do not even have to show the flush.
The next hand is his turn to place the blind bet. He snaps at the dealer when she reminds him. For the next several hands, all his actions will involve snapping and throwing.
3/8/05 Oaks Club $2-4 Hold’em
1:45-3:00 PM
In $60 Out $0 -$60
4:15-7:15 PM
In $50 Out $135 +$85
Hours Played 2005: 61.5 YTD-$445
THAI MULLET: Man, smell like you step on a skunk.
ME: Oh, uh, yeah, guess I should be more careful about that.
(He shows me the king and queen of clubs, which I quickly compare to the clubless 2,4,5 the dealer has flopped in the center of the table, before slapping them down.)
THAI MULLET: How come? Everything legal now anyway, right?
ME: (unintelligible)
I am guessing THAI MULLET is Thai. He may be Chinese or Vietnamese, though. He is probably a little younger than me, mid-thirties, his mullet hanging out the back of a AAA cap. He has a goatee and seems to be fresh from work, wearing a transmission company sweatshirt. This exchange occurs around six, he has been sitting at the table for maybe fifteen minutes and is on his second HenekenTM. He will presently place an order for beef with Chinese broccoli over rice and another Heineken, “Chinese, not American!” he will admonish the waitress as she leaves.
I must remember to wash my hands before returning to the table.
!
Sat in the Arizmendi parking lot listening to Philosophy Talk, reading INFINITE JEST and eating a vegan banana nut muffin until one, then went inside the club and signed up for the $2-4 table. Took a long time to get a seat, nearly 45 minutes, but I was wagging around IJ, so I sat down patiently to read and wait. I was craving bacon and should have ordered myself some, but I didn’t. I should have. The protein might have helped my play.
The only person I recognized a was a quick raise-everything Russian guy whose name I thought was Peter but it turns out is O.T. or O.P. or O.C. or something. He was at the far end of the table. Between him and me, along the straight edge of the table’s oval opposite the dealer were a few young dudes, one of whom looked about 9, who I almost pushed out of a big pot when we both had three queens. He had a 9 for a kicker and I had a six. Took a big bath on that hand. Got my last money in on pocket kings when the flop fell ace-jack-4. The 9 year old’s buddy called my all-in bet and turned over an ace-jack. The other two cards did not help and I got up for a little contemplation, barbecue and Foster Wallace.
!
"Jessica" is hot. One time I heard Bobbye, the surly lady floor man, say, after “Jessica” walked past a group of guys who all flirted with her and paid close attention as she walked away, that “Jessica’s” secret was that she was little but she had big hips. I think she is Cambodian, because her face looks like the big stone faces I have seen in pictures of Angkor Wat, and because while her Oaks Club name tag says “Jessica”, just like that, with the quotation marks, but her City of Oakland dealer permit badge identifies her as Anh Quach.
Today she is wearing a kind of purplish lipstick. She is also pissed off. Sometimes she has this sly little smile, like she is sort of amused by us, but today she is not the least bit so. She sits down an hour and a half into my afternoon session, and is immediately distressed that the money in her chip tray is not correct. “Why do I hafta care if nobody else care?” she says, ostensibly to herself but loud and clear enough for the whole table to hear. Mr. Singleton, the old African-American guy sitting to my left, who keeps tossing off his chips until he can get all in and then winning enough to stick around, begins this awful kind of criticism/flirtation. “Uhoh. Here come a terrible dealer.” Which “Jessica” manages to ignore, causing him to attempt redelivery. “She a terrible dealer.” And when she give him nothing he adds “Hurry up. You too slow. And you better git yo money straight”
She deals for a while without incident. Singleton can’t come up with anything more original than “Hurry up,” so she doesn’t ever really acknowledge him. Finally, though, she says sort of distrac-tedly, like she hasn’t heard anything he has said to this point. “Hmmm?” she says. “I say you too slow!” She sort of huffs a little and deals. She doesn’t say anything but is clearly bothered. When she is slow bringing the flop Singleton says “Come on, check around, let’s go, girl!” She was not real slow, just a few seconds delayed with the chip runner, getting her money together, which is an important part of her job. She doesn’t say anything but is clearly agitated.
During my short playing history, I have seen a fair amount of dealer abuse, and this, while not pleasant is not really that bad. But there is a guy at the end of the table, an Asian guy with gold hoops in both earlobes and gold framed glasses, head to toe sweatsuit gray Radiers gear and a voice and accent that, if you weren’t looking at him but were only hearing him speak, you would think he was a black guy, and he is becoming obviously annoyed with the situation, and he is trying to concentrate and play cards.
“Come on, Singleton. Let her alone.” He sort of smiled when he said it, and there was no threat behind it but there was a little bit of pick-on-someone-your-own-size-who-isn’t-already-having-a-shitty-day about it.
And for a minute, Singleton was quiet. Then, when “Jessica” was a little slow, the old Chinese guy to my right says “Hey, man, tell her to hurry up.”
!
I played pretty well in the afternoon. Early on I amde a straight that I did not see until the round of betting after it had come, so I missed a few bets, but after that I paid closer attention and got some good cards.
I made one hand playing in an early position with a 6,7 of diamonds. This is not a great play, out of position with lowish suited connectors, but not terrible and everybody callled without raising, so there was a pretty good pot. The flop--5d,9?,7?--made me an inside straight draw, 3 to a flush, and a pair of 7s; a couple of medium weak draws and middle pair. The old white guy to my right who replaced the troublemaking old Chinese guy bet, I called, maybe another player called, I can’t quite remember.
The turn is a king of diamonds. The old guy checks, I bet, hoping he has a pair of nines or something I can scare him off of to take the pot right now. The other player, if there was one, folds, and the old guy raises me. A check-raise, meaning he either has a pocket pair-aces, or kings or nines for a set, or a flush draw possibly better than mine that he is betting very brilliantly. I call because the pot is giving me the right odds to try for one more diamond. The ace of diamonds falls, one more big card out of the way if he has diamonds too. He bets. I raise.
“Fuckin godddam runner runner diamonds!” He yells throwing his pocket nines at the dealer. I do not even have to show the flush.
The next hand is his turn to place the blind bet. He snaps at the dealer when she reminds him. For the next several hands, all his actions will involve snapping and throwing.
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