Dealers and Difficult Players

China Paul

I played some $1/$3/$6 last night. China Paul was already in the game when I got my seat, sitting two to the left of the player who’d spearheaded last weekend’s sit-out. After half an hour, I was about to tweet that they were coexisting peacefully when suddenly Paul got angry at the dealer for supposedly getting distracted by a player’s story and slowing down the game (we didn’t lose more than a few seconds in my opinion). Paul was doing the “fold hold”, clearly having no intention of playing his hand but holding up the game while he railed at the dealer, calling him an idiot, asking if he liked men, and whether he’d ever been fucked in the eye.

I rarely see much point to intervening in these situations, so I stayed quiet, but I was glad to see another player ask, “So what if he does like guys? What if I had a husband? Would that be a problem for you?” Paul ignored him and continued berating the dealer.

Several other players got angry at Paul, called him a “Fucking asshole,” etc. He seemed pretty unfazed and may even have increased his efforts to be annoying as a result. The dealer, to his credit, largely ignored him and said simply, “Right now you’re holding up the game, sir.”

After that, Paul was quiet for a while. He was really tight so he didn’t lose much, but he played quickly enough and didn’t say much and several times I forgot he was there.

I won one good-sized pot with him by raising a few limpers with A7s. He flatted in position, we got a few more calls, and I bet about half pot on a 722 flop. Paul called and the others folded. We both checked a blank turn, then he called 2/3 pot on an A river and showed AK disgustedly. There was some cursing after that, but only at himself for not re-raising pre-flop.

The next time he went off, he’d been away from the table for a while, and I guess one of dealers took him out of the comp tracker (I’m not sure whether that’s proper protocol or not). He came back and noticed almost immediately (which is pretty funny in its own right) that the little light corresponding to his seat wasn’t illuminated. A hand was in progress, but he barked at the dealer, “Why is my light off?!”

The dealer ignored him and dealt the turn. Paul threw his player card at the dealer. The dealer calmly set it next to the well and continued with the hand. “Call the floorman,” Paul insisted. “Put me back in for half hour comps.” The poker room pays $1 per hour in comps. The dealer ignored him. “OK you want me to call him myself? OK, floor!” Paul shouted, standing up and waving his arms.

“You got a lot of pull around here,” one of the other players commented after Paul shouted for several seconds without response from anyone.

“What you say?”

“You’ve got a lot of pull around here.”

“What you mean?”

“Judging from the way they’re knocking each other out of the way to see what you need.”

Paul stood up and walked off, presumably to go find a floorperson. He returned by himself and sat down. The hand was over, so the dealer swiped his player card and handed it back to him. “How you get my player card?” Paul demanded. The dealer ignored him, which seemed to be the best way of handling him.

Blaming the Dealer

A player I’d seen before got stacked with KQ vs 66 on a Q6xx board in a spot where it was painfully obvious he was beat. He started cursing the dealer. “Every fucking time with you. You always do this to me. Unbelievable. How do you give him a set when I hit the Q? And then a K on the river just to taunt me? Un-fucking-believable. I knew he had it. No way I could get away from it though. I just had to hope he was on a flush draw.” And on and on like that, but very matter-of-factly, not really in an angry way.

All the while the dealer was sort of laughing, and good-naturedly, not smugly. I thought maybe the guy was joking, at least about the parts where he yelled at the dealer, but it turns out he’s known for going off like this. I later learned that the reason the dealers tolerate him is that he often throws chips at them when he’s angry, usually 5s but occasionally 25s and even 100s. He tips well when he wins, too.

A Million Percent

After last call, the game got short. When we were four-handed, I asked the dealer to reduce the rake. “I already did,” he said. “But I might do it again.”

“Can you call someone who will?” interjected the player on my left.

“I already did it once, and I just said I might do it again.” The player got up and left before the next hand was dealt.

We played three-handed with double-reduced rake for a while, and eventually a fourth player came to the table. He sat down, asked what the max buy-in was, took out six hundred-dollar bills, started to hand them to the dealer, then said, “Wait! What’s the minimum buy-in?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

“Gimme two hundred.” He took the big blind in the first hand. I opened to $20 with AKo, he raised to $60, I put him all-in, and he called so eagerly that I wondered if I was even flipping. The board ran out K66J5, and I quickly turned over my cards. He held onto his for a long time, then finally turned over J9o. The dealer shipped me the pot, and the new guy handed him another $200.

Next hand he asked if he could straddle, but the dealer told him he could not, since he was the $3 blind and not under the gun. The same thing was explained to him the next hand. He successfully straddled the hand after that.

On his next big blind, I raised to $20 with KJo, a tilty player in the $3 blind called with $450 behind, and the big blind moved all-in. I called, the other guy folded, and I beat his 85s without improving. He reloaded $400 while the third player angrily complained that we idiots made him fold A9.

Two hands later, the same player asked to straddle again. The dealer told him he was the $1 blind.

“I just was the blind!”

“You were the $3 blind last hand.”

“I paid $1 last hand.”

“Sir, the button is right.”

“No, I paid $1 last hand. I want to straddle,” he yelled.

“You can’t straddle,” the dealer snapped back angrily, visibly upset.

“No, I just paid the $1 blind.”

“No you didn’t!”

“Yes I did!”

“I’m 100% sure you didn’t.”

“I’m 110% sure I did.”

The rest of us jumped in to support the dealer, but it made no difference. The dealer was red in the face and shaking.

“Call the floor. We can review the tape.”

“You want to review the tape? You’re wrong.”

“Call the floor.”

“Is all this over $1? I’ll give you a dollar,” offered one of the other players. Everyone ignored him.

The floor came over and the dealer started dealing the next hand, with the button in the right place, using the floor as a proxy to argue with the player. “He was the $3 blind last hand.”

“I was the $1 blind last hand!”

“He was the $3 blind!”

Seeing that the game was underway, the floor walked off without saying a word.

“I’m a million percent sure,” the player insisted.

“I’m two million percent sure!” the dealer shot back. I must emphasize that both of these guys were extremely upset and not the least bit self-conscious about how childish they sounded.

I finally interjected, saying the dealer’s name quietly but firmly. I rarely talk at the table, so when I open my mouth, it usually makes an impression.

He looked at me, red-faced. “What?”

“What are you hoping to accomplish by arguing with him?”

“I’m not trying to accomplish anything!”

“Then let it go. The pot’s right, the blinds are right, just move on.” He did.

Dealer Appreciation

I’m easily in the bottom quartile of tippers. I almost tip $1 per pot won, occasionally giving nothing if I just win a small pot pre-flop, an extra dollar or two for a big pot that a dealer managed smoothly, and in rare cases $5 or $10 if the dealer really goes above and beyond in some way.

I never give dealers a hard time, either. My blinds are up 99% of the time that they’re supposed to be, I do what I’m told when I’m told, I turn my cards over when it’s on me to show, and I’m understanding about mistakes. Mostly I say nothing and let the dealer run the game, even if she’s a little slow or not doing things quite the way I’d like. I don’t complain about where she pitches my cards, whether or not she announces the size of my bet or pulls in the bets or anything like that. The only time she hears from me is if she makes some material mistake, like giving the wrong change.

The dealer who ignored China Paul’s comp card antics is my favorite. When he sat down, he asked, “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

“Glad you’re here,” I told him.

“Why’s that?”

“Because you’re the best dealer in the room.”

“Awe, thank you,” he said, and I think he blushed a little. Like I said, I don’t speak often at the table, and when I do, it makes an impression.