Meeting of Minds

This is the last in a series of columns regarding dealer performance, and the role that the monitoring of that performance plays in achieving a high standard of customer service. In some cardrooms, the importance of such monitoring is clearly understood and made part of the regular routine. The goal, of course, is not to "punish" dealers who fail to run their games, but to assist them in their performance by providing guidance, backup, and the opportunity to improve their skills. Despite what some people think, this process is hardly stifling or invasive; to the contrary, a hands-on approach typically produces a boost in morale as well as efficiency. Indeed, one of the notable differences between a room where performance and procedures are taken seriously and one where they're not is the attitude of their respective employees. When the idea is communicated that the integrity of the game is a crucial matter whose first lines of defense lie with the dealers and floorpeople, dealers and floorpeople are given a mandate to pursue a goal they now view as important. When, on the other hand, they see indifference at the top, a resigned "What does it matter, you can't fight city hall" attitude sets in – and understandably so, for employees can hardly be expected to demonstrate a level of commitment greater than that of their bosses.

As I noted in my last column, most of the actual poker-related service in a cardroom is provided by the dealer; the true measure of customer service is largely determined, therefore, by the quality of service in the box. For the pledge of "good customer service" to be anything more than lip service, the dealer's performance must be of a high standard. But that's a commitment that begins not with the dealers, but at the top, and its demonstration requires that management acknowledge some hard, fundamental realities: namely, that threats to the players' interests do exist; that the rules protecting them from those threats are therefore important, and that the consistent enforcement of those rules is the necessary fulfillment of the management/player contract whose terms – in case there's any confusion – are clearly printed in the rulebooks and/or posted on the walls.

That's the first step, and it's a Nike kind of a deal – you just do it. Step No. 2 – the process of education and support – is a continuing, ongoing process. It involves training dealers and floorpeople how to recognize and effectively deal with the common, day-to-day things that most regularly compromise the players' interests. These range from inadvertent dealer mistakes – such as inappropriate information derived from cards exposed by a poorly executed pitch, burn, or counting of the stub – to meditated, systematic abuses by the game's bad apples, such as team play, chronic chip-pushing, and surreptitious chopping of pots. It's especially important that dealers and floorpeople alike understand the importance of enforcing the "One Player to a Hand" rule, and face up to the dark cloud of uncertainty and suspicion that hangs over any game in which the "English Only" rule is routinely violated without penalty.

The key to accomplishing these ends – to protecting the players' interests and assuring consistency and fairness for all – is teamwork, and one of the simplest and most effective tools in establishing a positive, we're-all-in-this-together atmosphere is to establish dealer meetings as a regular part of the cardroom routine. These meetings (don't panic, dealers) needn't be lengthy, drawn-out affairs; in many cases, the necessary business – informing everyone, say, of a simple change in rules or procedures – can be accomplished in just a few minutes before the start of a shift. Occasionally, more complex issues will crop up, but whether the meetings are short or long, are held weekly or once a month, the important thing is that they be held on some sort of regular basis, for in establishing an ongoing dialogue as part of the official work routine, management sends its dealers three very important messages: (1) that even though their job is repetitious and can seem tedious, the dealer's work is important; (2) that details matter; and (3) that the house is behind them and supports them in their efforts. If these messages seem insignificant, compare the performance of a dealer who takes his job seriously, is attentive to detail, and enjoys the support of his supervisors to one who, well … doesn't.

In addition to boosting efficiency and morale, a regular forum for dialogue can reap all sorts of unexpected fruit. Let's say, to use a common example, that a cardroom is about to make the transition from a smoking room to a nonsmoking one. Rather than simply issue a memo to that effect, management discusses the change at its weekly meeting, prompting a dealer with experience in other cardrooms to speak up and offer his 2 cents. "You realize, of course," he says, "that one of the things that happens when you make this change is that lots of players – especially those at the tables nearest the designated smoking areas – start folding out of turn so as to get in as many drags as possible before rushing back for the next hand." The manager conducting the meeting looks thoughtful; this is an eventuality he hadn't considered. The dealer continues: "It's tempting – because so many people start doing it – to shrug it off when it's just, say, a preflop fold.

"The problem is that once you let that slide, a general breakdown starts to occur, and before long people are mucking out of turn on the river, heading for the closest exit and a quick hit of nicotine the moment they miss their draw. This compromises the action big-time, and if you don't think it happens, trust me – we went through the same thing at my last job, and because nobody did anything about it, before we knew what hit us, we had an epidemic on our hands."

This, clearly, is useful input. It's much more effective, after all, to anticipate a problem and formulate a preventive strategy against it than to be caught by surprise and have to deal with it from three steps behind. Although the solution in this case may be obvious – for the first week or so, both dealers and floorpeople need be particularly vigilant in dealing with the offenders, politely but firmly reminding them that the rules are still in force, and that being a smoker is not suddenly a license for folding out of turn – its formulation is made possible by the systematic dialogue between the policymakers and those in the trenches. Just as importantly, its execution will succeed because everyone is working on the same page, and with the full support of the people upstairs.

As simple as this may sound, contrast this commonsense approach to what happens in a room where no such communication or commitment exists, where, by the time it's even identified, the problem is so rampant that reversing course and dealing with it is extremely problematic – especially for dealers and floorpeople who aren't on the same page and whose efforts are unsupported by those above them. Unfortunately, in many cardrooms, this is precisely the way it will play out; and before you know it, you've got one more rule that doesn't matter, and one more impediment to the dealer's ability to enforce any rules at all.