jesse kaellis en beBee in English, Creative Writers, Writers Bally's. Trop, Dunes, Caesars, Sahara. Landmark, Barbary, State Line, on and on. • 21 joints. I counted them again. 16/10/2016 · 3 min de lectura · +300

I try to move up -- too soon

I wasn't ready. 

I try to move up -- too soon

I was on my game at Vegas Club when Rudy, a dice dealer I had worked with came in and informed me and anyone else in the vicinity that they were hiring at the Fremont.

They were hard up for dealers. Dice dealers. They had guys working a lot of OT, and they were starting to bitch about it. 

I was reluctant. The Fremont was a very strict house, and they used speed checks which were hard to deal. I had been back in my game for about six months, and my hands were still not too good. A speed check is an acrylic chip with a metal insert about the size of a dime. They are heavy and extremely slippery. If you look hard at them, they spill.

Once you get good, you can deal faster. And they don't wear out. Saves the casino money.

This was 1993. I did go and audition at the Fremont. I was nervous and spilling checks all over the layout. I was giggling in embarrassment. But. They hired me. I mean they would have hired anybody.

The Fremont wasn't a fun place to work. Their action was mostly Hawaiians, and when you deal to them, you are going to work your ass off. Plus, you had to pay color for color. You couldn't color them up. The idea being that if you paid green for red or black for green, they would wake up and cash out. Red=5 bucks, green= 25 bucks, black=100 bucks. And you couldn't total. Couldn't pay the flat and the odds together.

I started hanging out with this dealer from my crew. A college ball player from Utah. He was a school teacher, but he was making more money as a dealer.

I don't usually hang out with big guys, but he was a sweetheart, and he liked me. Sometimes guys take a shine to me. We started going to a slot joint behind the Fremont near the Lady Luck. It was dark in there and cool and no table games. Dealers hung out in there. 

We would go in there and order a pitcher of beer and drink shots of Jagermeister. Which we got pretty fucked up on. We would talk shop. Talk Vegas. I told him "this town is a little paradise if you can avoid the traps." He wholeheartedly agreed.

My particular affliction was that I was not only not avoiding the traps, but I was also rooting around in the gutter to find them.

He told me "those Mormon girls sure like to fuck!" In a tone of wonderment.

The night before my last shift at the Fremont, I was drinking at the Horseshoe and two ladies came in and one asked "is this chair taken." I didn't say anything; I just shoved the chair over with my foot. She seemed charmed by my lack of manners, and we started hanging out and talking. It was her and her sister from Barstow. We went over to the Four Queens, and I was drinking and dancing with them. Drinking Black Velvet. Drinking a lot. We ended up back at the Shoe, and she wouldn't let me fuck her so I decided to leave and she made me promise to take a cab.

Instead, I decided to go down to a bar at 21st and Fremont. I walk up to a black guy in there and tell him "I want a twenty rock. Right now."

He gets in my car, and we go to West Vegas to pick up, and I piece him off and drop him at the bar. I got a head of steam on me. I'm driving around downtown all over -- where are all the whores? Quiet night. I drive by a voluptuous looking black female who genuflects in my direction when she spots me.

We go back to my room at the Peter Pan Motel. We smoke my crack. We smoke her crack. I had good sex with this one. Which is rare. I did stuff with her just like I would with any woman. 

In the morning I was half asleep, and she cleaned out my wallet. But fair is fair. Because I hadn't paid her up front.

I go to work, and I am messed up. I can't think clearly. I became aware of two female floormen watching me from behind my game. They pulled me off third base. I asked them "Are you firing me?"

"No, we are dismissing you for failure to complete probation." Yeah. Oh yeah. Thank God I wasn't fired. Motherfuckers. A Boxman had dropped a dime on me. He knew me from the Union Plaza. He sat on my game there. When I applied at the Fremont, I had lied about my dismissal from the Plaza.

He got canned from the Plaza also, but I didn't retaliate by ratting him out. 

Well. I was worried. Five days before Xmas is not a good time to be out of work. But I had a chance to catch on somewhere for New Years. 

But the word got out around there, and some kid I worked with at Vegas Club got word to me not to be too proud to come back.

I saw the casino manager in front of Vegas Club and asked him about it. About coming back. He told me to talk to the swing shift boss, who liked me, and I got rehired to start New Year's Eve.

I never got rehired at a Vegas joint before. Not in the twenty-one, I worked at, and they usually won't do it. For any reason. I was grateful, and I said to myself "I'll give him six months."

I ended up back there for a year and a half. Until I tried to move up again. I wasn't ready that first time. 

jesse kaellis 3/11/2016 · #4

Thank you, Javier.

jesse kaellis 16/10/2016 · #3

Thank you, Deb. I'm searching my memory, "The socks story?" And finally, a light bulb lights up in my mind -- the story about the bereft woman who sold me the socks. That's a regret I'll always live with. I think about that lady from time to time wondering what became of her.

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Deb 🐝 Helfrich 16/10/2016 · #2

You know how to make a world that I know nothing about take shape with your words, @jesse kaellis. I often have nothing to say, but the vignettes stay with me. Especially the socks story, still pondering about the situations where I do just enough, but not as much as I should do.

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jesse kaellis 16/10/2016 · #1

Thank you, Aurorasa.

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