Tuesday, January 19, 2010


I went with the Mrs. and some friends to The Borgata this weekend. I only play blackjack (video blackjack if I'm gettin' killed, as you can play for less).

Now, I'm smart enough to know that no matter how poorly the other people at your table play, your own odds aren't affected (I actually find it odd how many really smart people think it does affect your own odds). However, I am easily annoyed, and like most, very annoyed when someone doesn't play the "right" way. Though again, I don't even know why it annoys me as I know it has no bearing on how I am going to do.

It just does.

So there I was, sitting next to two crew-cutted twenty-something's, who were hitting on 15 when the dealer was showing 4, sticking on 15 when the dealer had a 9, etc.

I was gettin' more and more pissed off (as were the other people at the table, judging by their head-shaking and death glares).

One of the crew-cuts asked me what I did for a living. I told him and then, asked him what he did.

"I'm a fighter pilot, about to be deployed to Iraq."

For the next minute or so, I felt really bad about silently cursing him.

That's when he hit on 18.


1 comment:

Kirsten said...

Bastard! He can't get to Iraq sooner as far as I'm concerned.

Don't feel bad for him, Harris, it's called natural selection.