And the floormen are taking the opportunity to crack the whip on the dealers.
OK, lissen up, you putzes. We are here to make money. One of the prerequisites for us making money is (gasp) players being happy.
Wow. What a concept.
As the only female craps dealer on the shift, I am in a unique position to make players happy. Call a guy sweetie a couple of times, dealer bets magically appear on the line. Tell him, “I’m going to shake you a winner” and do a little shimmy while the dice are in the air, one of his bets hits, he thinks I’m bringing him luck, and dealer bets magically appear.
So, don’t tell me that this is a business, and that I should behave as such. What I’m doing is good business. Those players who complained all have one thing in common- nonexistence. They are figments of the somewhat limited imagination of a floorman who inserts a fresh piece of lumber into his rectum before coming to work each morning. I know this is a business. Entertaining these guys is good business, as the amount of money in the toke box at the end of the work shift attests.
The big boss understands this. As long as I’m not being rude to players, and I’m doing my job, he pretty much lets me do my thing. Once I jokingly asked him if I could belly dance on the table if the game went dead, and he said “I don’t know, how’s your midriff?”
But he’s on vacation.
And you putzes feel that you have to be controlling things in order to feel like you’re doing your jobs (or his) while he’s away.
And you’re cutting into my moneymaking potential. And, since the crew shares tokes, you are also cutting into my ability to help three other guys make money.
This isn’t a very good rant, is it?