My Twenty-Third Job

Well, it comes to this, does it? I'm up to date with my jobs and I don't have a new job, yet. Of course, I can only blame myself. I got discouraged and gave up looking when no offers for even an interview came in.

This journal was started when I was working at the Golden Nugget. It pretty much is about working at the Golden Nugget, which makes it odd, that this story isn't in it:

I had been at the Golden Nugget for about a week when the shift boss got another dealer for the game I was on. He said, "I like the way you deal. I'm going to try you in the high limit room....You don't care if someone swears at you, do you?" I said, "that I didn't mind at all." Actually, being the girly man that I am, I did care, but now I'm as calloused as a whore at a shriner's convention. (Is that already a saying. Damn, it's a good one. It's inappropriate. I've got to remember it.) He took me into the high limit room and put me on a game. There was no one playing at my game. It made me nervous to be in there. Someone was going to come in, bet large amounts of money and I'm going to make a mistake and be instantly fired. Little did I know, the worse thing that was going to happen was that I was going to be punched.

I noticed a "reserved" sign on my table. I asked the floor supervisor, who it was reserved for. He said, he didn't know. I went on break and people were talking about



"The Sopranos are coming in".

"I'm sorry, by Sopranos, you mean some of the people in the show."

"I don't know."

I get back from my break and it is still dead and still reserved. I was getting really nervous. It was my first time I was on a high limit game and it is going to be celebrities that I've seen once, but other people worship.

It turned out they were coming to my table and it was 5 of the male supporting cast. ("Tony" played the next day, but not on my game.) They were allowed to play anywhere from $5 to $15,000. Luckily, they were $25 players. As they were playing, a crowd formed around me. There were people crammed at the high limit half-gate, gawking at the actors. I think security was given the orders to let one snapshot be taken before the tourists were told they weren't allowed to take pictures. There must be hundreds of pictures of me, pale and nervous, in strangers photo albums.

Inside the pit, a crowd was forming as well. Besides some onlookers, there was two floor supervisors, a casino host, the shift manager, a pit manager, and one of the casino owners, Tim Poster (pictured on the right).



I felt like someone in a traumatic experience, like I was outside of my body, just observing. I did manage to make a wisecrack, which I don't remember. One of the cast said that I sounded like "fat" someone from Jersey. Seems like everyone has the surname "fat" when they are from Jersey. I was destroying them. This was the time when everyone would have liked to see someone win, but no, I was killing them. They couldn't win a single hand. The fat actor to my right dropped his bet down to $5 and made some comment. The actor that plays a heroine addict, said it wasn't my fault, it's just the cards. He turned out to be a really nice guy.

Tim Poster decided that I needed some help. Thank God! He came and took my spot for a couple of hands. He was a horrible dealer, but dealt the cards in a special way. He told all of them to bet big, stacks of green. They did. Tim then took one green chip off of each bet and put them in the dealer's tip position. He then dealt out the cards. He, as the dealer was showing a ten. He took that card and put it in the discard rack and now was showing five. He told them to hit. One of them had a thirteen and took a hit as instructed. It was a ten, so Tim moved it to the next player that could use a ten. I think, you get the picture. He did this for a couple of hands and had me take over the game.

I came back the same way that I left. I was destroying them. After a particularly nasty hand, my hand was flat on the table and one of the fat actors took is fist and rammed it down on my hand. OK, so it really wasn't being punched and it only hurt a little. I also felt it was a little bit in jest. I learned later from one of the security guards that maybe it wasn't in jest. They were talking about me for a day after dealing to them.

A month later, an officer from Nevada Gaming, came in to interview me regarding that night. It turned out that manipulating the cards into wins is a gaming violation. The interview basically consisted of how I felt about it. I said that I felt alright. Apparently, the right thing to say was that it was wrong and I felt something was going on. I figured that it was Tim Poster's money and he should be able to basically give it to the Sopranos if he wanted to. The result of this interview and other interview's with other dealers was a $150,000 fine and a letter of apology to the dealers admitting that it was wrong.

I've since dealt to sports celebrities without knowing it. Other people spotted, but not dealt to are: Alyssa Milano, Cheech Marin, Patrick Swayze, Justin Timberlake, and others I can't remember right now.

Further tales of the world's worst vegetarian

So, I've decided to take the next step in becoming the world's worst vegetarian. This next step actually includes excluding meat from my diet. Isn't that a funny sentence, "includes excluding"? One exception is seafood, which I don't really eat very often anyway. I'm also allowed to eat lamb chops, which I never get, but love oh so much. I can eat pepperoni, because it is part of my favorite food in the world. The other item I can eat is bacon, delicious, good-for-you bacon.

I'm sick, so last night I had chicken noodle soup, but ate around most of the chicken. When I've tried to become a vegetarian before, it always meant doing away with all meat and eating any minuscule amount of meat meant failure. Now with my new "worst vegetarian" program, I don't care. I've reduced meat intake greatly and that's good enough for me.

"But why?" you might ask or maybe you won't ask and are rather just reading along, bored out of your mind, thinking about how much longer this post is going to be, wondering if I know how to use a comma, and if you should even bother adding a comment at all. So, let's say you didn't ask. I'll ask for you, "but why become a vegetarian at all? Is it health reasons? Is it ethical reasons? Is it environmental reasons?" The answer is "yes and also because I don't really like meat that much". The only think I'll miss terribly is tacos and burgers and I think you can see the health benefits of not eating those items. I've also cut out deep fried foods, because I've eaten one too many french fries and I'm very sick of them. They're everywhere. Every single meal, anywhere in Vegas, comes with French Fries. I've eaten enough of them to satisfy me for life. (The exception to this is that I can eat tempura, yum).



On my rampage to become a mediocre vegetarian, I bought a Burt's Bees sample pack. (I know it seems unrelated, but there is a loose association there. You gotta admit that.) I tried all of the products and they all smell great, but I think some of them are pretty useless. For example, the cuticle creme, I just don't understand why I need to keep my cuticles moist. I guess it's a girl thing. Also, I think the hand salve is a waste of space. My favorite item is the citrus facial scrub. It smells like orange pekoe tea with roses and my face feels coated with moisture after using it. We're all about moisture here in Las Vegas.

My Twenty-Second Job

Welcome to the fabulous Luxor Hotel and Casino where the only curse is fun!

Not really, the curses available at the Luxor are many and varied. One of the curses is working there. The thing that bothered me the most is that when they wanted you to work overtime, they didn't bother asking you or telling you. They just left you dealing on a game. So, 4:00 AM would roll around and you would still be there...waiting. I hated it. Also, let's say you left at 4:20. They wouldn't give you any money for that extra twenty minutes. They would only give you money if you worked til the half hour. That's pretty tight considering they pay dealers $5.15 an hour and dealers are the biggest money makers in the casino as far as employees go. Also, they can't be fired for stupid reasons like being unlucky. It's hard to be part of a group that was too stupid to unionize. Bartenders unionized and they made pretty much the same as dealers in wage and tip. Now, they get decent vacation, a better health plan and make over $14.00/hour plus tips. I should have become a bartender. The employees at the Luxor did try to unionize, but they got threatened by an unknown source through a letter circulating saying that their windows would be smashed if they did and other such nonsense. It worked. Still no union.

The last straw came when I was dealing craps. A man bought in for $60 and I gave him the money saying, "There you go sir, $60, good luck". I was the only dealer that did talk to the players and wish them good luck. All of the other dealers were pretty much depressed zombies waiting to die. The shift manager was behind me and said, "you didn't wish him good luck and say the amount." This upset me, because I did and I'm the only one that ever did. I just said, "I did though." He replied with a childish, "No, you didn't." In effect, he was calling me a liar. That really gets my goat. It turned into a little fight with a back and forth: "I did", "You didn't" and ended up with a "then be louder next time". I did. After that, I always yelled when someone bought in. I have to be pretty pissed to do something so blatant. All of the other dealers, thought I was crazy and the boxman would say that I didn't have to yell. i would explain that apparently I did have to yell. A month and a half into the job, the Golden Nugget called me and I quit happily.

On the quit sheet, there is a section called "rehire" with three boxes: "Yes", "No", and "Review". The shift manager checked "review". Of course, I will never work there again, but now that MGM owns them, I will probably never be able to get a job at any MGM property. That's more than half of the big casinos in Las Vegas.

My Deadline is Approaching

My hope was to have another job by the time I finished my list of previous jobs. I only have two to go. This is rather upsetting to me.

My Twenty-First Job

I moved on over to Primm Valley, which is right across the highway from Whiskey Pete's. The tips were better, I got better at dealing craps and the people were great. One of the major problems there was on the weekend the craps table was basically right by the band. What idiot thought of that? I had to yell my fool head off to be heard when doing the stick calls. Conversations with the customers were hard. I went home every weekend with a sore throat.

I had to get a job in town though. The drive was too much.

I guess this is time to bring up the person dying at a craps game story. One day, I wasn't there unfortunately, a man had a heart attack and died at the craps game. They were not allowed to move him so they put a sheet over him and kept the game open. The players didn't seem to mind. Another day, a woman in tears came up to a man playing and told him that their son just died. He played four more hours before going to bed.

I'm paralyzed

I don't know what to do. It's my day off and I have too much I want to do and not enough energy to do any of it. My options include:

1. I was going to make pizza from scratch. Instead of regular pizza though, I was going to make my own recipe which also included a pie crust instead of a pizza crust. I've had pizza like that before and it was great. My hope was that my recipe would be a success and then I would get into the pizza business, creating a fabulous moderately-priced restaurant lacking in the Las Vegas area. The reality is that I'm a horrible cook and it would undoubtedly be a disaster.

2. Look for work. There are no good jobs that I can find. The only good jobs I do find, don't ever respond.

3. Write to RadioShack. The District Manager was suppose to call me today for an interview. The circumstances behind this are confusing. Perhaps, they've decided not to pursue me any further. Oh my god, I've been rejected by RadioShack. There is no hope for me. I was going to actively pursue this job by sending a "Thank You" e-mail with underlying excitement about a possible career with RadioShack. Who am I kidding? I should be thankful that they are dropping me. Alas, I hate rejection.

4. Housework....it's never ending.

5. Apply for a job at the Golden Nugget. Wait, I work there. I mean a transfer. My grief is with my current position, therefore I could apply for another position that is open like "Special Events Manager" or "Special Events Coordinator". I'm pretty applied out though.

When I have so many things overwhelming me, I tend to get paralyzed and do nothing. I'm just sad that my days off have gone by and I have nothing to show for it. I didn't even really relax. I'm a fool.

My Twentieth Job

Well, we are winding up my tour of jobs as you can see. I'm now up to my first dealing job at Whiskey Pete's. Whiskey Pete's is on the California Border in a little casino town called Primm. It is about 50 miles from Las Vegas. I started working the graveyard shift. I was a zombie. I never slept properly and I never ate properly. They only had breakfast food available. For everyone working at night, it was their daytime, but for some reason, we were only given scrambled eggs and french toast, etc. I lost a lot of weight quickly causing my ears to close up because of ear fat loss. Sounds silly, I know, but it happens. So, I couldn't stay awake, I couldn't hear and I was dealing craps for the first time. It is a complicated game and the boxman was a complete jerk. He just loved to yell at you for anything, making me more nervous than I already was. I couldn't stand it.

One night, a man came in and told the shift boss that he had a bomb wrapped around him and that he would set it off if we wasn't given $60,000. The shift boss told him for that amount of money the guy would have to fill out a form with his name and address. The guy did. The shift boss then told him that it needed to be cleared first. The guy got nervous and left, where security jumped him. They found something tied around his waist, but it wasn't a bomb. I want to say that it was hot dogs, but I think I'm confusing this with a movie. All the while that this was happening, I was completely oblivious. I looked up and saw a lot of security guards and thought it was unusual. Other than that, I only learned about it after the fact. That's how sleepy I was. Other dealers knew what was going on. It was nice to know that the shift boss would play foot loose and fancy free with worker's and customer's lives by not alerting us to a possible bomb and also pulling the stunt with the form. Oh well, it was all in good fun and nobody got their eye poked out.

Eventually, I transferred to the day shift. Better hours, better people, nicer boxman. It was much better.

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My Nineteenth Job

I worked in admitting at Mountainview Hospital as a temp job. My job was to tell people to wait for the next representative for regular suregery admitting procedures as well as aid people with their check in at the walk-in ER. To check into the ER, people had to fill out a small form with their name and what was wrong. I would aid them if necessary. Then enter the information into a computer, print out a couple of "official" sheets and a wrist band. I would put the wrist band on the patient. I was told to alert the nurse if there were any serious conditions like chest pain. One time, a guy came in and was having violent seizures. The person with them was in a panic and very upset. I went in to tell the admitting nurse and she got mad at me for bothering her. Then it seemed like she took extra long to get to the patient. The whole place was really unprofessional and the systems that they had in place were very inefficient. Of course, they asked me to become full time and I said "goodbye suckers".

It seemed like their were theme days in the ER. For example, one day we would get a lot of head wounds. Another day, we would get whiny people with the flu. There was open wound day and my personal favorite, missing digit day.

My Eighteenth Job

This really wasn't my eighteenth job. It was probably my fourteenth. I forgot to stick it in. I knew I would forget something.



I was an extra for Touched by an Angel on several episodes. I'm way in the background being a parent of a little gymnast, a cop, a person in a park, an office worker, and a lawyer, etc. Being an extra doesn't pay well, but it sure is easy work and they feed you. Anyway, my biggest role was when I was a lawyer. I'm walking down the steps and the rapist is walking up the steps. It was my biggest role because you could tell it was me and not a blurred image of me or just my arm or just my butt. What a sad, sad, claim to fame. 

While I was walking down the steps, Chris Noth, the rapist was walking up the steps.  On one take, he rammed me with his shoulder.  I just kept walking like nothing happened.  In hindsight, I should have "acted" and turned around in anger or something like that.