Three Strikes
..and you're out.
Plenty of crap going on around me. What am I doing? Treading water.
The last two cashgames have been small losses for me - probably the first time I've been down twice in a row since I started hosting. My tourney play recently has blown. I keep running into great hands held by bad players. Loose retards get dealt pocket aces, too.
I'm working ten shifts this week. One day off (Tuesday) and four double-shifts. I'm getting trained as a bartender. My restaurant has three brand new bartenders (Aaron, Horacio, and me), and the claim can be made that we all suck. We're new. We're slow. We're learning (I didn't even know what a Greyhound was). Don't order stupid frozen shit with 7 ingredients when we're busy. Seriously. I'll serve you a pint of Bud Light at that point.
My first two bartender-trainee shifts have gone well. If I continue to not embarass myself, the Sunday lunch bartender shift is mine. This is good. Serve beer, talk football, out by 6pm, play poker. Good times, I say.
Thursday was a stressful time for me. In the course of the normal $10 cashgame, I 86'ed Shawn. For those of you that haven't been kicked out of a bar in your lifetime, 86'ing is this. You've angered those in power, and you're not welcome back for a certain length of time (week, month, year, forever).
This wasn't a spur of the moment decision. Having John from the PCS rip on him might have persuaded me, but another argument with Shawn at my Thursday night game was the last straw. I consider myself a patient person, but Shawn made a liar outta me. I simply cannot stand listening to the retardation spewing from his mouth on a regular basis. Blame the drugs he's taken, blame the ADD he has (where the fuck are his meds?), but it's me that has to listen to the poo being emitted from his cakehole.
My poker game is large enough. I decided that Shawn's presence is way more of a hassle than it's worth, so he's out.
Maybe this reaffirms my status as a jerk. Maybe this means I'm going to enjoy my poker nights more now.
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