So we’re in Vegas. Most good “Greg Stories” start that way. It’s really late and we’re at the Blackjack table with Herman, the 80 year old dealer. He’s telling stories about the early days in the casinos and we’re just wishing he would just shut up and deal. Herman isn’t paying too much attention and instead is watching the ladies walk past. Greg starts to doze off at the table and puts his head down. Just to catch a couple Zs. The dealer says, “Sir, you can’t sleep at the table.” Greg wakes up and his cards are stuck to his forehead like he’s playing Indian Poker. The dealer grabs the cards and throws them down on the table. Now it wouldn’t be so bad if that were the end of the story. Herman must have had a”senior moment” because Greg had blackjack and didn’t immediately pay him. As Herman is sweeping the cards, Greg starts yelling about not getting paid. Herman starts yelling back and accused Greg of not knowing what his cards were. Here is where it got ugly. The pit boss comes over and paid Greg for a win but not a Blackjack. More yelling. Lot’s of “just look at the video tape” at the $5 table. Needless to say, we were no longer welcome at the Blackjack tables of the Mirage. No great loss.

heh. the man who introduced me to manhattans

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