Olga and Her Man Hands

Working off a monthly blackjack bonus last night suddenly stirred memories of a few little vegas tidbits that I'd forgotten.

ScurvyWife and I were at the Wynn, and she was watching me play a wee bit of blackjack. I was at third base with two other players, one was a vaguely Middle Eastern youngish guy that didn't really know what he was doing and the other was a very talkative, fairly drunk, pretty attractive young lady. Attractive young lady basically knew what she was doing except for doubling on soft hands like A5 versus dealer showing a 4. She's debating that very situation, and the dealer mentions she can double if she wants, she ponders it, and same random loser dude walking by stops, looks at the hand, and tells her she should stand, don't listen to the dealer. She asks him "Really" and he confirms that she should stand. She asks him why he isn't playing then, and just giving her advice, and he says he only plays at bigger tables and is on the way to "cash in a marker".

She looks at me and I simply tell her "You have 6 right now. You should double but at least hit. It's hard to do much worse than 6." Loser dude interjects again that that's wrong, that she should let the dealer bust. Dealer and I look at one another. Attractive young lady finally decides to hit, gets a 10, stands on 16. Dealer busts. Loser dude says "See, I told you," and walks off.

ScurvyWife and I were talking about it later and I mentioned that the most surprising thing about the whole exchange was that the dealer knew what she was talking about, which often isn't the case. Cue foreshadowing.

The morning we checked out I killed some time playing blackjack at the Strat. Olga, a Eastern-European sounding dealer with the largest set of man hands I've ever seen, was cleaning me out, along with two other degenerate guys playing blackjack at 8 in the morning. This was not putting me in the best of moods, as she kept drawing out, again and again again.

I get A7 versus her face card. I motion to hit, she pauses and waits. I motion to hit. She just stares at me. Trying to remain polite, I say "Please hit me" and motion again for a hit. She finally, grudgingly does, turning over a 2, and gives me a dark, evil look, as if I rubbed rattlesnake bones across my face and started chanting some black voodoo curse. She also, of course, proceeded to flip over a 5, then another five, to draw to 20 and push with me.

Literally five hands later (all wins for her, I think), I have A7 again, and she has a face card showing. I sigh, already knowing what's coming. Instead of my normal little subtle finger crook signifying I want a card, I reach my whole damn monkey paw out, waving towards the table, loudly saying "Hit me." Olga just stares at me, man hands motionless. "I would like another card." Still nothing. "For the sake of all that is holy and good, I swear upon the wee baby Jebus' curly head that I do, indeed, understand what I'm doing and want another freaking card!" I shouted, gesturing wildly, arms flailing.

(Okay, so it was more like "Please ma'am, I know I have a soft 18 but I want another card. Please deal it to me.")

Face card gives me 18, Olga has 20.

Five minutes later I have A7 versus a face card. I barely get into my routine and she hits me with a 3. Victory is mine. Until she proceeds to draw to 21. I color up and flee, defeated by the man hands.