Money Hater

A few days ago I got back from a two week trip which found me in LA, Vegas and then LA again. Invariably by the end of these west coast jaunts my sleep pattern is such that I am ready for bed at about 6am Minnesota time. My efforts to correct this have failed. I stayed up all night the other night hoping that once I finally crashed at 10pm, I’d sleep through the night and then be set. Well, I slept until 10am, but now here I am still awake at 5:30am the next day typing this stupid thing. Granted, I don’t have a job, so I can basically sleep whenever I want. This goes for shower and shave as well, although my trusty travel companion makes sure to point out whenever I need to bathe or drag a razor across my face. Why a heterosexual male would care if I shaved or not eludes me. The shower thing I get, but shaving I can’t wrap my mind around.

When I got to LA there was the usual cast of characters around the fire pit. (Fire pit is what I will occasionally call the table, as it is the spot where many come to torch their dollars.) One of the regulars there I find particularly enjoyable. He is a nice guy with a good sense of humor. I don’t know him all that well, but I get the impression that he is a very good, kind man. He is a good player, likely one of the bigger local winners in the 100/200 game, and is constantly working an angle. This is not to suggest that he does anything shady, so “angle” is likely not the right word, but if he is ever involved in anything, be it a side bet or simply choosing seats in a game, he is always making sure he has the best of it.

One of the bigger fish showed up and so there was talk of starting a 200/400 game. Mr. Angle was deeply involved in this, as he often is when a juicy bigger game is going to potentially fire up. On my previous trip, he approached my friend and I and asked if we wanted to start a bigger game. He had someone at his table, a complete fish, who wanted to play. When Mr. Angle approached me, he chose his words carefully. “You should come play 2/4, and bring someone who is, um, equivalently….” I finished the sentence for him, “gifted?” “Yes”, he said with a wry smile and quick glance of his shifty eyes to both sides. Whenever he is up to something, he does the glance. He doesn’t move his head at all, just like one of those kitty-kat clocks. Left, right. My buddy asks if he can play without bringing anyone. “Oh no. It is a double date.”, he said with his Persian accent.

Anyhow, he is in the process of gathering folks for this game. We have no intention of playing, but we like to mess with him so we inquire about the game, knowing damn well that he doesn’t want us anywhere near it. “Hey, are there seats open in that game?”, my buddy asks. “Oh, I’m sorry, it is invitation by color.” Left, right. “No white guys.”