dire straights

There’s a pastry I like getting in a certain coffee shop in a certain casino and I use whatever player card of mine that has comps to get it. While signing the comp ticket today the cashier, obviously in her first year studying criminal justice at the local community college said, “I’m sure it’s not even you.” Seriously? How long has she been waiting for the opportunity to call me out?  Was this her big moment? Now what did she expect to happen? I run away?

Some floormen have this same mentality when you’re winning in their section and they feel like you’re taking “their” money when you clean out the rack. She’s upset I’m taking “her” pastry.

I know for a fact that some floor people get bonuses when their tables show a profit. But snarky cashiers for sure don’t get anything for calling out customers who are gaming the system to get comped pastries that the casino will cover regardless of what name they use.

I always tip this place too.  One of the other cashiers, a super nice, plump and jolly young man once told me he signed on to work an extra hour so he could pocket another $8.25.

So what was my reaction when she so cleverly unmasked my high level ruse?

“Um yeah actually it is me,” I said with a confused grimace.  It’s not my first rodeo, little miss mall cop.

And then I still tipped a dollar because the plump, jolly guy was also working and I’m a fish.

There is no version of this song that I dislike.  Enjoy.