Keeping Busy with Chinese Class

Dear all,

I tried out at the Noodle takeout shop. For four hours. It reminded me of the time I worked in Toys 'R' Us during school days.

The basic makeup of this store are its three to four cooks, the uncle running the place (father), the auntie running the place (mother) and the son (fat, quiet, dissociative college kid who looks like he thinks he's really smart and probably does).

It's nothing great, or fun. In the first half hour, I was already taking orders and operating the cashier and people use a lot of eftpos--what you would call a debit card--here. Later, I washed dishes, and I still have the stench on my hands: those gloves really leave a foul odour. It was mainly an over the counter thing; taking customer orders, taking payments, taking phone orders, generating orders...

During dinner time, plenty of customers come by for takeout. The counter livens up and the uncle starts talking to me in Canto. Sometimes they--the family of them--starts speaking Mandarin and I have to figure what the fuck they are saying, which isn't really that hard some of the times.

It's humbling, to say the least, but to really say the least is what I got paid in the end of that four hours. I didn't even care if I got paid. Usually, I would write about my exploits, but today, it's about theirs, exploiting me. What a waste of time: Illegal under minimum wage chores.

But I have to do something...


Yours affectionately,
-Fuckyournoodleshopandassholeson

My week at a glance

No more playing for me. I stopped going ever since my brother left the country. It's pretty boring without him here.

Over the past few days of this week, I have been out filling up application forms, or handing in CVs to nearby shops and locations.

My father's patience for my long job search is wearing thin. And there you have it: My week life. My weak life.

Today? I did the same things, and got called by a Noodle shop. I spoke to the boss the previous day about working in this noodle shop. We spoke in Cantonese: the best Chinese dialect I have, but even that's not good enough.

So, I got called by the Noodle shop earlier, and will try out working there on Saturday. It's located somewhere in the vicinity. It doesn't even pay well.

And I bought a pack of cigarettes.

Bad Play

I made a bad play today. Table Dynamics: Too many loose callers, and one really bad call from me. And also my Pocket Queens was badly played in a bad position. I only played for maybe 20 minutes.

I can't win everyday, I suppose. -$120

I need to start earlier.

Drunken Master

I started playing cards at about 12am; midnight; I was late--my brother was hungry, and so went to Denny's, this 24 hours diner opposite the casino. I had a club sandwich, if that matters.

I'm the type of person that wants to start playing as viably early as possible, so I can get a good head start and cash in more later in the night.

Today, however, seemed to hit only two and a half hours of card time. No complaints on that though. I'm not greedy. I actually am greedy, but what I mean to say is that I'll take what I can get, which today, appears to be $300 profit.

Today's Anecdote: The Drunken Fist story. And it starts with a drunk guy who was standing behind me. The card dealer asked him if he wanted to play and I--distracted by that--turned around and saw him: tall 'dude' with glasses; Caucasian; glaring down at me; says "Stop looking at me!" right after I looked away. Slow reactions, "please sit down and join this table," as I was so ready to BUST HIM UP!

Everyone was just watching his drunk self. He did join the table. He was a very amusing guy. His plays were funny, but not bad--very deceptive, due to his drunk condition. And so I termed his actions as "Drunken Fist!" to which he later said "Chui Khuen."

The Chinese guy between him and me says "What's that mean?" Can you fucking imagine that shit? A white guy, says that. I tell him it means "Drunken Boxing" or "Drunken Fist." I was impressed. He was impressed, too, I feel.

Obviously he has spent time in Hong Kong. Subsequently, he starts speaking Cantonese in a fluent manner. He's able to translate English names to Chinese too!

This guy is something else; says that he was born in Hong Kong when he was 21, which is really very funny to me. The gibberish and the kind of whackey joke-making is so conducive to the kind of table I want to play on.

The guy in between drunken boxer and me had left after losing all his chips admitting how this white guy has a better Canto accent than he does. Drunken Boxer yells out (several times) to him "Ne mou lan yung!" which loosely translates to "You're fucking useless!" as he is leaving the 'Poker Zone' and all I could do is break into heavy laughter.

Other players were laughing as we both started speaking and cursing each other in Cantonese. Hilarious!

That's pretty gold comedy: a white guy, speaking better Cantonese than both me and the fucking useless guy. I really want to play with him again. I believe his name to be Matt or Mark, the 'Drunken Master' henceforth.

In other news, Uncle A/King was there too, but on a different table. Spotlights are on him everywhere he goes. He's like a celebrity here. All the ACTION follows him around. People stand around his table looking at the plays that go down. He had a high stack of chips when I saw him.

The Story of Monday-Tuesday

The journey

I rode the #51 bus to the city yesterday night. It was raining, and half past 9pm. I hadn't slept for 24 hours (probably more). I spent the early hours of yesterday morning watching independent movies on the TV. "World Movies," some classify it as.

The bus ride set me back $4.30. The destination: Casino--poker tables. I felt like Jason Bourne as I walked about 2km from the bus stop through the streets in the city to the tables; never miscalculating; vigilant for malfeasance; hooded jacket (because it was raining).

The feeling
I rarely stay up past 24 hours these days. Like any other person, coffee--in these times--is quintessential to survival. My heartbeat increases 2-3 fold after that 'Venti Latte Double Shot' causing the sensation of shortness of breath for the first hour.

But I was driven by more than just coffee. I was on an adrenalin-steeped stretch of what I believed to be sensible gaming, with risks on the side--naturally. My heart (my actual heart, not the figurative heart) pounds a rich warm pulse (like that of a lower chord on piano keys with emphasis on the ominous) to my torso each time I get the poker hand that I need, and want. Opponents' bets/raises enriches the 'chase,' enlivening it.

It's possible that--by now--the meaning of what I wrote is/was lost in translation. It's not esoteric; it's not a feeling only associated with your friends who dabble in the gamble. You can make sense of it. The feeling is akin to getting something you always wanted. A surprise, if that does it for you. It does for me.

And in the beginning
As per usual, my chip stack declined unfavourably until I finally caught a good hand. I was playing with a few regulars. I've played with half the audience on that table before. An hour past before I had enough money to play aggressively.

I took out a few players' stacks this time. At least 4 players, maybe more. A guilt looms over me each time a player gets felted by me, but the fairness of the game comforts me away from that friendly behaviour. It's not about making friends, it's about making money. If poker was about socialising, there wouldn't be chips involved. Stakes are important!

I was all over the table. I played 6 out of 8 hands, sometimes raising with hands that aren't that great--confuse the prey before striking. And oftentimes folding soon after, especially in the bad position. Bluffing is over-rated, but very useful to set your opponents off.

The introduction of A/King
They call him A/King. He is and old timer; possibly 50 years and above; a regular of regulars. He is known to the whole casino poker scene. If I told you there was a man nicknamed 'A/King' who is there almost everyday, you will figure out who he is within a short time-frame.

He doesn't speak much English. And that's the reason why they call him A/King. It's the most amusing story. Because he doesn't speak much English, the words most frequently spoken by him is an emphatic "A/KING CALL!!" followed by some erratic incomprehensible mumbling. "No thinking!" which becomes "Tung Seng Key!" when it leaves his mouth. I think "Tung Seng Key" actually means something in Chinese. This remains unclear and uncorroborated.

A very amusing uncle he is; speaks Cantonese; wins most times I see him. I don't observe him that much. He's no chump, I'll tell you that much. Not yet, at least. I try not to be in a hand with him because he's hard to predict and read.

Earlier on the table, Uncle A/King had an unfriendly verbal exchange with another uncle (we'll call him Uncle Badminton because he's a Badminton player) sitting on my right--in Cantonese. I didn't dare say a thing, mainly due to my lesser fluent Cantonese.

Badminton Uncle bluffed a pot by going all in with just pocket 5's and Uncle A/King called with two pairs higher. Again, A/King emphatically uttered something in a triumphant tone--he does this a lot--about his bad bluff and this aggravated Uncle Badminton.

This led to an argument. Cantonese flying back and forth and people chuckling, but I knew it was serious because I understood what they were saying.

"Shut up, you" in Canto. [UB]
"Why are you getting all fired up?" in Canto. [AK]
"So you been here a while, so what?" in Canto [UB]
"He no happy I call" voicing it out several times to everyone else in English [AK]

It was confrontational, to say the least. I wanted to say something, but I had bad positioning, to quote from poker. Two very much older men fronting each other.

The introduction of Asian Uncle Gentleman
This uncle is usually dressed in a suit, with gold watch, and likely to be in his forties. I play with a lot of seniors, as I come to realise. He is an average player. He does well on the tables. As well as a regular, he keeps a low profile and says little during gaming.

I totally whaled on this Uncle. He's a good player, but once I started playing fast aggressive, he was taken aback. He would raise and I would call each time, regardless of positioning. I had the right hands for him. Then one round, I failed to hit anything, and bluffed him on a $40 bet; showed him my bluff; he said "good play," the others were somewhat impressed, or at least I'd like to believe that by the sound of their "Waa.. bluffing"

The unlucky thing was that the next game he raised again and I called his raise with 4/5 offsuit. That's not a great hand to call $15 with, but I did anyway. I flopped an open ended draw and raised; he called; the turn came giving me a straight, but there were 3 diamonds there. I value bet $50 thinking that he won't call. I was taking it easy on him. However, Uncle Gentleman comes back over the top with an all-in raise of $166, making it $116 more for me to call.

"You have the flush, don't you?" I asked, and he said no. I flipped over my straight. He said I had to call... and I did. But by that time I was up to about $500 in chips anyhow.

That's the story of me outplaying a nice gentleman. Anyway, he looks well to do and/or comfortable, so I'll just take this as being "lucky."

And in the ending: Triumph!
I changed $300, and cashed out $1,000, a good day at work. I am much more satisfied than the day before. My moment came during the ending of the games. I caught so many hands and had so many cards to call with that I was reminded of my streak as per the other day. In 20 minutes, I made $5oo-600 more.

Something tells me they'll remember me this time. I used to be an obscure player, but now, I think I'm getting to know some of these regular novices. I feel inserted, accepted. People recognise me. It's as if the regulars are brethren; a part of the same working-class of cardplayers trying to make a buck; always waiting till a new fresh player joins the table. That's when the real action begins.

Flashing Lights

One day, maybe 2 weeks ago, my neighbour's house caught on fire. There was thick burnt-plastic odour everywhere a window or door was opened. Japanese neighbours.

Firetruck after firetruck appeared in front of the house till there were three of them. Nothing serious, really. Neighbours all assembling outside for some curious conversation.

When a firetruck arrives at a scene where a fire is reported, a fee is incurred--in the thousands ranging from $1,000-5,000. I think it's just $1,000.

Uncle Provocateur

Round 1: I was wining at first. I had nice solid cards dealt to me. Then this one Asian guy--around the age of 40--sitting opposite me felt me (in poker, being felted means to be cleaned out) up so badly, ripped out most of my chip-stack, which was over $200. I was violated!

In hindsight, I placed him pretty badly, and I made a bad 'all in' call on a 2 pair board. If you don't know what that means, it just means that there were 2 pairs out of the 5 cards dealt in the center on a hold em table. And I called a raise to beat only a bluff.

So there you have it, I flopped a flush, raised, then ended up committed to the pot even after it paired 2 cards and called over $100 because of sentimentality. That was pure emotion for me, I'll admit that. I didn't want to be bluffed by this chump. But he caught a full house right at the end. Luck is a funny thing. Skill is another thing altogether.

In speaking to one of the other regular players there--a friendly old white guy, whom I've won money with on another table before--he said, "It's just one of those days..." And it was. A very cliche sort of phrase, as you might have observed.

Round 2: The same 40 year old chump called a $33 all in raise from my brother, and I was sitting on KK (that's two Kings in my hole cards) with no card higher on the board and went all in with $70+ more. The chump called and had the cards for calling too: one card off from a flush with 2 more cards to draw with. He did catch his flush.

I thought about how if I were to have just called and later raised on the turn, when there would only be one card to call for a diamond, and if he would have called $70 then. A few of us players were discussing that in retrospect. I still wonder about that; some other players said he would have called because he had hundreds in chips.

And so there it is, being outdrawn and felted by this man. Twice.

I didn't give up; I continued; persevered and went to play again after a smoke, in unbelievable denial, but if you played as much as I have before, you'd realise that it happens quite a bit.

I said to them, "I'm back, against my better judgment!"

Round 3: The 40 year old, still sitting on his hundreds... and I'm talking about at least $500, if not more. I started playing aggressive--sometimes you need to change your play with someone as loose as this asshole.

I call him an asshole because he was trying to rile me up by bluffing me and showing me his crap hands. "You cannot bluff me, I can bluff you!" the chump said. That amused me. I laughed, "How emotional" I said, as I laughed with another player agreeing in chuckling.

I felt his aggression; his attempt at belittling me; a provocation. I suppose he sees me as a threat because I seem to be getting my high stacks back again after just a few rounds: about $300-400. But only amateurs fall for that sort of rubbish.

"I'll show you," I thought, as I harnessed my Qi, "Just keep talking..."

This guy really thought he could outplay me. "Please try!" I thought to myself. That's the only way I can get his money in the pot. And he did. And it was when I had the hand to meet his raises.

What a pansy. I raised AQ and he called. I hit my top pair Queen on the flop, and he bet $25; I raised it to $75; he insta-called. Next card was an Ace--he bet $125; I insta-called. Insta-call means I instantly called his bet.

You should have seen his shocked face as I was pushing a high stack in immediately. Looking at that face, his thoughts were probably "Oh shit, What does he have?" That stunned stupor pasted all over his uncle face.

And since he was wondering, I showed him an Ace. Why? To see where I was in the game. See, if he saw the ace, how he reacted after--whether he would bet or check--would indicate what he had in his hand.

I expected him to just check it, but instead, he folded his hand. A surrendering "you beat me" out of his mouth. If he had a pair, he would at least check it, but instead he threw away his hand. Glory!

After that pot of over $400, the chump was on tilt. He continually started playing fiercely. Somehow or rather, I'm sure the other players were thankful that I shattered his run because he was so on tilt after that game with me.

Suffice it to say, he ceased trying to provoke me--highly likely to be ashamed and embarrassed.

It's cruel, but this is what I live for; the sadistic nature; the immense enjoyment I attain by putting people in their place; the fierce table aggression; the fight.

"Go back to Disneyland, you fucking amateur!"

I took back all of my money and more from him and his frustrated face. I cashed out $600 about an hour or so after I rejoined the game.

"Some days are just like that..."

Problem with Gambling?

Dear all,

I know we haven't spoken for a while, and we probably won't be speaking for a long time, but I just wanted you to know that.... wait, "brb."

So, where was I? Oh ya, I have been going to the casino lately--after a few weeks of NOT going (because I lost money, which was when the last entry on going to the casino was dated).

Nicholas thinks I have a problem with gambling. I agree that playing roulette and whatever "chances" game is "gambling" and I have decided to only play holdem. I want to divert the next time Nicholas introduces me to someone like Inez bringing forward my "problem with gambling," to which she would say "that's interesting," which to some people would appear embarrassing, but not me--I fly that flag with glory and pride, and lots of honour. But no money, so maybe you're right, Nicholas.

Each time I go there (to the casino), I recognise more and more people. It's the funniest thing, but what can you say to just 8 designated "Poker Zone" tables. I guess it's the minimal approach. I can practically make friends but I don't think that's a good idea over the tables. They have a rule against friends playing on the same table.

There's a rake of 10% with a cap of $10 maximum. That's pretty high, I thought. Every time I take in a huge pot, it looks smaller than normal, but I don't know--it could just be me.

Sometimes, you'll play with players who take themselves way too seriously. Sometimes, just sometimes you'll find arrogance and condescension at your table. Most times, when I do take the pot off them, I just feel like rubbing their faces in my victory over their "supposed poker acumen." Like a little "Fuck off, old man, it's my turn now" right to their face, but I do not. It's people like that who make you want to take their money so badly. So don't play with your emotions.

I realise one thing though, and it's when a new player enters the table. All of us will be immediately interested. Like the other day, this kid comes in all reckless and aggressive with unusual large raises and straddles. That had the table curious and amused, laughing at the hands he would play with; confused, even. I told the others that "I love that kid" because it appeared like he didn't know how to play and just threw his money at me and kept coming back with $100 each time. I think we all shared that thought.

But back to that gambling problem, as above. Yes, perhaps I do have a gambling problem, but it's not when I play poker. Playing holdem makes me happy. Of course, winning makes me happy too, but you can't play to lose, and winning somewhat means that you are playing better, becoming a yardstick or a measure.