[Excerpt from 1536 Free Waters and Other Blackjack Endeavor--Finding Profit and Humor in Card-Counting, by Glen Wiggy, published by iUniverse, 2012.]
~ The Cleavage Cut Card ~
... I was at a busy blackjack table on a busy Friday night at a busy casino. After waiting several minutes just to find a seat, I entered a game in which a half-drunk buxom woman and her date were having too good a time at the table. The woman was wearing a maroon cocktail dress that showed a generous amount of cleavage. All the men at the table, including the dealer and the pit boss naturally stole glances at the cleavage while the cards were played. (Note to my wife: I wasn't looking--I was reading bible passages between hands.)
After each new shuffle of the six-deck shoe, the dealer offered the yellow cut card to the woman. Every time she took the card, the woman would make a huge production about her “...secret weapon” that would guarantee “...good luck.” She’d then take the cut card and rub it back and forth on her cleavage before inserting the card into the deck. All the men laughed and smirked like over-sexed idiots. (Not me, honey, I was thinking of the unfinished chores on my to-do list at home.)
The woman with the cleavage repeated this routine four or five times. During the course of those four or five shoes, however, I had lost a couple hundred dollars. With each losing shoe, I gradually became annoyed by the cleavage cut card routine. The woman might have had nice headlights, but she slowed the game down tremendously with her half-drunken antics. (Wife, I was told that she had nice headlights by the guy next to me. I didn’t actually see ‘em myself--I was busy thinking of the plight of the poor starving children in Africa.)
Just after the dealer had shuffled another shoe, I quickly grabbed the cut card from the table before the cleavage woman could get it. I then pulled the yellow card under the table.
The dealer shouted, “What are you doing?!”
I said, “I was gonna wipe the card on my crotch for luck--it is my secret weapon.”
At that point, the pit boss intervened, “Sir, you can’t do that.”
“Why not? Chesty has been rubbing the card on her breasts for an hour! I believe you watched her do it three or four times.” The pit boss was in a quandary. He couldn’t say or do a damn thing to me for my attempted crotch rub.
“Okay, players, let’s keep the card off all body parts.” Everyone at the table groaned. Then, they all gave me dirty looks. I absolutely loved it. The next shoe, coincidentally, was the best one of the night for me.