Comparable

If anyone walked into the poker room before noon, they would ask themselves if they accidentally walked into a bingo hall instead. There are SO many old men there it is isn’t funny… or it is because old men can be funny.

Many of them are war veterans of this or that war. At least once a day I hear them say “I’m too old” or “My bones couldn’t handle a massage” or whatever. I know the excuses and I smile nicely and walk on.

Recently however, I had an influx of men who fought in ‘Nam. And they LOVE to tell me that they had a massage once… over in some asian country where the girls give REALLY GOOD massages.

Old men “I fought in ‘Nam. I was stationed at one point in Thailand. I definitely got massages there. They were only a few bucks too. Great massages”

Me “But I doubt we give the same type of massages”

Old men “No honey, I hope not! Haha. and if my wife ever found out…”

Thank you old men for comparing my massages to those of hookers in thailand.

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Nothing in life is free

As I walk around a pit with blackjack tables in it, I ask each table if they would like a massage. Typically they ask how much it is and either agree to get one or (most likely) do not.

Me: Massages for anyone here?

Fat Man in giant jean shorts: Are they free?

Me: No sir.

Fat Man in giant jean shorts: How about you give me a free one, pretty lady?

Me: Okay! Here’s the deal: I’ll give you a 5 minute free massage, but in exchange I want at least $10 in chips or cash… for free.

Fat Man in giant jean shorts: Okay, here’s a chip ($2.50).

Me: You want a one minute massage?
(massages are $2/minute)

Fat Man  in giant jean shorts: Yea, keep the change.
(what a sweetheart.)

T&A

I started my shift at 10am. I didn’t get 10 minutes into my shift before I got a massage. This guy is a regular of mine and requested only 10 minutes. So I work on his shoulders and neck as per usual.

I hear snickering to my left so I look. Next to my regular is a wasted guy. I don’t mean drunk.. I mean SHWASTED. (Apparently this guy had been drinking at the casino since 6am, and before that he was out at a strip club since 10pm the night before.) I ask what he finds so funny and he mutters something about the massage. I ignore him and wrap up the massage I’m doing.

[I’ve decided to call his guy “Walter”.. because it sounds like “wasted”]

Walter asks to get a massage before I moved on. So I start out with 10 minutes on his back. He turns around in the wasted fashion that most men do: face down, eyes immediately to my chest. He stares at my chest for a minute and says ‘I’d like a hand massage instead’ ooookaayyy? So I work on his hands and he continues to stare at my chest. Occasionally he looks up to play his hand at blackjack or to remark loudly to the other players. This continues for about an hour and a half: hand massage, other hand massage, neck massage, back to the hand massage.
Walter refuses to let me leave which is fine because I get paid by the minute and as long as I’m working, I’m getting paid. After he’s cut off by the waitress his drunk ass decided to make a sweet confession:
“I’m only getting a hand massage so I can stare at your tits.”
*Sigh* Typical douchebag. But to my rescue comes the ENTIRE table. My regular stands up and says ‘If you talk to her like that, there’s going to be trouble.” The rest of the table agrees and rips him a new one with profanities I don’t feel like going into.

He apologizes, I finish the massage and get paid (luckily) and move on. A couple hours later I see him at another pit and he asks to get more massage. This time he’s being a little more respectful (sober, respectful, same thing) and has me work on his back. Something happens during one of the hands and the guy becomes livid. He yells at the dealer and pit manager and stands up. He goes to walk off and I inform him he hasn’t paid me. He turns around and hands me whatever chips he has left and storms off. To end the story, I’ll let ya know I made bank that day. 🙂

To this day, some of the people from that table will stop me for a hand massage.

FYI: the joke gets old.

I’d like to buy a vowel!

In the poker room at the casino, a guy stopped me and asked me (once again) what I was. As always I reply awesome! (thank you NPH as Barney Stinsen on HIMYM)

He laughed of course and said, “Nahh, I mean are you Russian?”

Me: Nope.

He nodded and said, “You look really familiar.” (Gee, what an original line)
I replied that I do work in the casino and have been for several months.
He asked, “Are you from Atlanta?”
And I gave him the biggest, most excited smile I could muster up: “Actually!.. no. I’m from Orlando. You’re close! By 9 hours of driving.. AND both cities start with a vowel and end with a vowel!”

(Enter 12 seconds of lapsed time)
Man: … Oh! Ah! Haha! That’s funny. Real cute.

Ya. Took ya a minute, huh, buddy?

What am I?

What am I?

I’ve been informed that I have what others call a “unique” look. Although my hair color changes as often as the weather, my features stay relatively the same. I am often asked “What are you?” The most often asked is Italian. While I may “look” Italian (i really dont think i do) the only thing Italian is my stomach’s soul.

On an average night at the casino, I get asked once what I am. And I make them guess until they realize they never will guess correctly.

On one particularly fun-filled evening, a gentleman (ha!) who I can only describe as “SHWASTED” decided to ask me that question.

 

Man: What are you?
Me: A Massage Therapist
Man: No, but what ARE you?

Me: Awesome?
Man: Are you Italian?
Me: Oh. Nope. Not Italian.
Man: Greek?
Me: Nope.
Man: Ukranian?
Me: What? No!
Man: Jewish?
Me: Jewish is not listed as a country, sir.

 

For future reference, I’m a New York South African from Florida. Unique, indeed.

Extra cream and sugar!

FACT: Casinos are noisy.

We’ve all been in one and get it. Give me a moment of your time and allow me to break down the noise contributors. Before I do this I recommend practicing some slow breathing, perhaps listen to soft music, and definitely take an excedrin.
Blaring throughout the casino (sans the poker room) is the fantastic array of music (occasionally accompanied by videos): classic rock, pop, classic pop, blues, country, hip hop, and even Christmas music.
Heavily sprinkled over the music, all 3000+ slot machines clank, as the arm is pulled and the reels spin and spin (Actually, you press a button instead of pulling an arm and the reels are on the touch-screen tablet now on the face of the slots.) Accompanied by the lulling sound of imaginary coins falling into the metal collection area (again, there are no actual coins: rather, there is a small voucher printed out with your 39 cent winnings). While we’re on these technologically advanced slots, add the old-school-video-game-music for sections of slots (ie jaws, monopoly, wizard of oz, etc).
Lightly layered over the slots is the typical hustle and bustle of the (mostly old) people complaining that their machine is broken or they need the bathroom AGAIN.

(stay with me, here)

Continuing the noise contributors, closer to my neck of the gambling woods, come the blackjack and poker players. In a feverish attempt to keep one’s cool while gambling away their children’s college funds and their grandchildren’s christmas money, felt-table players mindlessly stack and restack their chips.when the poker players habitually stack chips in a very full poker room  it sounds similar to a large meadow filled with crickets (or bugs or whatever those annoying creatures are that make noises when you’re trying to sleep).
While the wasted players are blankly staring at the cards on the table, the dealers are telling them what the cards add up to, what the play is, whether you’re a winner or loser, and often slipping in some sly jest that the dumb players don’t get.
And last, but not least, come those of us in sales: Beautiful girls walking around with trays yelling “Cocktails! Drinks! Soda! Coffee!.” The cigarette girl trudges along caring a huge box always filled with “Cigarettes! Cigars! Candy!” And the icing on the cake: me! “MASSAGES! Anybody care for a massage? Massage for anyone? Massage?!”

A player yells “Yea! Over here!” I struggle to identify where the voice came from over all the noises I just described to you. So with a big smile I walk over and “Hi. Massage?”
PLAYER: “I’ll take a coffee with extra cream and sugar.”
Me: Sigh. “Sorry I don’t give coffee, but I can give you a massage with extra sugar but no cream.”

Typically the people who call me over for drinks are the old people, so they get a little rise out of that. 🙂

Sorry, not in my scope!

Blackjack player:
“Can you adjust my back?”

Me: “Sorry it’s not in my scope of practice.”

Other (more wasted) blackjack player:
“What about happy endings?”

Me: “Also not in my scope of practice.”

(This is a great line for the therapist who doesn’t want to follow their instinct and be mean.)

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