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Sassy Sal the Blackjack Dealer
The Sexy Voice that can whet a Thousand Whistles
My job is to make sure you keep playing. "Keep them at the table." That's what the pit boss says. I have no control over how I play my cards. Those rules are set by the house. You're going to lose. The odds are not in your favor. The lucky few figure out ways to change the odds. But for most of you, the money goes out. And doesn't come back. My job is simple. My job is to entertain, as your chips dwindle in front of you. Like a magician, I am to keep you there, keep you happy, keep you hoping for that lucky card, keep you thinking there's an ace in the hole with your name on it. Like a snake charmer, I toodle a tune to keep you there. I talk to you. I joke with you. I tease you. I wheedle you, and your money disappears into my tray. The house's tray.
Where did I come from? Where am I now?
I was borne of the card clubs out west. At the ripe age of twenty one, looking for a bit of pizazz to go with my paycheck, I met a girl who worked the card clubs. Jess Ann was a server, and her boyfriend was a dealer. She regaled me with glowing stories of excitement, bright lights, ice cubes tinkling in frosted glasses, hushed tones of excitement as the cards sailed across the table hoping to be transformed into those magical numbers that added up to a Blackjack. Stars in my eyes, they hired me. A glorified server, as was my friend Jess Ann. From those humble beginnings, arose Sassy Sal, the Blackjack Dealer. Getting friendly with the cards came much later, however.
I came into my own when I went to work for a company that provided blackjack dealers on demand. We were "roving" dealers, and dealt a different club every night. Those of you who've played the shareware game Blackjack Gold will appreciate this tale. My voice is the voice of the dealer in the game. Not digitized. My voice. My real voice.
One night they sent me off to deal at a gay club. Gay meaning Men who do Men. In other words, a gay men's bar, that happened to have a blackjack table in it. And girls weren't wanted there. I guess they forgot to tell my pit boss that.
I set up the table, and started entertaining myself with the cards, performing fancy shuffles, and tricks, like a little kid with an imaginary playmate. Waiting for a real playmate to join me.
The gay men were not amused. They would not look at me directly. They gave me slanted looks from the corners of their eyes, sending Go Away wishes. They did not want me there. They could not be gay, with a girl in their midst. I had dissected their happy party night, sucked all the goodie out, and left them with a hangover feeling, with nary a happy memory to make it palatable.
They shuffled around the room. No gaiety. No laughter. All talk was in whispers, lest I hear. If there'd have been a voodoo doll handy that resembled a girl, a hundred cocktail swords would have been stuck into it. The Primal Forces bode ominous tidings for this night.
Like a cat and mouse game, they waited, I waited. I'm not sure what they waited for, as I could not leave without losing my job. I waited for somebody, anybody, to come play blackjack with me.
And finally, two brave souls did. I guess they figured there wasn't much else to do, so they might as well try me out. After all, they had to deal with girls in the world outside the gay bar. So they came, and the game started. An air of expectancy hung over the room.
I played it for everything I had. I turned it up several notches. I was bored. I wanted to deal the cards. And the primary rule of the house is... keep the players at the table.
I'm not the prettiest gal in the world. But I've got a voice that many men find sexy, though I'm sure it was lost on this crowd. And I've got spunk. Lots of spunk. And I like to flirt. Sex is something to have fun with.
When I deal, I talk. I hit you with glee when you break. I offer up feigned pity when you get a stiff hand. And I laugh. It is amazing how many blackjack terms have sexual innuendos. Whoever invented the words, I'm betting was a guy, and I know what he was thinking about.
I regaled them as the cards played out. Chips moving across the table. The discard pile growing ever larger. A few men edged closer, trying not to look interested, as these two brave souls laid their sucker bets out in front of me.
The cards were laid. And the player had an Ace and a Two. He motioned for a hit. And I turned over a card. My voice rang out, "It's a Queen!" Nearby ears perked up. "Queen" was a magic word in a gay men's bar. He motioned for another. I turned over the next card. Another queen, for a total of 23. I squealed with glee. "Hittin' him hard with a pair of queens. You're busted!" The whole bar heard me.
Yup, the man who invented the words knew what he was about. The gay men loved it. I was an instant hit. Next thing you know, they were three deep at my table. They didn't care about the cards. They just wanted to hear me deal.
That infamous hand found its way into Blackjack Gold. If I hit you with two queens and you bust, that memorable moment is replayed.
I never dealt the gay bar again, and I was one of the few dealers they could send anywhere, who could lure the people to my table. I wasn't prissy. I just wanted to have fun.
Can I offer you up a winning blackjack strategy? Nope. For the dealer, the winning strategy is to entertain people, so that they want to keep playing with you.
I enjoyed my nights as a blackjack dealer. But I soon discovered that my true talents were in my voice. If you are looking for me, that is where you will find me. Sharing my voice with you through my games.
