Cash Games: Lesbians, Bathroom Police and Maniacs
After a few beats, I chuckled and made my way to Riverside.
There were only three games going. Two of the craptacular 2-6 spread limit HE games, and a 4/8 kill game. I got on the list for 4/8 and took a seat in the looser of the crap games. Two out lesbians were sitting at the table, and at one point one of them went and kissed the other one. Highlight of my day, lesbians kissing. Almost as good as hookers and porn ;)
They were young and attractive. One smiled broadly at me, maybe thinking I was a fellow lez. No, I just look like one and play one on TV. I think had they been older their gaydar would have been more attuned, but I appreciate the compliment that I am holding steady on the bulldyke look.
I got moved to the 4/8, which was unbelievably rocking. I couldn’t believe it was a Tuesday afternoon. Usually the 4/8 is only that live on weekend nights. Routinely 8-10 were seeing every flop, and the pot was always raised pre-flop.
I sat for a couple of rounds without getting anything. Sometimes I was getting unbelievable odds on a call, but couldn’t call anyway. Things like 82o, 72o, 92o. Not even halfway there, although I was tempted, seeing all of the chips in the pot. I knew that if I just snagged one pot, I’d be good for freerolling the tourney. So I waited.
I was in the three seat. A guy in the six was the most aggressive at the table. He raised about 9:10 pots. If he was bet into or raised, he raised. He showed mostly decent hands at showdown, however, so he was giving up crap if he couldn’t flop something worth drawing at.
After the elderly man in the two seat left (cashing out about $700, I might add), he asked to move to my right. At first this kind of surprised me, since being on my left he could raise anytime I tried to limp. But dang, he was raising almost every hand anyway, plus he might have thought he could put me off of decent hands with his constant raising.
I let him steal, steal, steal. He was still down, although he won many pots with his hyper aggression. I sat back like the meek little kitten, not saying a word, not talking. I get this way sometimes, if it is a super aggressive table and I want to give off a certain, timid image. Luckily no one ratted me out, which is what happened last Friday at the NLHE game. I had raised twice, only to hear a few of the locals saying to their unknowing, tourist neighbors, “Hell NO, I’m not calling HER! Don’t you dare call her unless you hate money!” etc. I got out of the game with plans to talk to them later about it.
So, with my reputation unknown, I played the little, baby mouse. Can’t beat anyone, can’t hurt a fly, I don’t get good cards. Peep, peep.
But then the guy started giving some ‘tude, which usually tends to make me override any common sense I have about an image, and makes me come out and turn on the juice. Someone whined something like, “Can’t we ever see a flop without a raise?” to no one at all, and the guy on my right said gruffly, “Hey, when I’m in a hand, I play hard and fast, grrr, grrr.” Then he made some more comments about taking money and playing aggressively. While on paper this doesn’t sound bad, and in fact is a great thing to know, he said these things in a gruff, condescending, “you stupid locals don’t even deserve to shine my shoes” attitude.
And so the juice came loose. Felicia-Monster came out of the closet (no, not THAT closet). Glenn’s pet name for me is pretty apt, when I’m on the rampage. And then and there I decided I was going to take this guy’s money. I was going to show him what “‘us’ stupid locals” are like.
So I said firmly to the dealer, “I’d like an overs button, please.”
Gruff monkey sat there stunned for a second. He just looked at me. Then he barked, “Overs buttons, huh? Grr, grrr, I think I’d like one of them, too.”
Not to be outdone by little miss mouse, no doubt.
A few hands later, nothing going on, and I sat out to go pee. I have a bladder the size of a thimble, for god’s sake.
The bathroom is another long story at RS. I started using the little, two stall downstairs bathroom, instead of the one on the same level as the poker room. Why? Because I have been kicked out of the upstairs bathroom a whopping 14 times in the past year. Yes, this is correct, not an exaggeration. I started counting after the first three or so. I have been kicked out by staff in the restroom, staff outside of the restroom, people in the restroom, and people entering and leaving the restrooms (both male and female). This is not to say that I leave when they tell me to leave. I have been challenged on being a female so many times that I usually have a snappy comeback ready and waiting. Among those which are my favorites are:
1) “Yeah, lady, cancer is ugly, isn’t it, but that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly a man!”
2) “I may not have boobs anymore, but I still pee sitting down”
3) “As ugly as you are, and you think I’M the man?”
4) “Would you like to see proof?”
I’ve only been kicked out of the downstairs restroom once.
Okay, so back to the odd restroom visit that didn’t have to do with me getting challenged this time. The woman attending the restroom had me look into the other stall on my way out, telling me some guy had come in there and peed all over the floor, and weren’t men disgusting, blah, blah.
Not only are men disgusting in restrooms, but so are women. For the first time ever, I encountered a cell phone dumper at Riverside. I thought cell phone dumpers were reserved for asian women at Commerce. It’s an odd feeling to actually hear English coming from the next stall, as the cell phone dumper tells someone, “Hold on.” Grunt, strain, fart, PLOP.
Always something interesting at the Riverside.
I got back in time to post my blinds in the cut-off.
Mr. Aggro barked something about me taking my time, although I’d been very quick, as the button had only just given me the cutoff position. He was so eager to take me on.
We had several limpers, and then he typically raised. I looked down to see Q8o. Not a great hand, but I already had six in the pot (albeit two were dead) and we had about 8,921 limpers, all of whom I knew would never re-raise him.
So I called along.
The flop came AQx. He bet, most of us called. The turn was a blank, but gave me a few more outs. I think maybe a running flush draw with the queen, or maybe a four straight. At any rate, he bet and I called, and finally we were heads up.
The river brought an eight, and I had the feeling he wouldn’t bet again. So now that we were in overs, I bet a large enough amount to make him feel that I didn’t want a call. I think $35. He hemmed and hawed about it for a while, but finally decided he was not going to let this chick bet him out of a pot. He called.
Amazingly, he showed AK for top pair. I was stunned his hand was even that strong. He was not a happy camper.
The tourney was about to start, so to his disgust, I sat out when the blinds got back around to me.
I had my buy-in.