Some People Call Me the Space Cowboy

"Fo', fo' and fo'."
--Moses Malone, predicting the Sixers' 1983 NBA playoff run

That's right, folks. Fo' weeks. Less than a month. A quick tour around the blogosphere reveals a deep gurgling of excitement, a low, but unmistakable, rumbling that forcasts an eruption of Vesuviusian proportions. And also, not surprisingly, some concerns.

Well, that's what I'm here for, to alleviate those worries. Nobody will be nervous about how they are perceived in Vegas after I remove all doubt that I am the biggest idiot on the planet and worthy of copious heapings of scorn. You're welcome.

Today's (main) topic:

Tipping in Las Vegas

Don't try this at home:

Trent: "Listen why don't you bring a single malted Glengary for me and my boy Mike here, and if you tell the bartender to go easy on the water then this 50 cent piece has your name on it"
Mike: "What an asshole"
Trent: "Baby that was money"
Mike: "I can't believe what an asshole you are"
Trent: "What are you talking about she smiled"
Mike: "She was smilling at what an asshole you are"
Trent: "She was smiling at how money I was, what I did with her"
Mike: "Can we just get out of here"
Trent: "Why do you want to get out of here, the honey-baby's bringing us a cocktail"
Mike: "What are you nuts, you really think she's coming back here"
Trent: "Baby, I know she's coming back here. Didn't you here what she said 'you shouldn't leave here without getting something for free' she wants to party mike she wants to"

I'm pretty sure that only works in the movies, no matter how goddamn charming you are. It's not like these Vegas cocktail waitresses are schleping drinks to try to meet Mr. Wonderful, especially if Mr. Wonderful is an egomaniacal, if hilarious, scenester.

Still, God Bless Double Down.

Now that we know what NOT to do (and you can add wearing a suit with a skinny tie to the list), let's go through some tipping advice in this week's installment of...drum roll please..."The Countdown."

Cocktail Waitresses: Nothing is more painful than staring an empty bottle/glass while seated at a table. The tongue starts to swell, the brain's endorphins start to scream "MORE!" and there are no ridiculously-attired barmaids in sight. The solution is to make a great first impression. See those red chips? Toss her one or two when she arrives with your initial drink. Bribery will get you everywhere. Flash her your pearly whites just to drive the point home. It says, "I'm rich, I'm happy and I might be totally gullible." At this point, you can assess her mood toward you. If she's harried, let the money do the talking. If she seems especially grateful, be sure to further implant yourself in her nuerons with something along the lines of, "There's more where that came from if you keep 'em comin' steady." Get her name. Shout it gleefully every time she comes around, sprinkling the greeting with complimentary suck-uppery. As long as she remains amused, you're gold. And never parched.

Poker Dealers: I don't think anyone needs any advice here. As scholars of the game, we know a dealer toke and I don't think it's going out on a limb to suggest the group is more generous than your average bear.

Blackjack Dealers: Always a fine line. Table karma is a powerful tool. An instant bet for a new dealer is often an excellent investment. A lively dealer with a solid rap and genuine interest in keeping a good vibe will always get some chips from me, regardless of my results. On the other hand, when the pit boss brings in the coolers from the Asian Bullpen, those hard-line dealers with fewer facial expressions than an Easter Island statue, I'll tend to keep the tipping to a minimum. Of course, getting those types of dealers is always an opportunity to try and break their facade. A full table of drunkards trying to get Ling from China to utter something more than a grunt is always good for a fiver if successful.

Another aspect is that many casinos pool their tips for dealers. I always ask. If they do, I tend to tip more equally across the board, though that part is based more on whether I'm winning or not.

Craps Dealers: A craps table begs a party. There is no game in Vegas that can produce so much adrenaline, so much shouting. It's a great rush. I tip more liberally at craps than any other game, if only for the opportunity to yell out, "TWO-WAY YO!" something I don't get to do enough of in daily life. Another fun one is to ask a female croupier if she wants a "hard four." They'll almost invariably reply that they prefer a "hard eight."

Oh, man. I can't wait to play craps with you guys.

Other: What the fuck is with the tip jar at the coffee bar? Are you shitting me? You want my change because you turned around and filled a cup? Some of them don't even do that! They give you a cup and you fill it yourself! You people are not waitresses. Your wages are not taxed based on a percentage of sales. What a scam. And yes, I once worked at Starbucks.

So there you have it, several more useless paragraphs based on a flimsy premise written at a juvenille level. I'm nothing if not consistent.

C'mon Shooter!