As many of you know, the TFM and TSM crews just got back from a music-filled, strawberry daiquiri-heavy weekend on the Inception at Sea spring break cruise. All-you-can-drink premium mixies, beer, and frozen drinks, plus concerts from Lil Dicky, Tyga, The Chainsmokers and more made for a pretty unforgettable work trip.
God, life can be so tough sometimes. After this excruciating weekend relaxing in a tropical paradise, I’m in dire need of a break from breaks. It just took too much out of me. Thank God it’s a normal work week this week — gonna be a much needed change of pace that ol’ DeVry desperately needs.
Aside from doing TFM stuff on this trip, I had two other work-related missions: work on my tan, and do some work at the cruise ship casino. And, while I definitely failed at the former (I’m 99% sure I have sun poisoning caused by the incredibly mistaken belief that I could apply sunscreen to my own back like I was Stretch fucking Armstrong), I went above and beyond my wildest dreams in conquering the latter.
Sure, tanning up on the pool deck drinking Miami Vices under the hot Bahamian sun might sound like what you would’ve been doing from 4:15-5:26 p.m. this past Sunday if you were in my shoes, but that’s not where you would’ve found your boy. I swapped fresh air and solar rays for cigarette smoke in a windowless room full of all the other degenerates who decided to give into the only vice on the boat that ran the risk of costing them additional money (considering it was an all-inclusive cruise, ergo alcoholism and gluttony were already covered).
And it was the best decision I ever made.
When I sat down at the blackjack table with fellow TFM writer Dan Regester right as the casino opened for the day, my hopes were high. The dealer was the very same Lithuanian dude whom I had won $150 off of the previous day in just four hands. Dude had been throwing money at me like I was a voluptuous prize goat at a Vilnius livestock auction, and I was ready for round two. “Be the goat, Jared,” I said to myself. “Be the goat.”
Luckily, my Baltic homeboy done did me good. I was probably up about $150 or so when it came time to change dealers. I tipped my dude and he tossed me an accented “thank you” before running off, presumably to go eat some type of stew. Deuces, Žydrūnas.
As is custom for me, I pulled back my chips and only bet the $6 minimum on the new dealer’s first deal. Even if it weren’t a dumb casino superstition of mine, I still would’ve bet the minny after taking a look at the new dealer. She did not look like she wanted to be there. At all. She was the dealer equivalent of a hookup where a girl is giving you a reluctant pity handjob with one hand and swiping on Tinder with the other, hoping to find an upgrade from your sorry ass. The girl’s not being choosy, either — all right swipes. That’s how miserable this dealer looked.
But, like a funeral director, personal injury lawyer, and Flint, Michigan’s water supplier, I managed to profit off of misery, and proceeded to go on the hottest blackjack streak of my life.
When you’re sitting there at the table, it all happens so fast. I can’t tell you how many decent-sized hands I won, because my mind, in its excited state, did not think to store that information. I guess the best way to quantify how hot my streak was is to lay out the highlights. It all started when, in a span of six or so hands, I hit four blackjacks (two of them back-to-back), all with money on the side bet that is only activated by blackjacks. Yeah, I know. Later, with a big bet on the table, I hit on a four-card 16 against the dealer’s 8 (because the book is God and I’m not a pussy) and got the 5. I doubled on 10 and 11 every chance I got (obviously) and hit almost every one. I even doubled on a 9 or two and hit that as well.
I couldn’t be stopped. As Bacon kept pointing out as my chip pile grew higher and higher, there are plenty of good people in the world who might’ve really benefited from all that luck I was using up. There was probably a lost Cambodian child out there who could’ve used that good fortune to take a right at that fork in the road and return home to his worried-sick family, but who instead hung a louie, stepped on a landmine, and was blown into a bazillion fleshy pieces. I tipped the dealer like $15, though, so I think my karma evened out in the end.
I left the table up a cool $600. I know, I know — with how hot I was, I probably should’ve won twice that. Dorn is still mad at me for not upping my bets more, but he lost $100 on the weekend so he can’t really say shit. In retrospect, I definitely should’ve increased my bets, because streaks that hot don’t come around too often. If casino trips were Washington Redskins seasons, my time at the cruise ship casino would be the RG3 playoff year amongst a bunch of Redskins Specials (fourth place division finishes). Sure, I’ll probably get a Cousins playoff year sometime in the future, and I’ll undoubtedly “like that,” but I highly doubt it’ll give me as amazing a feeling as this most recent hot streak gave me.
I guess if this story has taught you anything, it’s that sacrificing your time out in the sun to hit up the ol’ cruise ship casino is 100% worth it. After all, you can buy a tan, but you can’t buy… money… or something like that. Whatever. I don’t have to be profound for you guys; I’m a sixhundredaire now..