A Bad Bet
by Andrew Sacks
You know, sometimes you
just have to wonder.
There I was, just relaxing
and sipping a beer. Didn’t know the bar, but
sure knew the game. Liar’s poker. Played
with dollar bills, the attendant serial numbers,
and more bluffing than calculating. And the
winner of each short round gets the bill.
These two guys playing were
making the most ridiculous bids imaginable as to
what they were holding, and actually laughing and
joking when they lost, as the money went into one
or the other’s stack of ones. Not only that,
but couldn’t they see the large sign behind
the bar, not far from them: No Gambling.
To make it even more head-scratching,
the guy standing beside them and observing all
this risky absurdity looked more like a plain-clothes
cop than any I had seen in a movie. Incredible!
Couldn’t they read?
Were they all drunk? Were my own eyes deceiving
me?
But then I figured I got
more savvy. That sign didn’t mean business;
it was just de rigueur. They had to have
it up, and in plain sight. The law is the law—but
it is easy to turn a blind eye.
I watched with bemused
interest for maybe 20 minutes. Then, I couldn’t
take it anymore. If there was easy money to be
made, let me have some of it.
I paid my modest bar bill
and made sure I had a couple of fivers in change.
I walked over to the group.
“Gentleman,” I
said firmly as I slapped a five on the bar,
“I’m in.”
Silence, as the three
looked wide-eyed at me.
The third man approached me.
“You are proposing to bet that money?”
“Most certainly.”
“Those are off-duty
bartenders simply biding their time with the pool
tip money. Sir, you are under arrest.”
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