Down At The Beau

Sometime in the wee hours of the morning on Wednesday, a thirty-something woman who had likely spent the last three hours drinking gin and tonics at the bar, squeezed in between me and the stickman at the craps table. "I don't know anything about this game," she slurred. "That's what we're here for," he assured her. She stayed and played for about an hour, during which time she required constant attention from the staff, but they didn't seem to mind. She was, after all, an attractive woman wearing a skimpy top. But she continued to drink while she played, so her condition only worsened. Luckily, she was a pleasant drunk. But she never caught onto any part of the craps game even though she continued to put chips on various spots on the table. If she happened to win on a roll, the stickman would remind her to pick up her winnings. If she lost, and that was most often the case, she always just seemed confused. At one point, she sat down on a stool and took some sips of her drink, then stood back up with her eyes at half-mast and asked, "Now, where am I?" To which a croupier replied, "That would be the Beau Rivage in Biloxi, Mississippi, ma'am." The whole table roared. He knew she was talking about her table bets, but he couldn't resist.