My Wallet’s Gone! My Wallet’s…Oh Wait

As a huge Seinfeld fan, Morty yelling like a madman when he thinks his wallet was stolen at the doctor’s office always makes me laugh.  Of course when I actually thought I lost money – and not from the dealer pulling 5’s for his 16’s all night – at the casino and had a similar reaction it wasn’t nearly as funny.

I had been celebrating National Blackjack Day at Harrah’s Cherokee Valley River casino on March 2 (3:2) and having a good day.  I played at the $50 high-limit room by myself and doubled my money then gave back a bit before deciding to cash out and head back home.  I chipped up and headed to the cage to cash out with a slight detour to watch the free slots tournament.

Sidebar, those slot tourneys are fun people watching.  Bunch of old folks smashing machines in search of a bunch of free rewards points.  Anyway back to the story.

After a few minutes of people watching I reached into my pocket to cash my chips and noticed there wasn’t any cash.  Usually when I gamble I keep my cash in a front pocket so a) I don’t have to sit on my wallet and b) it’s easier to access.  Anyway nothing was there, nothing in my back pockets and just my normal few bucks in my wallet.  Oh crap.  Did I drop it when I pulled out my phone?  Did I leave it at the table?

I trace my steps, ask my dealer, do another lap, check all my pockets and wallet again and still nothing.  I walked back to the table and asked the pit boss if he’d help me out.  He wasn’t warm and fuzzy to start with and this wasn’t his idea of fun even though there was literally no one else in high limit.  So head of security comes down, I repeat my story, he calls the eye in the sky and they start to rewind tape.

I keep talking to the dealer, look under the tables, do another lap, then do the check of all locations again and then…D’OH…I had folded my extra bills and slid them on the inside pocket of my wallet.  I don’t recall doing it, not just today, but ever doing it before in my life.

Now I’m embarrassed as hell.  Immediately tell the security guy, who was GREAT by the way, both in trying to help and making me feel better about being a pain.  Tell the dealer and pit boss who rolls his eyes, apologize to everyone for being a moron, drop a $20 on their table, cash my chips at the cage, and get in my car as fast as possible.

So my National Blackjack Day was mildly profitable and pretty damn embarrassing.

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