Dying to Lose In Vegas: The $3 Blackjack Death March
"Fuck it, split 'em."I may have the greatest job in the entire world. When I told Chris Mohney that I was in Vegas for vacation (and later, CES coverage) and was interested in doing a piece for Gridskipper, I thought I might get a free show or dinner out of it. I didn't think I'd be doing a mini-marathon of blackjack at a historic but mediocre casino at the far end of the Strip. I went to the Sahara Hotel and Casino with $100 of Gridskipper's money to blow at the $3 tables, and I was joined by another writer, Mike McWhertor, who had $100 from his site, Kotaku. We were pumped.
"Split 10's against dealer 9? Are you sure, sir?"
"Look, I am trying to lose all my money. I'm currently failing at it. Split 'em."
As I rolled up in my taxi, there were big banners celebrating the Sahara's 55th Anniversary -- an impressive feat for a town that regularly blows up old institutions to make way for newer, flashier ones. Once I went inside though, it was the same as every other casino in town. Lots of slots, and a couple dozen table games farther in. I did a loop around the tables to find the $3 blackjack, but saw only $5 minimums. Not a good start. I called over a pit boss to find out what the deal was, and he told me that the $3 minimums are eliminated when big conventions are in town.
"I'm writing an article for a travel magazine about the $3 blackjack at the Sahara. Would it be possible to give us the $3 minimums anyway? We're going to see how long it takes to lose all our money."
"Um, I don't know ... but I will call upstairs ..."
After a surprisingly long phone call which includes several gestures towards me and to the fairly empty blackjack tables, we are "grandfathered" in at $3.
I think to myself, "We'll be out of here in two hours, tops." Oh, how wrong I would be.
---
"I don't understand, why are you trying to lose all your money?"
"I'm a journalist. I'm writing an article."
I double down on 3/5 vs. dealer 6. I get a 10. Dealer busts.
"But what if you win?"
"That's bad. Sort of. I don't know. I'll be here for a while, I guess."
---
We settle into our seats at the table with two other players, a young guy who looks like he's had a rough couple of days and an older Asian fellow who doesn't even look up when we sit down. When we push forward our first $1 coins -- the Sahara uses metal coins for $1 pieces, not the standard blue chips like the other casinos -- the young guy tries to help us out. "$5 minimum, dude."
"They are grandfathered in at $3," the dealer tells him.
"Grandfathered? Whatever."
Play begins.
---
After an hour, I'm down $35. Mike from Kotaku is down about the same. We've both had a few drinks and we're feeling good about getting out of the casino at a reasonable hour. We've both got "responsibilities" covering the Consumer Electronics Show in the morning, though I would use the term "responsible" loosely.
---
The young guy, whose father owns a company that is presenting at the show, is down several hundred dollars; he finally gets lucky and gets dealt a pair of aces against dealer six. He splits them and gets dealt another ace on both hands. His momentary ecstasy is thwarted though, when the dealer tells him he can't split his aces again.
"What? On a six-deck shoe? Of course I can. I've done this before."
"Not at this casino, house rule. One card on split aces, that's it."
"Can we verify that with the supervisor? Excuse me, supervisor lady?"
Unfortunately for him though, she backs up her dealer. No double splitting aces. Visibly angry, he waits to see what happens to the dealer, who quickly busts. After being paid, he pushes his chips towards the dealer. "I'm cashing out and going to a real casino."
Luckily, I don't have to worry about that, seeing as how I'm trying to lose all my money.
---
After four interminable hours, I've somehow made $50 and Mike is still holding steady at $70. "Dude, I've got to go. I have to be up at 8 a.m.," he says
"Aw, Mike, you wimping out on me?"
"Yeah, man. You play my chips. I'm outta here."
After Mike leaves, I try to push two stacks of $3 onto the table, but the dealer says no.
"If you play two hands, you have to double your bet."
"What? That's stupid. Fine, whatever. I'll just play his hand for now."
Dealer busts.
I count Mike's remaining chips. After a $10 tip to the dealer, he's still got $54.
Fuck it. All in. I can't be here all night.
Blackjack. Figures.
I take his original $100 and slip it in my pocket and go all in with the remaining $34.
Luckily, sort of, I go bust. 10/5/7.
The Montrealienne sitting next to me -- we discussed at length what I would call him, and that is, no joke, what we settled on -- is disappointed. "That sucks!"
"Nah, I won his money back. Now I can focus on losing all my money."
I'm not sure how easy that's going to be. For the past three hours I've had my original $100 separated from my ever growing pile of chips. I'm currently up $59. It dawns on me that this is going to be a very long night.
---
The Montrealienne keeps losing. He's playing $50 a hand and, for a while, does well. But, eventually, he starts losing. I'm bummed, because he's been the most entertaining character at the table. When his lighter stop working, he laments "My flame has been snuffed out!"
---
After six hours, I'm still up $52. I have to do something to break the monotony. I vow that if I am up $100, I'm walking away, and I start playing badly. Of course, I win.
Some casinos let you split any 10's, say King/Queen, but most players don't take advantage. Two 10's is a very strong hand. The dealer gives me King/Queen against his 5.
"Split 'em."
"Sir?"
"Split!"
I get Jacks on both. "Split 'em again!"
Now I'm playing four hands at once. All four hands get 10's or Queens. "Split 'em again!"
"I'm sorry sir, you can't split to more than four hands."
Now I know what the other guy felt like.
"OK, whatever."
The dealer busts, of course.
"HOW CAN I LOSE ALL MY MONEY IF YOU KEEP BUSTING?!"
---
After six and a half hours, the casino is almost deserted, save for my hugely bored dealer, the cleaning staff, and a busty young woman who called to me from the slots, "Hey handsome, come see me when you're finished," as I returned from the bathroom.
The pit boss comes over to me. "We've closed this table except for you. They may decide to move you down there while we clean this area."
"Would I get to keep my $3 minimum?"
"I don't know."
I look at my watch. It's almost 5 a.m. I have to work in the morning, I can't be doing this all night. I'm still up $63. I put my original $100 in my pocket. Gawker Media's money is safe.
All in on the next hand. I get a 7/4. Excellent starting hand, except the dealer has blackjack. My long ordeal is over.
---
After cashing out, I wander over to the busty woman playing video poker. She's probably about 25, short, Latina.
"Did you win big, honey?"
"Nah, walked away even."
"You looking for a good time tonight?"
"Depends on the price."
"You aren't a cop are you?"
"Do I look like a cop? I'm here for the convention."
"I don't think a cop would be playing blackjack for as long as you were. I don't want to waste your time or mine. I start at $300."
"Good to know, but I can't afford that. Sorry."
"You sure baby? OK, well have a good night, get home safely."
---
I get back to my hotel and check my notes. Six hours and forty minutes of play. Countless hands. 16 blackjacks. 18 (they must be very weak, for I'm barely buzzed) Crown and cokes.
I'm exhausted.
---
Unfortunately for $3 blackjack aficionados, the Sahara has been purchased by another company, and, so the dealer tells me, they are considering eliminating all the $3 blackjack tables, even on non-convention nights. You can't escape inflation, even at casinos.
