It’s last night. I’m playing poker in the card room at Canterbury, which is significant because I haven’t been there since December 2005. I’m in the four seat, and this other guy is in the two seat. He’s a complete prick.

He has to be right about everything. So maybe the dealer got a detail wrong relating to missed blinds when the player hasn’t yet sat down. Is that really a reason to keep bringing that up during each of the next eight hands? On a couple of occasions, a player mucked his cards at the showdown and the reprobate demanded to see the cards. Once again, that’s technically legal (perhaps to prevent collusion), but it is considered rude.

We play for several hours. The sleazeball wins a small pot and proceeds to stack and count his chips while the next hand is being dealt. All of a sudden, he grunts to the dealer, “You over-raked that pot,” to which the dealer responds, “I… I don’t think I did, but you should have said something before the next hand.” The two-seat retorts, “No, the pot was $32. You raked $4 and it should have been $3.” The dealer asks him how he knows and the guy presents as evidence the chips that he claims represent the prior pot. The dealer once again points out that he should have raised the issue before the next hand. Not satisfied, the guy starts demanding that he get his extra dollar, so the dealer calls for the floor. The floor walks over and the lowlife starts going off about the dealer not knowing what he’s doing and continues his demands for his dollar. The floor, obviously wanting to shut the guy up, tells the dealer to take a dollar from the next pot and give it to the two-seat.

You’d think that would be the end of it, but you’d be wrong.

After the floor walks away, the caitiff, who has the hygiene of a vagabond, starts ripping on the dealer and telling the dealer to “learn how to do his job.” Mind you, this is all at a $2/$4 hold ’em game. Fortunately for the dealer, a shift change comes due. As the dealer is tidying the table for the next dealer, I toss a $1 tip to the dealer and say, “[This is] for having to put up with that,” as I point to the two-seat. The dealer smiles and is obviously amused. On the other hand, the two-seat is pissed.

He looks at me and rumbles, “Was that a rip on me?” to which I cheerfully respond, “And how!” The guy’s rotund face is now beet red. He growls, “When I write my book, I’m going to include a reference to some punk kid with an attitude!” I smile, give him a wink and a thumbs up, and tell him, “You do that.”

The guy is seething, the dealer is happy, and the rest of the table is amused. As play resumes, it becomes apparent that the two-seat is on serious tilt. It seems the incident really got to him. Fantastic! I stay in for the rest of the orbit, gather my chips, and leave. When I stand up, most of the table gives me a hearty goodbye. Not surprisingly, the two seat keeps his mouth shut and his eyes glued to the table.

I normally don’t revel in the misery of others, but that was a notable exception. Oh, it was grand.