Story time from the book:

People ask me all the time “What is it like to work in a sportsbook?”

People assume it must be great because “you sit around and watch sports all day.”

Yeah, you do, but that’s like saying a food server working in a restaurant gets to sit around...

and eat food all day. There is a bit more to the job. From the daily commute, to the customers always being right, to counting money—it’s a job like any other.

The one thing that 80 percent of sportsbook employees share is a love of sports and the action. The other 20 percent...

are simply punching a clock. That 20 percent doesn’t like sports, doesn’t watch sports and definitely doesn’t like people. They put their time in and go home.

Unfortunately for unsuspecting customers, the 20 percenters don’t wear any identifying clothing other than the...

grumpy ass mug on their face. The real assassins were the ones who didn’t show it but would blow at the drop of a dime.

Saw it all the time. Some nice guy from Nebraska would come up to the counter and go “How do you do a parlay?”

In most instances, the question gets answered..

the bet gets taken and everyone moves on. But not when you go to Miserable Michele’s window. Nah, this was not a place for nice, innocent people from the Midwest without game numbers. She had a pretty face but she would shank you if you didn’t have your shit together...

Miserable Michele’s window was that grinder window. The place for the daily dudes who we’re prepared and done in less than 20 seconds. Those guys and horse players. All business. No bullshit. No pleasantries exchanged. Hell, sometimes I swear there wasn’t even eye contact..

“Aqueduct. Race 5. $1 tri. 5 over 1,3,4 over all.

Without looking up, Miserable Michele would grunt “32.”

Two Andrew Jacksons would drop on the counter as the ticket was coming out of the machine. She opened the drawer and had a five and three ones on the counter with...

the ticket. Customers picked it all up, she had the two twenties in her drawer, no more words were exchanged. Transaction took 3.2 seconds. That’s how she operated.

There is a place for Miserable Michele in every book. Usually on the horse side. She is like the...

4th line left wing on a hockey team. Show up, do your job, and go home. Don’t ask them to do more. And, in Michele’s case, do not ask her for drink tickets unless you have a deuce coming with the question. She knew the game. You tip, you in. You don’t, you goin thirsty...

Miserable Michele didn’t have time for bad beat stories or unprepared people. Back to the poor bastard who asked “how do you do a parlay?”

This is a common question and one that anyone who works in a book gets everyday. A wise old school vet once told me “remember...

You may have heard the question a thousand times, but for them, it’s the first time.”

Good rule for life, let alone working in the book. Didn’t apply to Miserable Michele’s window. “How do you do a parlay” was answered like this:

“Give me the game numbers...”

“What are game numbers?”

“The numbers next to the team names.”

“Where do I see that?”

“On the board or on the sheets.”

“Where are the sheets?”

“On the rack over there.”

“Can I just tell you the teams?”

“I need the numbers.”

At this point, it’s like an Abbott & Costello...

routine. I am impressed by the guy’s persistence and yet not surprised at Michele’s ability to hold her ground, not help the guy, get the ticket printed and move on. It’s like watching a wonderful dance routine.

“Why can’t I just tell you the teams I want?”

She looked and said.

“Sir, I need the numbers. Because if you say Chicago, I don’t know if you want the Cubs, White Sox or Blackhawks. And I don’t want to have to keep asking or get your ticket wrong. That’s why. Get a sheet, circle your games, and come back and give me the numbers.”

Wow...

Good answer by the Miserable One. But her patience was wearing thin.

“Where are the sheets again?”

She pointed to her left and didn't say a word. Off he went.

Soon, he was back. My popcorn was ready.

He came back and proudly annnounced “I am ready.”

“Go,” she mumbled...

without looking up.

Ned Reyerson started rambling off numbers. 473, 476, 479, etc. He was going good. Then, Michele stopped him.

“That’s it.”

Ned asked “What do you mean?”

“That’s it. You have 10 teams. That’s the max on a parlay.”

Ned paused. “But I have more...

teams I like.”

Michele was close to her breaking point. “Ten teams max. You want it or not?”

Ned was scared. I could see the look of fear in his eyes. “Yes, that’s fine.”

She goes “how much?”

“How much can I do it for?”

“As much as you want.”

“What’s the minimum?”

Sigh...

“Five Bucks.”

Ned was overjoyed. He stands tall and goes “Oh, ok. Give it to me for $20.”

Long pause. Ned reaches in his back pocket. Miserable Michele looking right at him. Seconds seemed like hours. Like an Old West showdown.

Then, Ned comes with this gem...

“I can pay with a card, right?”

UH-OH...

The vet that she is, Miserable Michele did not print the ticket. The veterans know you don’t hit print til you see the cash. Everyone has been burned by the card guy at least once.

The void that comes with a card payer is...

salt in the wound you never forget.

Michele had it with Ned.

“NO. YOU CANT. It’s cash only. And I’m going on my break.”

Up went the closed sign. Off Shem went. Ned grabbed his sheet and sauntered away, defeated.

Moral of the story:

When you go to the counter, Ben prepared, be pleasant, have cash and pick wisely, not just your games but who prints your ticket.

Just another day in the book...