The miserable git

The guy at the Palms last night--the interrogator I just wrote about a short time ago--was one of the ten or so most unpleasant people I've ever had sitting next to me at a poker table. From the time he arrived until the time he left, about 90% of what he uttered was complaining. He complained at least 15 times that the drink service was too slow. He complained about being card dead. He complained about all of his bad beats. He complained about how badly the WSOP Main Event was going for him. He complained about his hotel room. He complained about the dealers. He complained about how other people were playing. He complained about the frequent straddles (about half the table employed them at every opportunity). When he won a hand, he complained that the pot hadn't been big enough.

These were all directed specifically at me--every time, he would turn and look directly at me while making these comments. (I think the woman to his right got spared because her English wasn't very good.) He didn't know how to take hints, because I gave him no encouragement, no feedback. I didn't turn to look at him, didn't respond, didn't change facial expression. I completely ignored him, pretended I couldn't even hear him, and yet that did nothing to slow him down. It was an astonishing solo performance, really.

I cannot count how many times I wanted to turn to him and say, "Look, mister, if you are really this miserable with your life, then please either go take a Prozac or jump off the top of the Stratosphere and end it all. Just stop inflicting your complaints on me, OK?"

But I didn't.

I can't figure out why people are like this. Do they really think that other random strangers are interested in all of their gripes about the world? Do they really have nothing positive or entertaining or informative or interesting to talk about?


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I hesitated before posting this, because I can just imagine the reaction of some readers. "Hey, dude--you call yourself the Poker Grump, spend hours every week writing up what you have to complain about. Hell, you've done almost 700 blog posts, most of which are complaining about something or other. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! You're the last one with a right to criticize somebody else for issuing a stream of complaints!"

So let me prophylactically address that objection now, rather than wait until the comments along those lines roll in.

First, yeah, the basic schtick here is writing about the things that irk me in the poker world. But I think and hope that it's perfectly obvious at every turn that I love the game to my core. Even after two years of making it my nearly daily grind, I still enjoy sitting down to play, every single time. I still look forward to it, to the point that when I've finally finished other chores and it's time to head out to the casinos, I literally think to myself, "All right--it's poker time!" When other obligations keep me from playing for a few days, I feel as if I were going without food. It's because I am endlessly pleased and intrigued and rewarded by this game that it bothers me when things about it aren't right. I trust that that sentiment shines through every time I file a gripe about something that should be better than it is. There was no hint of such an overriding sense of pleasure and enjoyment of poker from the guy last night to balance out his constant litany of grumbling.

Second, I don't inflict my complaints on anybody. You have to go out of your way to find them. You don't have to plug your ears to avoid hearing me whine, you just have to not point your browser to this page. People come here, I assume, because they find something amusing and/or interesting and/or informative about what I have to say. That is worlds apart from droning on into the ear of an involuntary audience who just happened to get stuck next to you at a poker table.

So if you had thoughts about complaining that I'm being a complainer who is complaining about another complainer, go complain somewhere else!