Which to choose when you want to fleece the rubes – it can be a vital business decision.
The simple pea and shell game ( variation for industrial towns – pea and thimble ) is fast, cheap, and always effective for an operator who can palm effectively. It is the sort of thing that can be easily mounted on a bar table and doesn’t need a portable stand. The betting can be as simple as needed for the intelligence of the crowd, and like many bilks, it is perfectly suited to a con and shill team as well as a single operator.
It does fall down a little in states where they regularly carry sidearms. A pistol can make operation awkward – the wise worker carefully gauges the time to pocket the shells and fade – five minutes more has been a fatal temptation for many a Texas grifter.
The Three Card Monte table seems more suited to the city alley than to the county fair. Urban rubes always fancy they know cards better than their country cousins – and perhaps the taint of sin doesn’t enter into it as much for the towns. You need a folding table that will come up to waist height for a good monte and wise operators know that occasionally you’ll have to abandon a setup – so don’t buy an expensive table.
On the other hand, buy the best cards you can find and monitor them for wear. Replace them at regular intervals or when any form of scuffing starts to show. There is nothing worse than a palm shift being stopped by a card that sticks – people have been detected and knifed because of it. Moral: buy good cards.
Of course neither of these two cons should ever be attempted by someone who is not perfect in the art. There is nothing at all, save a jail term or a slug, to be gained by trying to train on the job. If you wish to enter the pea or monte industry, set aside enough time and money to train yourself properly and practise in every spare moment. After all Heifetz or Paderewski did not play scales to their audiences on the stage of Carnegie Hall.
- We don’t open until later.
- We don’t open on Public Holidays.
- We don’t accept Masterdinersamericanexpressvisa card. And the till doesn’t have change. Exact money or go away.
- No dogs allowed.
- No children allowed.
- No coaches.
- No split bills.
- No thongs or singlets.
- No seat without a reservation.
- No reservations.
- No seats.
- No parking on the verge.
- No parking in staff bays.
- No parking.
” I don’t know what it is about the people in this town, Maurice. We open a world-class art gallery and poetry slam café at the edge of an outer suburb on a main trucking road and they just refuse to come. I mean, we have artefacts and avocados, for Christ’s sake. What more do they want? Philistines, the lot of ’em…”
This last month I experimented upon the friends in my Facebook connection – this month I experiment on me.
July I refrained from turning anything off – I let it all hit me and carefully noted what that was like. I looked at who posted what, and how their writings or shares affected me. I mentally separated the wheat from the chaff and then the chaff from the horse shit. I now have a darned good idea who deals in these undesirables.
I also noted who wrote or shared happier things. I was alert to actual intelligence as it manifested itself, and again now know who is cheerful and smart.
This month -August – I am going to find out what being without this daily feed of social information is really like. And what the time normally spent scrolling through it would yield if I used it for other purposes. The discipline is simple:
I will link over my own WordPress columns as usual, but I will not scroll or read the rest of the feed. I will read the Messenger section each day and use this as per normal…but no kitten videos or political rants or advertisements will take up my day. I won’t de-friend or unfollow anyone in the next month – i’ll just keep my eyes off what they write.
This’ll be a good chance for those people who want to traduce, insult, or cajole me to get in there and give it a good month-long kick. I won’t be reviewing the posts of August when September rolls around – whatever goes through there will be a train of thought that has vanished into the night.
When September comes I’ll reopen my eyes and analyse what a month Facebook-free meant. I’ve no idea whether it will be wonderful or horrible, but here’s to 30 days of experimentation to find out.
I ask myself this a couple of hours before attending a fashion parade – this one organised as part of the publicity and foo faw associated with a commercial trade expo. The basic event is promulgated by the local camera shop I used to work for, and I am going along to get material for the weblog column I write for them.
I think it will be a theatrical event designed to give the wannabees the thrill of seeing themselves as pro photographers. In the real thing there are pro photographers looking to give themselves the trill of getting paid. I have no idea from whence the thrill is meant to come for the models who stride the catwalk.
I have been mean to these model ladies and gentlemen before by referring to them as the slim, grim, and dim…but maybe I should be prepared to turn round and look at the audience as well. Why are they there? I can’t believe that they have any intention of buying the clothes on parade – either for themselves or for other people. They are forbidden by law from buying the girls and boys who walk the catwalk…though they may be rented occasionally. The only people there who have some hope of getting a benefit are the photographers and the owner of the venue.
Well, wish me luck. I’ll be the chap in the back with the reporter camera and the notebook hoping that there will be a fight or animal attack. And snacks. At least I know what I want…
Addendum: It was great. There was beer and snacks and rescue greyhounds in pyjamas. Also a crowd of camera people snapping away like mad. When I left early to write for my deadline they were still going great guns. But the business of snapping fashion sounds like a hard grind for a meal ticket.
No, I’m not talking about Taiwan.
I mean the oblong plastic containers that h0ld the remnants of last night’s takeaway. They are the most valuable asset that you can find in the fridge:
- If you were not a cook last night, it is doubtful whether you will be one tonight. Skill with cuisine doesn’t set in at 3:00PM . Those leftovers are what stands between you and hunger at midnight.
- If you look critically at what is in the containers you’re likely to encounter meat, vegetables and rice in considerable quantities. I’ve no idea whether it has gluten, lactose, fructose, sucrose, or twinkletoes, but if you eat a little from each container you are likely to have a balanced meal.
- It is all tasty. Depending upon which uncle or cousin was cooking there will be various Asian spices in the mix and enough variety in the textures to make for an interesting dinner.
- It is paid for, and will not last longer than another day. Eat now, or waste money. Which should not be a matter for any debate.
- We need the container for model airplane parts so hurry up and wash it out.
- That’s all that is on the menu tonight. Eat or starve.
- You’re allowed to drink Goon with Chinese leftovers with no loss of social status.
Let us now celebrate one of the best days of the year for democracy – a day when the downtrodden finally rose in arms and started to break the power that had always set its foot on their necks. Today is Bastille Day.
It was not a quick revolution nor a clean one – the real ones never are – but it was, by and large, a successful one. The old monarchy tried to return after the new upstart monarchy was defeated. Eventually both their powers petered out and people took more of their lives into their own hands.
They’ve been conquered since, and then liberated and have conquered in their turn, and are facing more of it – as all Europe does. But then Europe has always faced strife since before the Roman Empire – none of it is new.
I take comfort on Bastille Day in reading Tom Paine’s ” The Rights Of Man ” and am inspired by our Marianne in the liberty cap. It is a good day for cheese and wine and paté.
My local shopping centre bottle shop is a cozy place – albeit floored with plastic wood veneer and ringed with refrigerators and cool rooms. The decor is to-the-point: bottles and cans stacked neatly, offered for sale. There are wine racks and beer fridges and a bargain tub up the front. The staff are polite and friendly and I really want no more in such an establishment. I do not need music or great art or vague descriptions of vinous products.
It also has a wonderful feature – the cask wine racks. These are in the Australian tradition of providing booze at cheap prices. And for the most part, the stuff that is boxed is quite drinkable. It is never sterling, yet rarely drack. If it is to be consumed with a casserole, or BBQ, or evening cheese and olives, one need never feel disappointed. Goon is goon, and as long as you are prepared to recognise it for the cardboard packaging exercise that it is, it can sometimes be vin extraordinaire.
That is the regular $ 20 for 2 litres stuff. Red, white, yellow, or pink, it can all be sloshed down with little shame. But when it comes up against the retail laws and date stamping, it can become a pirate’s treasure. You see, when wine gets to the ” best by ” date it becomes largely unsalable to the upper classes. They would never consider such humble pleasures. And the retailer may well be stuck with it.
Stop laughing. Goon boxes are never going to be considered Chateau Lafitte by anyone ( possibly Chateau La Feet…) but even they have stamps on the side. Hit that month and they either pour it away down the storm drain or…
Mark it at $ 5.00 a box.
Friends, it is not poisonous. It is not noxious. It is not nauseous. It is $ 5.00 goon and you can afford to have a glass whenever you like. It goes perfectly with cheese toasties or leftovers au gratin. You can cook with it. You can clean with it. You can chug it while reading a detective novel. It can be decanted into an expensive bottle and served to your painful sister-in-law.
Trust me on this. If she likes it you have achieved one of life’s pleasures for 65¢. If she screws up her face and looks aggrieved you have achieved one of life’s pleasures for 65¢.