I was once seated at third base when a new player entered the blackjack table. He looked exactly like Harry Potter—same glasses, same hair, and roughly the same age. Of course, the dealer asked for ID. After taking a driver’s license from the player, the dealer placed it on the table to his right so the pit boss could verify Harry Potter’s age. I glanced at the license and noticed that he was twenty-four years old. Ten minutes later, during a re-shuffle, another player commented to Harry Potter that he looked really young.
“I get that all the time. Nobody knows my real age.”
I chimed in, “I bet you five dollars that I can guess your age with one try.”
“You’re on.”
I pretended to make an educated guess, “Let’s see, I won’t say twenty-one. That is too obvious. Hmmm, I’m gonna guess, twenty-four.”
Harry Potter responded, “Good job,” and tossed me a red chip. I took the money without saying a word. All you J.K. Rowling fans probably think that I’m going to hell.
Blackjack Stories 