Okay, maybe I give in to the hate a tiny bit when he follows up with yelling, "Just another day in the game, baby!" Tommy tells us he's been at the Nugget for five months, which means he really is a time traveller, since he told the Trash Heap he'd been there for seven. Hmm. Tommy says he believes his career lies in the casino industry. Cool, because mine's in asbestos removal. Tommy waxes poetic to a fellow dealer about his father John, who is a wonderful host, and all about the wonderful life he's built for himself: "Look at him: he's just hanging out at the VIP desk, takes his clients to dinner, goes golfing [but with such people!], hangs out...all in all, he gets paid for having a good time." Things get faker. "I'll be eligible one day, I guarantee that." His friend says goodbye and they bump fists and Tommy says, "Peace." Oh, dear. Tommy tells us how dealing is fun because you meet all kinds of "characters" and, just for a moment, get to be a part of their lives. There's something so sad, so "townie," so North Shore about that statement. He gives us an e.g. with the story of a group of ten guys -- Tommy uses his time travel powers to make us see this flashback as though it is happening this very moment -- who came in with a thousand single dollar bills and wanted to bet it on a single hand. In the flashback, we learn that he has to count the entire stack of bills. Which he then proceeds to do. This is some exciting fucking television, right here. The thousand in singles guy puts a shower cap on his head. I start feeling sick and bad about myself. Dollar Bill starts screaming at Tommy, "Give me the hand, baby!" with this shower cap on his head. I begin to hate all people. The entire group of dorky men with Dollar Bill scream and scream and scream in this unending Superbowl Sunday kind of way. "Eccentric guys like that really make the job fun." I'm so sure, Tommy. I just quit your job and I don't even have your job. Tommy turns over a card and they scream some more and hug and bump chests and argh, argh, argh. I beg to be let out of this flashback. We snap back to reality in time for Tommy to tell us that this -- this fun, eccentric life of yelling and screaming and shower-cap shenanigans -- is "kind of like" a dead-end job, that it's "just a stepping stone" so that he can be, like his father John, a host. Because there's no dignity lost in giving hand jobs to the likes of Geoff Mills, I guess.