I'm not impressed by the old man. I could give him advice, but I don't. Why should I, he's being rude. I suppress a giggle at a possible future where I accuse him of pinching my bottom, and he gets dragged from the casino. But that is only a possible. Even as I think about it, it fades. I don't really want to do that.<br/><br/>I have twenty-one and the old guy stays on fifteen. The only way I can lose is if the dealer gets 21 too, but I know she will get 20. "Yup!" I grin as my money is doubled again. The dealer flips out the cards and I grimace slightly. She is showing an ace. And her hole card is a ten. No way I can with this. Then I see the other option. "Insurance?" I place a $5 chip in the "Insurance pays 2:1" box on the table. The old man does too. So, we both lose our $10 stake but get them straight back. Neat!<br/><br/>The next hand though causes me a problem. I have a pair of nines. Logically I should split them, but... The dealer has a ten and a king and the best I'm going to get is nineteen on the one and seventeen on the other. "Surrender." I say softly.<br/><br/>The old man erupts in irritation. I gaze levelly at him. "You want to buy the hand off me? Twenty dollars!"<br/><br/>He blinks at me, looks at the two nines on the table, then pushes two ten-dollar chips to me. He's allowed to have more than one station at the table I know. I know because I can see the result. It was one possible option, and I hope it will shut him up, briefly. "Split," he says, spreading the nines out and placing another $10 chip in the bet box. And outcome the cards. A jack and an eight. He stands on both, grinning at me. His own original hand is twelve, a five and a seven. He draws a two and feeling reckless draws again, gets a five. That's nineteen. He is grinning like a loon. Until the dealer turns her hole card over and reveals the king I knew was there, giving her twenty. The old man goes purple, demands I give his money back. I shrug as a big black guy wearing an American football outfit, complete with shoulder pads (at least, I think they're pads) and the number 52 on his back, taps the old guy on the shoulder and asks him to please calm down.<br/><br/>Three possibilities present themselves, not counting the one where I accuse him of touching me inappropriately (which re-appeared briefly and vanished again as I dismissed it). He can agree to behave and continue playing, he can swear at the security guy and get thrown out, or he can storm off in a huff. All three are there, in my vision, all equally likely.