Recently, I went to Tryst with S., and my friends Ting and Phil, who were visiting from New York. We drank flavored vodka, danced beneath the waterfall, and befriended some guys from Canada.
Towards the end of the evening, Phil mentioned that he was going to a bachelor party the following night.
“There are twelve of us in the group,” he said, “and we’re trying to figure out which club we should hit up. You got any suggestions?”
I declined to answer. Here’s why: if Phil’s friends had a fun time, they would have surely forgotten about who made the destination suggestion. But if they had a crappy night, they would have said, “This is all Lax’s fault! He’s the idiot who told us to come here!”
On a similar note, I won’t offer you any advice at the blackjack table, even if you ask me whether you should double on 18 against a 10.
“Do what you feel,” I’ll say.
Maybe this is selfish of me. After all, the people asking these questions really do want advice.
I’ll consider giving advice preceded by a string of disclaimers (e.g., “Don’t take my word on this, because I’m probably wrong.” Or, “Don’t rely on this to your detriment, but I’d stay on eighteen… Then I’d cash in my remaining chips and use what’s left to buy a basic strategy chart.”), but I need some time to think about it.
Until then, don’t ask me any questions.
P.S. Thanks to Kelly Yeager, Kerry Mckenna and the entire staff at Tryst for a lovely night.
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