Blackjack In Family

I have six cousins on my mom’s side. A few years ago, two of them, sisters, came to visit me in Los Angeles. I didn’t know it then, but that trip would bring us together in a way I never would have imagined.

One of them returned recently to work from Sacramento, and we picked up right where we left off. We had an incredible time.

Cousins & blurring my sister’s face because she thinks she’s so cool in her Dinosaur Jr. t-shirt.

“Samy is trying to kill us” has officially become our running joke. Between nearly running out of gas in the middle of Death Valley, dealing with a flat tire, shooting AK-47s (like the Counter-Strike nerds we are), trekking across steep, icy mountains, and getting caught in a Vegas downpour while climbing canyons; we’ve had our share of adventures.

It’s strange because we spent most of our childhood together. We all grew up in the same French village of 2,000 people: Mours-St-Eusebe. The name is Celtic for “swamp,” named after a saint who supposedly hunted witches in the marshlands. Our parents, our grandparents, and all of us went to the same schools, yet we didn’t really know each other. Maybe I am dramatizing.

Back then, I was much closer to my male first cousin because we were the same age. But as we grew up, “boys playing video games” stopped being the glue that held us together. I’ve always been a bit reserved, too “pudic,” as we say in French. I don’t say “I love you” enough. But proximity and spending 24 hours a day together (and a few near-death experiences) have a way of fixing that.

The cultural milestone of discovering Panda Express.

As of writing this, I have played Blackjack exactly twice in my life. My estimated lifetime loss: $400. Both times, I was with my cousins.

They give me objectively terrible advice, like “Samy, you should split those tens,” and honestly, that’s exactly how we like it. To be fair, we usually hold our own at the Blackjack table for hours, only to lose everything in five minutes at the roulette wheel.

Blackjack is fun because of the short reward loop and the interaction with the dealer. Your choices actually feel like they matter. What’s even funnier is how your choices impact your neighbors; people get very stressed about whether or not you draw a card from the deck. Since we play nearly every hand (we’re there to play), the deck disappears faster than usual, and the “serious” players hate us for it.

The essential LA taco truck experience.

You meet the best characters at those tables. You have the classic addict; the guy who realizes we have no idea what we’re doing and starts coaching us to entertain the crowd; and the “young prodigy” wearing an Evo hoodie who triples his stack in three hands only to lose it all and rage-quit moments later. Then there’s the casual gamer, just trying to survive long enough to get a second free Corona. His face is bright red as he judges our strategy, yet somehow, we outlast him.

Reorganizing the apartment.

But my favorite profile by far is “The Chad”.

The Chad sits next to you and immediately starts talking about his Airbnb business in Portugal and how much better the food is in France than the States. He asks where you’re from; you timidly say “South of Lyon” because you’ve already been intimidated by his muscular frame and perfectly trimmed beard. He tells you he’s been to Paris and Nice. Total cliché.

But this guy plays for an hour and leaves the table with six times what he started with, using obscure rules and strategies you immediately try to emulate. You want to be like Chad.

Souvenirs.

So, you start playing like Chad, minus the panache and the charisma, and surprisingly, it sort of works. You go from hero to zero to hero again. Three or four hours pass in a blur. Eventually, exhausted and buzzing, you tip the dealer, and you and your cousins sacrifice your remaining chips to the Roulette gods just so you can finally go to sleep.

A “failed” expedition in Tahoe.

Those are the stories we remember and the anecdotes we tell. But behind the jokes, there is a deep appreciation for where we come from, who we were, and who we have become after all these years. As we age, we are less timid, and we can finally say it: I love you, cousins.

My cousin is a big sports fan, so we make sure to go see all the sports.