I was sitting in a crowded Las Vegas restaurant last week, and a few tables away from me was a young woman who looked like her age, dressed in a bright red polo shirt and jeans.
Her hair was styled in a way that looked like it had been dyed a brilliant pink, and she was holding a tray of hot chips.
It looked like she was having a good time.
She looked at me, nodded, and began to pour me some chips.
Her face looked so calm.
I wondered if I was going to have to talk to her about her chips.
I could hear her in my head.
“You have to roll dice!” she replied.
I looked at her.
She nodded again.
“Now,” I said, “let’s roll dice.”
I handed her a plastic tray.
She took a bite.
“It’s going to be a bit crunchy,” she said, taking another bite.
She rolled a couple of dice.
“No problem,” I told her.
“Just take them and put them in the tray.”
I started handing out the dice, but she was still looking at them.
I thought, If she sees something that’s not right, I could always ask her what she was doing.
I was still trying to work out how to get her to stop looking at my chips.
But I could see something was amiss.
I put my chips into the tray and handed them to her.
It was her turn to take a bite of her chips and she looked at them for a second, then put her chips down.
“Okay, so now, this is going to sound weird, but I want you to roll two dice.
I want to see if you can do that.”
“Okay,” I responded.
“Roll two dice.”
She took another bite of the chips.
“That’s right,” I added.
“Take the next one.”
She looked down at the tray.
“I can do this,” she announced.
“Can I do that?”
“Go ahead,” she replied, smiling.
“Put it in the same tray.”
“Ok,” I agreed.
“But just make sure you put it in there right.
I can’t just just get two dice out of a tray.”
After that, she took another chip and put it into the same place.
“Here’s what I’m going to do,” I informed her.
I handed the tray to her, but not before asking her a few questions about the dice.
She glanced at the dice in the other tray and put her chip down.
The tray went into the kitchen, and I started checking the dice on my phone.
“What’s your score?”
I texted her.
When I saw it was low, I immediately called up her number and told her I’d been trying to get a little help.
She was very cooperative.
“So you want to roll the dice?
Do you have the numbers?”
I told my friend.
“Oh, yeah, I know,” she answered.
“Do you have a score?”
“I think I do,” she confirmed.
“How many dice do you have?”
“Just the numbers, I don’t know,” I replied.
“OK,” she nodded.
So, what is the score?”
When I asked how many dice I had, she smiled and said, I think I have six.
“Cool,” I texted.
“Let me see it.”
I went to her computer and began searching for the number.
The next thing I knew, I was watching her dice roll.
I told myself.
“She just rolled two dice, so I think she has six dice.”
Then I looked up.
She had six dice.
But the number on the dice didn’t match up with her.
The dice were different.
I knew I had to ask her.
As soon as I began speaking, she immediately stopped.
“Who are you?”
I said to her quickly.
“The number on your dice,” she told me.
“Yes,” I confirmed.
I checked the number again.
I went back to her phone, turned it on, and pressed the play button.
It immediately started playing.
“This is a bad idea,” I exclaimed.
“They are not good dice,” I called out.
“Well, yeah,” she admitted.
“No, this doesn’t feel right,” she insisted.
“My chips are too high.
I’m getting low scores.
I think my score is wrong.”
“This feels like a trap,” I pointed out.
I told the waitress that this was a very good idea.
I got another bite and told them to wait a bit longer.
The waitress, who was sitting at the table with me, quickly took my order.
When we arrived at her table, she was wearing a mask.
She started talking to me. I couldn’t