In my original post, I told the story of discovering an extra $300 in my pocket after a day of poker, and a potential miscount at the cage. That story ended with me debating whether or not to return the money, unsure if I could even prove a mistake had occurred! This one picks up right where that left off.
But first, the results of the survey…
I asked the viewers of the original post (and email) whether they would return the money or not. By nearly a 3 to 1 margin, they said that they would return the money if they were sure a mistake had been made. Although my favorite comment of all was this one from Mike K.:
I’d like to say I’d do the honorable thing but I’m not 100% sure I would. I’d probably let fate decide – put it all on red or black. Keep the winnings + return the 300 if I win, or if I lose it just wasn’t meant to be 😊
Now for the conclusion and how it actually played out. Short version: I didn’t return the money the next day.
I felt incredibly awkward about just walking up to the cage and trying to hand over $300. It’s not like they’d flagged anything or were looking for me. And let’s be honest — how do you even start that conversation? “Hey, I think you gave me too much yesterday… here’s $300 back.” Without proof, that might’ve come across more like a prank than a confession.
Plus, in the back of my mind, I kept replaying the day’s action over and over. Could I have miscounted my chips when I walked up? Was there some amount I hadn’t considered? It would’ve been the first time I ever miscounted — and I pride myself on that kind of thing. But what if I returned the $300, and then later realized I’d actually made a mistake? Then I’m out the money for nothing.
So yeah… I left. Still unsure. Still bothered by it. I took no action.
Now here’s where the story takes a turn
The next week, I walked into a different poker room — one owned by the same company — ready to play. But before I even made it past the lobby, I was stopped by security. A guard walked up and said, “Sir, you’ve been flagged for non-admittance.”
I assumed this was a mistake. I’m a known player. No issues. No warnings. Never caused trouble.
They called in the head of security, who arrived with a logbook and a no-nonsense look. I was escorted aside while they pulled my file. A few tense minutes later, they came back. I was blindsided when they said this:
“It says here there was a $300 mistake made at the cage on May 3rd at our sister property. We reviewed video footage, confirmed the mistake, and you can’t come back here until it’s returned.”
What do I say?
I’ll admit — at first, I played dumb. I tried the classic “Huh? That doesn’t sound familiar.”
But then it hit me: they’d actually caught the error. They watched the security footage, matched it to my player’s card swipe, and traced the whole thing back to me. All for $300. Poker rooms do not part with their money lightly.
They even told me when the error occurred, and it made sense. As I mentioned before, there was Kentucky Derby chaos all around the poker room that day. They were also running “Flip-n-Go” tournaments for the first time that day. I’m not even going to bother to explain those if you haven’t seen them, but they were right outside the cage and a mob of excited onlookers had gathered. I was cashing out from a cash game and buying into a tournament at the same time, while there was yelling and cheering, pushing and shoving everywhere. All these factors combined made for the perfect storm, and both me and the cashier didn’t notice the error.
So I came clean. I told them I’d noticed a miscount too, later that night, and had been wrestling with what to do. I paid the money on the spot, and they had me fill out some paperwork. While I had to leave temporarily, I was told that my name would soon get cleared from the naughty list once the money was processed.
But the best part?
As I walked back into the poker room the very next day, several employees who knew me had clearly been briefed. “Glad to see you’re not banned for life anymore, Steve!” one said with a laugh.
Word spread quickly. Players started asking what I’d done to get banned. I leaned into the mystery: “Let’s just say there was a misunderstanding between me and security over some money, but we’ve worked it out. I’m not banned for life anymore.”
Letting their imaginations fill in the blanks was half the fun.
In the end, I walked away with my reputation intact, my conscience clear, and — oddly enough — a bit of “outlaw cred.” I mean, how cool do you have to be to get banned for life?
Even if only for a day.
