Dating a cocktial waitress in las vegas
What I'll never forget about my night as a Las Vegas nightclub cocktail waitress is how a stranger's neck sweat dripped onto the hem of my dress and stuck to my legs, or how fake our smiles grew with each passing second.My night began leaning against the wall of employee lockers, waiting patiently as one of the girls laced me into the Marquee cocktail waitress uniform, a skintight velvet dress that corsets up the back and front with black ribbons.
There are so many people here, it's easy to find a new candidate. This city has an unlimited number of options for dates. You could go to the same place every week and meet someone new there every time. The men only wanting to do date cocktail waitresses/showgirls/dancers/performers/nightlife girls. The fact that dating is nonexistent; people hook up, they don't date. Instant gratification culture—if guys (or girls) can't get what they want from you, immediately, then they can get it somewhere else. Phony, cheap and tacky are the least disturbing qualities of most residents, and I use the term resident loosely. From a woman's perspective, education and intelligence works against you. A labyrinth of noncommittal individuals looking for "a nice person" but really full of disillusioned thoughts about said "nice person." David Bowie's in there somewhere, too. Cavern of unspeakable horrors that aspires to be a bottomless pit of despair. Females are given just about everything in this sexist town. Depends on if I feel like showing off my wild side, or if I'm feeling like just keepin' it classy! A nice dinner on water somewhere like Yellowtail or Lakeside at Wynn is great, followed by drinks at Mix or Mandarin Bar or Ghostbar. The shops, hotels and the outdoor concerts at night are amazing! You see her at a concert two months later and she calls you an asshole. Going to Insert Coin(s) and play some games with drinks. I'm the one single friend in a group of people in relationships. I had a matchmaker a few years ago and got set up with a wealthy guy in town.
The worst thing about dating in Vegas can be summed up by this quote, said to me by a guy I had gone out with three times: "You're a really cool girl, Katie. But I just moved here, and I kind of just wanna ... The locals are either taken or so jaded you don’t even want to be their friends, let alone date them. If you have either of those things, don't tell your date or else game over. Finding someone who is undiagnosed, not suffering any kind of addiction or who isn't still caught up in what they perceive to be the Vegas lifestyle is an act of God. Vanguard is a good place because the bartenders are good, and if you're familiar enough with them they'll probably get you out of what inevitably will turn into a bad date. Motorcycle ride out for a warm summer evening at lake Las Vegas. I meet them through intramural sports after work—i.e. We met for the first time at Simon Brunch at Palms.
I'd thought that they would treat me more like a stripper or an escort than a waitress. At one o'clock, when I was ready to crawl out of the club on all fours, Benny Benassi, an Italian DJ who had one hit in the early 2000s, took the stage.
This was the moment the whole night had been building toward, and when the first beat dropped, the club exploded. But that newfound enthusiasm was fleeting--it faded just minutes later, as the pain in my feet returned and a guest called for his eighth vodka Red Bull.
There was a sea of young single women in near identical bandage dresses and painful-looking platform heels to choose from, many of whom were brought here by club promoters for this specific purpose.
"I hate culture and people, and I'm a Pisces," I heard one of them shout over the din.Around ten o'clock, before our table had arrived, a group of eight former frat boys in their thirties wearing polos with popped collars ordered a few bottles of Grey Goose for about 0 apiece, and it was time for the first bottle presentation.We marched in a line, waving light wands above our heads, and climbed all over the booth, dancing and smiling in a spectacle designed to say, "Hey, look over here! " Our table of four thirtysomething men in checkered dress shirts arrived for their bachelor party at 11.Bright-white lights outshone the red ones, spazzing and sparkling in front of the DJ booth. After I finished my shift, I limped back to my room in the hotel.Suddenly, I was weirdly euphoric and, like all the waitresses around me, got a huge burst of energy. A thousand dollars a night is a lot of money for serving drinks, I thought.One of them, a British fellow with bushy red muttonchops, informed me that they'd flown fighter jets that morning after just 15 minutes of training and that tomorrow they were going to blow up cars with bazooka guns in the desert.