Sunday, September 6, 2009
Then around 10:30 my station went to hell. For some reason all the good people left and I had the ghetto crowd. I was taking orders at one of my tables and there was a group of five people standing right behind their friend, who was playing. As I was making my way around I said, "Excuse me, guys." One of the guys stood closer to his friend while the others made room by backing up. As I was walking through I said, "Thanks." One of the girls said, "Why does she have to walk right in between us?" Another girl said, "I know."
I couldn't believe it. They were in my fucking way, and I said thanks, and they're talking shit? I turned to the first girl and said, "Because I'm working here. I have to get to my customers to take their orders. Why don't you stand somewhere else?" She totally ignored me, didn't even look at me. Oh really, bitch? So you purposefully made the comment loud enough for me to hear, but you don't have the balls to admit that you're a fat fucking cow and should get out of my way? The Meet 'n' Greet area isn't in Pit 5, table 4, in the 4'x4' floor space right behind seats 2,3, and 4.
So I continued taking orders at the table and they re-congregated right behind their friend and continued talking. When I was done I went inside the pit and told the pit boss what happened. They knew I was talking about them because they looked over as I was pointing them out, and we were standing right behind the dealer. The pit boss said, "Oh, really? I'll make sure they get out of your way." When I came back with the drinks, there they were again. I said, "Excuse me." The pit boss, who was standing there waiting for me, said, "Hey, make room for the cocktail waitress. Move back." They all silently complied. So you have the balls to make a snide remark to the lowly help when you think you can get away with it, but when someone in a suit talks to you, you just do it? Fucking pussies.
After delivering my drinks at this table, I moved on to the next. I handed a customer his drink, and as I looked back at my tray to get the drink for the next guy, I saw a girl, who was just standing there with her friend, suddenly pull her hand back away from my tray. I had caught her in the act of trying to steal an MGD off my tray! Not only was she a thief, she would have thrown my entire tray off balance and the thought of that really pissed me off. She had turned around so that both she and her friend had their backs to me. I said, "Don't you EVER take anything off my tray." She acted like she couldn't hear me, although she was standing close enough to steal a beer. What the fuck was going on tonight?! So I said it again, louder. "Hey. Don' t EVER take anything off my tray!" Still just looking around, nonchalant, just checking out the scenery. I walked around so that we were face to face. "Don't you EVER take anything off my tray. EVER." She glanced at me, then glanced away.
I walked back into the pit and told the same pit boss, "I don't know what the hell is going on tonight, but that girl just tried to steal a drink off my tray and I told her she better not do it again. So if she's still here when I come back around again, maybe you can keep an eye out in case she knifes me." As I was talking about her, she and her friend both looked over at me. He said, "OK. She better not come over here and complain."
When I came back around again to take orders, those same fucking people were still gathered around their friend. I said, "Excuse me." They did not move. I said, "Excuse me," again, but louder. The pit boss was at another table, but he heard me, so he came back over and said, "People, move back!" So then they stepped back. And again, that same fat fucking girl said, "Why does she have to keep coming through here?" One of the guys said to her, "Shut up. You're gonna get kicked out." Finally, the voice of reason. Now if he had followed that with a slap upside the head, he would've been a hero.
The gangsta beer-stealing chick was nowhere to be seen.
I hadn't had a night like that in a long time, where people were just flat out assholes. Then a few more rounds and suddenly all the lowlifes disappeared. Now, that's what I call cleaning house. I love my pit bosses!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
It did, so I pretended I was taking another picture of Melissa, so the hooker leaned away to try to get out of the shot but I was way too sneaky! But so was she, because she wouldn't move her damn hand off the bar, so you couldn't get a clear view of her tits. I mean, they weren't saggy in the traditional sense. They just hung really low, like down by her waist, but her nipples didn't point down or anything. And because she wasn't wearing a bra you could see areola and everything. I wanted to take another picture but Melissa was doing one of those things when you mutter through your smile, "Hurry the fuck up, she's gonna know you're taking her picture - hurry up!" I'm told areola's a regular so next time she's here I'll try to get a good shot. I swear, her boobs are fucking huge, like bowling balls - at least 15 lbs.
Friday, March 13, 2009
I was running late to work, which is nothing new, and there was another girl who was also rushing from the employee parking lot to the elevator at the same time. I pushed the button and we both waited impatiently as the elevator finally lit on our floor and the doors opened. There was another employee already inside, and as we stepped in, he said, very dramatically, "Welcome to the morgue."
Neither I nor the girl acknowledged him, although I did a quick glance his way before I turned around to face the doors, my back towards him, and she did the same. And I just instinctively did an eyeroll and mock dry heave to myself. I didn't even know the guy. And from the way the other girl reacted, neither did she. I don't know if he was a casino porter or what, but it was just completely stupid. I mean, did he think we would both break out in giggles?
Or was that a commentary on how slow our casino business was and an invitation for the three of us to start bashing our place of employment? I really hate the whole negativity of spoiled, ungrateful people who don't know how lucky they are just to be alive in a free country with access to clean water and be able to shit in a flushing toilet. If you hate your job so much, fucking quit and let someone else take your place. I don't love my job because I don't love the fact I have to work for a living, period. But I love the fact that I have a job, such a great job, especially in such hard times.
The ride to the employee level wasn't that long, and usually the music that's heard in the casino is piped in to the elevator too, but this time it was just silent. I really wanted to start laughing because I knew the guy was standing back there, probably still thinking he's some ladies' man who just zinged us with his comic wit when we're both thinking, what a complete fucktard. Maybe she wasn't going into the whole deep job-appreciation thing that I was, but she still thought it.
When the door opened and we got out, I ran out first because, well, I was really running late and I wanted to get the hell away from the guy. But because I'm short and have extremely short legs, and maybe because he was stalking me or because of serendipity or some other karmic bullshit, he seemed to be right at my heels when I reached the employee entrance. So, because I'm not a complete asshole, when I opened the door, I held it open behind me for him. And you know what he said?
He uttered, "Ooh...so lovely...." under his breath. The thing that guys in trench coats say in that creepy way as they're jerking off to kiddie porn. I mean, geez, dude. I just held the door for you, not invite you into my love shack.
I almost felt like he gave me an STD.
And yesterday was such a great day.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
What a great day.
It was a great day because I just met Steve Dublanica from waiterrant.net. Not because he's a New York Times bestselling author, or because he's been on Oprah, or even because he interviewed me for his next book "At Your Service." It was a great day because he inspired me to start writing on my web site again.
I love writing, I really do. I find beauty in words, and I love relating my experiences, and turning the most mundane tasks, like delivering a drink, into something amusing or interesting or frustrating or even controversial. But sometimes I just get so damn lazy, and before I know it days turn into weeks, weeks into years, and years into who the hell was cocktaildoll - oh yeah, didn't she used to be waitress in Vegas into bondage or something?
A few minutes after meeting Steve I felt it was time to put my foot in my mouth so I said, "So, you decided to fly all the way from Jersey to Vegas to meet your female counterpart in person, huh?"
He took a sip of his vodka martini (dirty - oh, yes, he likes it dirty), then said, "Well, not exactly."
I said, "What do you mean? You posted on my message board specifically to meet me."
I have to say, he restrained himself really well because I would have reached out and patted me on the head and said, "There, there, you over-egotistical buffoon...it's not all about you."
Instead, he said, "I had already planned out my Vegas trip and announced on my blog that I was looking to interview people for my next book. So I when I got into town yesterday I was standing around at Paris when this girl walked up to me and said, 'Hey, you're Steve Dublanica!' We started talking and she said I should get in touch with you, and I said I'd never heard of you, so she gave me your web site, so I went back to my hotel room and tried to e-mail you, but your e-mail doesn't work, so I was really frustrated, then I found your message board, and posted on there, and here we are."
All I could do was stare at him blankly.
"So you'd never heard of me? Seriously?"
He said, "No. I sort of skimmed through your site. You should really update it."
OK, maybe I'm exaggerating. But just a smidgeon.
An hour interview turned into a five-hour chat about life, relationships, goals, and how his mom recorded American Idol over his interview with Oprah. That sucks.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
It's really not a new e-mail. Some skank has already taken "cocktaildoll" as a username. Actually, it's probably me from years ago and I forgot the password so I couldn't log into it. Or maybe it isn't me.
Anyway, do NOT use firstname.lastname@example.org (unless you're a spammer, in which case send all your e-mail there) because it's been screwed up for awhile and I can't figure out how to fix it.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
In case you guys don't get the whole Katy Perry I-Kissed-a-Girl thing I keep referring to, she took a picture in front of this backdrop and performed in Rok Vegas on opening weekend. Anyway, so yes, we felt and looked completely retarded taking these pictures.
You know how it is when you want someone to take a picture with your camera so you have to explain to them how to use it? And you say, "You just push this button," and they say, "This one here?" and you're like, "Yeah, this one," and they go, "This one?" and you're like, "No, this one," and they're like, "Oh, you mean, this one?" and you're like, "Yes!" and they go, "OK." And you get in position, and you say, "Ready?" and they say, "Yeah," and you pose. And then as you stand there, puckering up, frozen like idiots, the person taking the picture clicks, then says, "Oh, wait, I did something wrong." That happened a few times. Plus I kept laughing, and Dawn actually said to me, "All right, settle down, goofy." And Kara, the one taking the pictures and who is also a cocktail waitress, made me let her take a round in my pit for wasting her time when she was the one who kept screwing up taking pictures. I mean, it's a freaking iPhone. My 3-year-old knows how to use it.
Just some of NYNY's finest eye candies at around 2 am. The one in the middle is pregnant. I had to sneak this picture because I was afraid she'd come over and sic her fetus on me. She had just loaded up on cherries and olives from the bar's fruit tray and they were headed over to MGM since their only potential clientele here were a smelly homeless guy who kept asking, "Who's your baby's daddy?" and a drunk Irishman yelling, "Barack me!"