slot girl– slang for cocktail server with not enough senority to work in table games.
i e . peasant.
We sling drinks for players on penny slots all the way up to 100 dollars a spin. It’s not rocket science that we can also get tipped like peasants begging for crumbs of bread.
I was given an opportunity a few weeks ago to work in the lounge. You know, where I wore the sexy dress and a customer complained that my ass was too big for it? Not your momma’s dress!
Well, I decided to work in there again for the simple fact I can serve table games, regardless of my senority number in slots. (Oh and not to brag but I lost 20 pounds.) So I was hoping to run into that lady and show her my new skinny ass. Well ….
Serving table games is the holy grail up in the casino world . You can get tipped 5 dollars for smiling or a 20 for a coffee. Not all the time! So don’t quit your day job, but it seriously is good money. I also wait on tables in the lounge with people who actually have to pay to drink. This also means you need a personality to work in this environment. It’s not like the casino floor when you can drop a drink and go. The paying customers want convo, attention, and long walks on the beach. Remember, there’s no slot machine or card game hypnotizing them. They will notice if you’re hungover, heart broken, or naturally miserable. They actually look at you when you take their drink order. Which is nice for a change.
There’s a band five nights a week and it can get pretty rowdy on the weekends. Packed with fancy people rocking out to cover bands playing Bruno Mars. Pretty entertaining when I have time to people watch. A pain in the ass to clean glassware through the crowd though.
In the middle of a packed Saturday night, there I was knee deep in empty glasses and beer bottles, when this young 20 something steps in the center of my pinky toe! Wearing the skinniest stiletto heels in all the land. Yep, those red bottoms not only break the bank they break toes. I shed a tear. “I’m so sorry she says, ” but all I heard was Cardi b ‘s voice, “These expensive, these is red bottoms , these is bloody shoes.”
I could barley reply. There has to be blood. My toe is definitely bleeding. That’s it! Send me back with the peasants where I belong. There’s no red bottom bullies there. I limped over to the service bar for moral support. With my pinky toe throbbing all I thought about was how my $50 cocktail shoes just got mangled by her $1200 stiletto. My poor peasant of a shoe.
It’s safe to say my toe lived, thank you Jesus, and I am back to my roots four weeks later….
Saving the world one cocktail at a time, in slots.