I’m on my own, have been for a very long while now, and that’s exactly the way I like it.
As I’m standing at the service bar in Pistol Pete’s, I have a whole new respect for cocktail servers. Whereas before I figured they dressed like sluts because they were out to screw the able and willing, I’ve now come to realize clothing choice in this field is a valuable marketing strategy.
I’m not dressed in a miniskirt that the average woman would need a hairnet to wear, nor am I in a tank top that’s cut to my belly button, but Sam is.
I’m wearing skinny jeans, boots, and an old Hank Williams T-shirt I found in my brother’s closet that I cut the neck and sleeves off of so it’ll hang off my shoulder. Not overly sexy, not completely unsexy, but far from slutty.
I’m also not pocketing a twenty-dollar bill every ten minutes like Sam.
Maybe a few hours of slut acting is worth it if it means making double what I’ve made so far, which is still nothing to dismiss.
The Undertow, a rock-country band from Phoenix, has just finished their first of three sets. The room is thick with bodies and trying to negotiate beverage service through the crowd is like trying to get upstream in a mud river while balancing a tray of full glassware.
“You doin’ okay?” Loreen, who is accompanied tonight by two more girls and two guys to lift the heavy stuff, studies me.
Knowing my job would consist of mostly running drinks through thick crowds of people, I pulled my hair back into a sleek, straight ponytail. Not only is it giving me a headache from hell, but also it’s not nearly as sexy as Sam’s “innocent” pigtail braids.
“I’m good.”
She nods and moves back to the bar that’s stacked three deep with patrons half on their way to being hammered, if not there already.
I grab the couple beer bottles she set down, hooking them with my fingers. Someone bumps into me as if on cue, but I manage to keep the beer from spilling. I find Nick Miller and Justin Boathouse, two guys I knew from grade school. One is my brother’s age and the other a year older than me.
“Thanks, Shyann!” Nick slips me a ten. “Keep the change.”
Easy.
Moving around the room, I hardly see Sam or the other two girls working the floor. I met them at the beginning of my shift; they seem nice enough, but I’m not here to make friends or socialize.
I motion to a group of six at one of the high-top tables in my section and hold up one finger, then point to their drinks, international sign language for “Do you want another round?” They all nod and I head off to put in the order.
Loreen pulls and pops the caps off beers and I place them on the tray in a way that ensures ultimate balance. “You see Sam around?”
I throw a thumb over my shoulder. “Last I saw her she was in her section. I’m sure she just got busy.”
She leans to the side to look around me, her bright red hair looking purple under the blue glow of a Bud Light sign. “Don’t see her. Mind finding her and telling her I need a word?”
Yes, I do mind. Since when did I become Sam’s keeper? “Sure.”
I put the last two cocktails on the tray and carefully balance it, keeping it close to my body to try to avoid anyone knocking into it. After distributing them, the guys all pay up, separately.
Ugh . . . it should be mandatory for all people to work in a service industry like this before they’re allowed to become adults so they understand how fucking annoying things like separate checks are. Next thing you know they’ll be sending me back to the bar because there’s too much ice in their drink or the hops-to-barley ratio on their beer isn’t quite right.
After making change for six drinks, I storm off to the opposite end of the bar in search for Sam. She fits in well at a place like this; every girl around looks like some porno version of Daisy Duke. I think the best I could pull off would be a slutty Pocahontas.
“Hey, Tammie, have you seen Sam?” I ask the other cocktail server, and then panic because I think her name might be Tara.
Her eyes widen along with her smile. “Oh, you haven’t seen?”
I shake my head. “Seen what?”
She lifts a brow, then leans in. “There’s a super-hottie in the back corner. She’s been hanging around him all night. I think he’s with the band!” There’s a frantic fangirl pitch to her already-high voice.
“Why does that not surprise me?”
She leans in to whisper, “Just wait till you see him! If I weren’t happily married, I’d ride that fine stud like a rodeo cowgirl.”
I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my lips, but I’m determined to find Sam and send her to Loreen because every minute I’m not working is a dollar out of my pocket.