When: Spring of this year
Where: The Whiskey, Green Valley Ranch Casino, Henderson, Nevada
It's Saturday night at the Whiskey, the only cool nightspot in Henderson, and I, in my newest Dillard's Big and Tall section ensemble, am dressed to slightly wound. I make my way through the crowd to the bar to retrieve another bourbon on the rocks, a bargain at eleven dollars. I'm trying to get the attention of the bartender, who I briefly believe is the best looking woman in the world until I see the other bartenders, when an off duty stripper/showgirl/cocktail waitress/P.F. Chang's hostess -pick one- stands next to me and smiles in a way that tells me I'm about to be used, and not in the good way.
"I'll have one of what you're having," she says in that tone only beautiful people can pull off.
"I'm having bourbon on the rocks," I say. "Want one?"
The smile vanishes faster than she would if she knew how much money I make. "Can you get me an apple martini instead?"
I just offered to buy her an eleven dollar drink knowing full well she would take it, thank me, and immediately disappear into the crowd, but that isn't enough for her. I know it didn't make any difference whether she conned me out of a bourbon or a martini, but for some reason I decide to be stubborn.
"I'm having a bourbon on the rocks," I begin. "You asked - no, commanded - that I buy you what I was having. Do you want a bourbon on the rocks or not?"
"You're an asshole," she spits out as she walks away.
I give the model-caliber bartender my order for ONE bourbon on the rocks and head back to the outdoor patio where my friends are hanging out. The spring air is perfect, a false comfort before the ravishes of summer. There's a perfect view of the Strip in the distance. Out of the corner of my eye I see the girl from the bar, strutting that strut only beautiful people can pull off; cigarette in one hand, apple martini in the other. She's alone, and so is the guy who just bought her that drink. Even in the suburbs of Las Vegas, suckers are like taxi cabs. She missed one, but another pulled up right behind.
I bought a Fatburger, onion rings and a large Coke with the eleven dollars I didn't spend on the martini, all of those calories further assuring that every woman I meet at a bar will only acknowledge my existence as a means to drink free.
Where: The Whiskey, Green Valley Ranch Casino, Henderson, Nevada
It's Saturday night at the Whiskey, the only cool nightspot in Henderson, and I, in my newest Dillard's Big and Tall section ensemble, am dressed to slightly wound. I make my way through the crowd to the bar to retrieve another bourbon on the rocks, a bargain at eleven dollars. I'm trying to get the attention of the bartender, who I briefly believe is the best looking woman in the world until I see the other bartenders, when an off duty stripper/showgirl/cocktail waitress/P.F. Chang's hostess -pick one- stands next to me and smiles in a way that tells me I'm about to be used, and not in the good way.
"I'll have one of what you're having," she says in that tone only beautiful people can pull off.
"I'm having bourbon on the rocks," I say. "Want one?"
The smile vanishes faster than she would if she knew how much money I make. "Can you get me an apple martini instead?"
I just offered to buy her an eleven dollar drink knowing full well she would take it, thank me, and immediately disappear into the crowd, but that isn't enough for her. I know it didn't make any difference whether she conned me out of a bourbon or a martini, but for some reason I decide to be stubborn.
"I'm having a bourbon on the rocks," I begin. "You asked - no, commanded - that I buy you what I was having. Do you want a bourbon on the rocks or not?"
"You're an asshole," she spits out as she walks away.
I give the model-caliber bartender my order for ONE bourbon on the rocks and head back to the outdoor patio where my friends are hanging out. The spring air is perfect, a false comfort before the ravishes of summer. There's a perfect view of the Strip in the distance. Out of the corner of my eye I see the girl from the bar, strutting that strut only beautiful people can pull off; cigarette in one hand, apple martini in the other. She's alone, and so is the guy who just bought her that drink. Even in the suburbs of Las Vegas, suckers are like taxi cabs. She missed one, but another pulled up right behind.
I bought a Fatburger, onion rings and a large Coke with the eleven dollars I didn't spend on the martini, all of those calories further assuring that every woman I meet at a bar will only acknowledge my existence as a means to drink free.
12 Comments:
Do you really want a high maintenance, superficial barbie, who trolls for drinks? There are women who accept men for reasons other than the bulge (wallet) in their pants...it's just kinda hard to find them in bars.
No, I didn't want her. The incident just pissed me off and I couldn't think of anything else to post about tonight.
Amen to all the comments that came before me (damn, we're supposed to do that together people).
I must say however that once again you made me chuckle while reading your response. It was classic and I loved it.
P.S. When I come to Vegas the first round is on me. ;)
Well, living in Vegas probably means that that is the typical chic you're ganna meet in a bar.
I hate so-called "beautiful" people who think that because their outer package "looks" good, that it's okay to let your inner package go rotten.
I'm sure if you took a deep whiff close to her ear, you could smell the mold that was eating away at her brain.
What an icky person!
What a drink-whore. I'm glad you didn't succumb to her feminine wiles. That was so incredibily rude. I would never do that. I would wait until you ordered that burger, onion rings and coke!
While the gold digger's behavior was certainly atrocious, am I just a cheap-ass fuck for thinking $11 for a cocktail is utterly insane?
You rule for shutting her down, man.
I love that you shut her down ;).
Guys just by me drinks without asking. I never, ever ask. I can buy my own.
Damn.
Before I clicked the Comments link, I bet a friend $20 that the comments would be full of chicks offering to have sex with you if you *didn't* buy them drinks.
That $20 would have gone towards the layaway on my motorized wheelchair from Wal-Mart...
I don't defend Vegas much, but there were drink whores in Louisville, too.
I have bought ladies drinks before. Call me crazy, but all I expect in return is a thank you.
That was an awesome awesome response!
I give it an 9!
i would have to admit that i have used the cuteness factor to get drinks more than once. however, i dont just disappear afterwards either, i hang out long enough for a couple of dances and to see if the guy is cool enough to hang out with the rest of the night. if hes a dork, then i usually slip off to the bathroom and hang out on the other side of the room the rest of the night...
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