Cocktails, anyone?

Last week I went to Atlantic City for a few days with my girls and was reminded of a time when I was twenty-three and planning to moonlight as a casino cocktail waitress.  This plan developed when my friend Terry and I were there gambling one night and I watched a high roller toss a $500 chip as a tip to one of the waitresses.  Even knowing this was probably not typical (but who knew??), it seemed like the perfect income enhancement to my boring retail management job in a mall near Philadelphia.  

The following week I went back with Terry during my day off to apply for jobs. Terry was acting as my wingman and she reminded me how tired I would be during my day job after working all night and driving the forty-five minutes home. I reminded her that being tired is never a problem for me, especially compared to the hundreds of extra dollars I'd be bringing home if I even worked two nights a week.  My youthful optimism still makes me chuckle.

Before filling out any applications I had to visit as many casinos as possible and assess which outfits were the cutest and that I felt I could pull off wearing all night.  This was back in the day when cocktail waitresses were hot and wore skimpy little outfits versus the white blouse/black pant combo worn by haggard-looking staff I often see these days.  

Caesar's was out of the question as wearing a little toga all night presented a serious bra issue.  We spent a good deal of time searching for the Playboy club. I would have been willing to endure any costume discomfort to land that gig! It would be like tarting up for Halloween every night.  But then we discovered it had closed years earlier.  Huh. Who knew?  Remember this was pre-internet.

After a few hours of research we had decided that the what the Bally's girls wore looked both cute and comfortable.  At that time they wore a maroon tank-top style bodysuit with a little sheer skirt of the same color worn over it, and the overall effect was similar to a skating costume only with heels.  The heels part would take some practice as when I wear them I tend to look like a baby giraffe taking its first tentative steps, legs tangling around one another, let alone doing so balancing a tray of drinks.  But my mind kept going back to that $500 tip that girl had gotten so I vowed to keep my eyes on the prize.  

They also had to wear a little hat such as those worn by working monkeys, but all in all the look seemed like it would suit me.  After applying at Human Resources and a preliminary interview with a manager (as luck would have it they were short-staffed), I was given payroll forms to fill out and told to come in for a second interview the following Tuesday, which was merely a formality and training would begin that week assuming I'm available. 

I was fully prepared to call in sick at my store to complete my training. In fact, if the money was better maybe I'd just quit that crappy retail job and go full-time at the casino.  I said nothing about any of that and instead asked in a voice that I hoped was nonchalant, "When will I get my costume?"  I was dying to try it on.  I was informed that I would receive my uniform prior to training but that I'd have to purchase the requisite shoes myself ($58 - ouch!) before starting.   Well, it was a relatively small investment that would pay for itself the first night, I told myself.

When I wasn't working or walking clumsily around my apartment in heels carrying trays of glasses filled with varying amounts of water, I was busy fantasizing about all the extra money I'd have and all the hot men I would meet who would no doubt be asking me out. I mean, who doesn't want to date a cocktail waitress? Again, my youthful perceptions still make me laugh. 

My exciting new job was about to begin and I was ready.  In the midst of my preparation, however, my best friend from high school called to tell me that she was renting an apartment in Hoboken and would I consider quitting my job and moving up there. I could get a job in the city and I'd love it, she assured me. Conundrum.  Stay with my crappy retail job and moonlight as a glamorous cocktail waitress or move to Hoboken for possible real job in the city? 

The fact that my business degree from Boston University Questrom School of Business was languishing somewhere did not factor into any of my decisions. To my credit I had graduated college with a job and, after completing the three month Executive Training Program to become a buyer for a major department store I had deemed that career path "too corporate" and quit to go work in a mall.  

I'm certain I'm not the only college grad with screwed up priorities.  But back to the decision at hand. "You hate that job," she reminded me. "You say so all the time." It was true - I mocked mall shoppers incessantly and complained of the mindless tedium that is retail.  "But my new casino job," I lamented, although already the lure of New York via Hoboken was drawing me in. "And how would I pay my rent? I have no job there," I pointed out.  "Aren't you about to pay next month's rent?" she asked.  It was the end of the month.  Her idea was that I forfeit my security deposit and use the coming month's rent money  for the Hoboken apartment.  Thank goodness I hadn't yet spent the $58 on the Bally heels!

And just like that my budding career as a casino cocktail waitress ended before it began.  I quit my job without notice, packed up and did a Ninja-raid move that weekend to Hoboken.  When I pass Bally's I still imagine my twenty-three year old self, tottering about in heels serving drinks.  No regrets.