PART 2/3: The Smile Factory

Getting a job here was easy.

Smiling for hours while slowly disassociating from my body like a ghost in a dealer uniform?
Slightly harder.

They say everyone in Vegas is selling something: time, attention, sequins, lies.
I sold energy.
The illusion of joy.

“Hi there! Welcome in!”
“What brings you to Vegas?”
“Oh, we love a birthday queen!”

Every sentence cost me a little piece of my central nervous system.
But hey, tips are tips.

At some point I realized I wasn’t pretending to be friendly anymore — I had become the exact persona I invented to survive the shift.

A real-life NPC, looping dialogue like I spawned from a customer service simulation.

But then, one night, something shifted.

It was just after 3 AM.
The lights felt too bright. The music too sharp.
A regular leaned into the Blackjack table and said:

“You know… you’re realer than most people in this town. That’s dangerous.”

I laughed like it was a compliment.
But their face didn’t change.

And for the first time in months…
I felt something like fear.

To be continued…
🔮 Next up: Part III – “Where the Glitter Settles”

Related posts:

PART 1/3: The Mirage That Wasn’t The Confidence Hangover (Yes, It’s Real. You’ll Survive.) Top 7 Mistakes Players Make at the Blackjack Table 5 Real Things You Can Do at Midnight (or Anytime) to Interrupt a Negative Spiral Dealer Secrets: What We Really Think at the Table 1:00 AM Thoughts: When the Spiral Has WiFi