That Time I hit On Two Girls Who Had No Idea They Were Being Hit On

Well, on my last night in Vegas, I was definitely over the club scene.  I was too small time for the club the night before, and spent $40 just to get in.  I made up my mind early on that last day that I would only go to bars that night.  Nobody was gonna change my mind.  I wanted to do something free,  and I wanted to do something adventurous.   

I figured I would hit 20 bars in 4 hours.  I’d have a beer at every spot, check out the women and see if any were ready like spaghetti, and keep moving after a few minutes.  The plan seemed flawless.  “Billy” was gonna come with me and Renee was strongly considering joining in with me.   

At about 8 P.M. I was ready to make my moves.  Renee, “Jimmy”, “Billy”, and a few other people got a bottle of Ketel One and each had a few shots.  It was then that I was informed that Jimmy convinced Billy to go with him to the clubs and Renee had decided to do the same.  Basically what it meant was that I had to either join them, or make my moves on my own.   

I took a couple more shots and alerted the room that I would indeed hit the bars on my own.  We all agreed to meet up later, after the dust cleared.  At about 8:45 we got into a limo (I still dont know who paid for it), and I told the driver to drop me off at a hotel with good bars, while everyone else went to  the Hard Rock for some party that cost $100 for men and $50 for women (good decision not going there). 

I got out of the limo and went right to the first bar I saw.  I ordered a Miller Lite and began to look out for “stragglers”.  Rod Benson’s 2007 Dictionary defines a “straggler” as any woman who has for some reason decided to have a small time night and kick it at a bar without male company.  They often include girls who ditched their girl-friends that night.  Anyways, no stragglers were found.  After about ten minutes at the bar, I left and began walking to the next bar. 

I went from bar, to bar, to bar, to bar, having a Miller Lite at every one.  I would sometimes get a Grey Goose and Cranberry (Bill Simmons suggests that Red Bull is a more typical athlete drink, but he also suggests that one of us will die as a result, which is why I dont get them).  I had reached about 10-12 bars and still had not seen any decent stragglers.  At this point I was at Caesers Palace.  There was a shuttle that made its way to the Palms every 10 minutes, so I decided to wait for it.  It was at this point that I realized that I was beginning to cross that line.  Either I was feeling the drinks or I was just feeling the griminess from 3 nights in Vegas.   

I arrived at the Palms hotel and went looking for the first bar.  As it turns out, the first bar I saw had like 6 bowling lanes inside of it as well.  I thought to myself “You’re already here, might as well bowl a game.”  It was about 12:30 at this point.   Reports were coming in from my friends that Hard Rock line was too long and they weren’t trying to pay that $100 to get in.  Good call on my part not partaking in their activities.   

I bought a Miller Lite and one game on the lanes.  I got to my lane, picked out a 14 LB. ball (dont act like you’re not impressed), and threw a strike right off the bat.  The place was small, and I am 6’10” so I got a little attention already, but the strike turned a couple heads.  Two girls behind me smiled when they saw the strike.  I confidently picked my ball back up for my second throw.  Gutter ball, dammit.  I turned back to the girls who were now laughing at me.  They had reason to, I guess.   

I walked back towards the girls, and motioned for them to come bowl with me (it was a little loud for me to yell over the music).  They both agreed and walked over.  Stragglers, yes!  They balls much lighter than mine (thats what she said), and began to bowl a couple of my frames.  They were communicating via sign language because it was so loud, but it also meant that I couldn’t understand them.  Whatever, I was tipsy anyways, I didn’t really care.  I just hate secrets, and I hate when girls use secret non-verbal communication to talk around me. 

At about frame number 7, I turned to the girls and said over the music “So, whats up with you guys?”  It was a simple enough question.  Not too forward at all.. I’m good at this sort of thing.  However, they didn’t answer me.  I said it a little louder, because it was hell of loud in there.  they looked at me dumbfounded.  I yelled it this time.  “WHATS UP WITH YOU GUYS?!”   

They looked at me, then turned back to each other and starting doing more sign language.  Coddamn secrets!  I wish I knew sign, then I wouldn’t have to yell.  Just then, I noticed something. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said aloud.  “There’s a coddamn hearing aid in this girls ear.”  I yelled out something else, loud as I could.  Everyone in the bar turned and looked at me — except them.  Of course, these girls were DEAF!  I had literally just spent 45 minutes bowling with these girls and only now had I realized that all that sign language was more than secret girl talk.  They were deaf girls.  Sweet, actually, awesome choice I made right there.  They then big timed me.  “We have to go,” they said.  I make that sound to good.  They definitely used “deaf talk” where it sounds like they were losing a game of chubby bunny.  To be honest, they spoke better than I would expect for being def.  But still, they big timed me and left.   

I bowled my final couple frames and left.  The rest of the night was irrelevant.  Yea, I gave my card to a couple hostesses and whatnot, but I couldn’t get the deaf girls out of my mind.  How could I have not known?  How could they big time ME?  I mean how many pro ballers invite them to bowl a game?  I left Las Vegas the next morning feeling very insignificant.  I guess I’m a big fish in certain small ponds, but in Vegas, I’m a small fish in a big pond.  So small, in fact, that even the deaf girls are bigger.  I guess that’s how it goes. 

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