"Can I take a picture of you? No? Well let me know if there's anything else we can do for you this evening."
Can I take a picture of you? Send it back to Minnesota for the kids, perhaps? Can I take a picture of you? I can make it so the light doesn't shine off your fake gold chain, sir. I can make sure the cellulite curdling down below the hem of your too-short dress doesn't show, m'am. I mean miss, of course. How about you, my dear? Picture in front of the stunning Las Vegas skyline? Eiffel Tower and palm trees, all in one shot. Obviously none of it could be more stunning than that smile of yours. If I could just get your number I could--no? Alright. Enjoy your evening. Bitch. Can I take your picture? Oh, you don't even know each other? Who the hell cares? You're drinking pricey cocktails and eye-fucking each other on a balcony in the one place on earth where I guarantee you no one gives a damn about what you do together. Do us all a favor and stop being so coy. If you're not going to get a room, let me take your goddamn picture so you'll at least remember what you didn't do.
Saw this guy when I went to happy hour with some of the MFA kids last Friday. I wonder if his whole job was just to take pictures of people on the balcony. It was weird. Orientation is going well. Read all about it on my BRAND NEW personal blog, "Viva Las Becky." Go on. It'll be fun. Promise.