10
I was relieved to learn that my uniform as a bar server was pretty basic — just a white button-down shirt with the casino’s logo embroidered on the left breast and black slacks. Since the place was run by Native Americans, I supposed I should have guessed that they wouldn’t make their employees wear anything that exploited their heritage, but still, some of the nervous tension that had knotted my gut as I walked in through the employee entrance lessened as I finished changing out of my regular clothes in the restroom, pulled my hair back in a barrette, and stowed my belongings in the locker I’d been assigned.
There were a couple of other people in the employee lounge, all of whom looked like they must be Arapaho, or maybe Shoshone. They smiled and said hello, and I introduced myself,
