Last weekend, a cute, twenty-something couple came into the club. She clearly wanted to be there more than he did. His shy nervousness contrasted starkly with her friendly enthusiasm. 

They ordered bottle service, so I led them to a booth in the VIP section, where she requested that I send her dancers with big booties. 

Every time I passed by the booth, she was buried under a gaggle of giggling girls, having the time of her life, while he sat off to the side, drinking water and looking miserable.

Towards the end of the evening, when the music gets slower and the couples get cozier, I passed by the booth again. It was empty but for the two of them. She was on his lap, dancing just for him. He was staring at her, utterly captivated and thoroughly happy, as though she were the most beautiful girl in the world.

I felt my heart twist just a bit, watching them. Love in da club, of which the rappers sing, is a real thing, ya’ll. I saw it that night with my own eyes.

They left behind more than half of a $235 bottle of Bacardi.

They also tipped me twice.