People get extra testy at nightclub coat checks because they’re generally extremely desperate to either get in or get out.
I learned this when I recently tried to exit a club–got to get my beauty sleep–going ahead to what looked like the departing coat-check line.
A drunk guy standing on no line in particular thought I was cutting ahead.
But I thought I was just moving forward to my proper place (and besides, when there’s a crowd waiting to get in, the coat check people LOVE giving back your coat so they can have the hanger space).
“I know who you are,” he gurgled, “but still!”
I gestured for the guy to get ahead of me if he wanted, but he just stood there, no doubt immobilized by the booze and lord knows what else.
Instead of moving ahead, he called a friend on his cell and loudly stated, “I guess I should have gone into journalism, not a real profession like nursing!”
As I left with my coat, I passed the stewed prune–still standing there in his self-generated K-hole–and he snarled, “Don’t ever go to Columbia Presbyterian operating room!”
Honey, I’ll not only go there, I’ll check my coat on the way in.