One of my resolutions this year is to try to stay positive and to be more "compassionate", whatever that vaguely defined state of mind means. Besides a few notable lapses, I think I've done a pretty decent job, but women/girls-with-unnecessarily-and-inexplicably-large-handbags, you aren't helping matters at all. In fact, you're making them much, much worse.
As a doorman, my night generally consists of: dealing with rich knuckleheads who NEVER have to wait in line, and continually remind me of this fact as they WAIT in line for an hour; stopping girls from running into the bathroom five at a time to stuff lines up their noses; and endlessly explaining to packs of Italian tourists what "we're at capacity" and "stop singing retarded soccer chants at full volume or I'm throwing you the fuck out" mean. And, yes, all this I can handle. I even catch a few laughs (mostly at the stupid Euros).
But then the inevitable happens. Then it happens again, and again. One, or perhaps several classily dressed (in business cash, maybe a lovely evening dress) ladies will approach the bar, cheerfully oblivious, BlackBerries ablaze, handbags big enough to fit my laundry pile, mouths watering at the prospect of LIKE, A VODKA TONNN-IC!! that is, until I ask the first one for her ID. There's the look of shock, of disbelief, then the eye roll and the angry grunt, like we're THE ONLY BAR IN THE WORLD that cards people. Then comes my favorite part - the lengthy (at least 2-3 minutes) awkward silence while I strain to hold open the door and while the woman shuffles through the numerous contents of her bulging luxury-brand sack, hopelessly flinging around god-knows-what while giving me the same devil stare and while her friends/boyfriend/fuck buddy look on sheepishly until she finally finds the golden ticket buried at the bottom of her treasure stash. She has now wasted a significant chunk of my life (that I could have spent staring at girls who are actually attractive in line), and more importantly her own, and will be too pissed off at me to enjoy her VODKA TONNNIC and her boyfriend probably won't get laid. True story.
Listen, I know it's a lot easier for guys to simply open their wallets for age verification purposes. And I'm not going to ask the obvious (and naive) question, i.e., "Why the fuck do you feel the need to carry such a monstrous load around with you?" I decided a long time ago that whatever stuff women lug around (gum, gym clothes, cell phone with glitter case, walk-of-shame clothes, tampons, various other mystery items) are somehow inextricably and symbiotically linked to the women themselves, sort of like the bionic implants fused to members of the Borg race on Star Trek. Even the most callow rookie knows that to separate a woman from her bag can have disastrous, if not deadly consequences.
All I'm humbly suggesting, ladies, is that before you go out, just put your wallet (or other weird piece of card-carrying luggage) near the top of all the "stuff" in your bag, or at least put your ID in one of the many magical pockets of your accessory where you'll remember it. That will save you a lot of time, provide you with more time for Vodka tonics, and will make every doorman you come across not hate you or hate themselves and their horrible lonely lives even more than they already do. And the last thing you want is an angry doorman Muahahahaha!!... Just kidding - unless you're really attractive, or have other really big, ah, accessories, we'll probably forget all about you and your freakishly large "purse". After a while, you all look the same.
P.S. One of my coworkers told me last night that she read an article that conclusively linked handbag size to sluttiness. Just some food for thought the next time you're on Canal St. about to pick up some knock-off Luis.
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