OK, this is petty and lame, but so what? That’s the kind of mood I’m in. And have been in since Saturday. Let me explain.
Saturday night, my date and I head out to Unity to meet his friend and go dancing. We cheerfully paid the $7 cover and $1.50 coat check (insert grumbling here about how I remember when Sky didn’t have any cover at all; those were great evenings too, with the drag show during Ciel Mon Mardi and everything, and the boys were less snotty then too). I surrender my coat, get my ticket and am heading in, when I’m brusquely ordered to check my bag.
Let’s talk about my bag for a second. It’s a small, cute, black messenger bag. It went with my outfit. I had my wallet, keys, cell phone, change purse, gum, combs, and a hat should I have a hair incident and the combs prove unavailing. I keep my shit in my bag so it doesn’t ruin the line of my pants. I’ve brought it into clubs numerous times.
I say I have no intention of checking my bag, because it has my cellphone and wallet (I don’t mention the other stuff) and I’m not leaving those at the coat check.
I’m told to put them in my pockets, and check my bag.
Look, if I wanted to put that shit in my pockets, I’d have done it before and I wouldn’t have brought the bag! But as it happens, I don’t like going out feeling like a fucking kangaroo, bulging out all over with my money and phone down my pants. I was perfectly willing to let them look inside my bag if they had wanted to, but nooooo.
They persist. My date has already gone in. I sigh and put my shit in my pockets and turn in my bag. Ugly bulges result, and I’m parted from my change purse, gum, comb, and hat for the rest of the evening.
They’re lucky I wasn’t wearing my skinny jeans, because those look downright bad with stuff in my pockets, and honey, there would have been words said.
Naturally, what’s the first thing I see when I go in? A bunch of women with big honking purses, which naturally, nobody would have dreamt of asking them to check.
Whatever.