Musings of a Coat-check Girl

I'll start with the obvious: working at a wild soiree like Chemistry is a far different beast than attending such a party as a guest whose only responsibility is to channel your inner rock star. Yet being responsible for people's personal belongings compelled me to have a different kind of good time.

At the April Chemistry party, I did astrology readings for guests; I've also attended a similar local party as hired writer. So I am certainly no stranger to being "entertainment," both in the live sense and later on via my written impressions of the evening. A coat-check girl, however, is only entertainment to the extent that she is entertaining. I was far more concerned with being another "e" word--efficient. Fortunately, even though Mercury is still Retrograde, I managed to pull that off reasonably well. Even though it was the middle of May, the cool, rainy weather meant having to keep track of several identical-looking umbrellas in addition to jackets, pocketbooks, tote bags, and, as the evening progressed, various pieces of clothing.

The theme of the night was "Prom-iscuous," and many of the guests dressed up in Prom-like finery. I have a feeling that some "ironic" interpretations were meant with more than a grain of sincerity, and vice versa. One too-perfect couple was even chosen (by Applause-O-Meter) to be King and Queen.

I myself never made it to Prom; at the eleventh hour of my high school career, I went from being  Practically Invisible, whose only "thing" was running the literary magazine, to Scandalous Wench when my ex-boyfriend started a fight with my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend on school grounds, in front of just about everyone. The two boys had been good friends until I came along, and came between them that spring. What did I know? "She was just seventeen, you know what I mean." Almost everyone blamed me for breaking up a friendship, as if I had all the power and the boys were just helpless victims in the face of my Femme Fatale self, which was such a joke because I was still too modest to wear a bikini to the swimming pool, and was over a decade away from my first "sandwich." But I took it as my due when I spent Prom night alone in the park, while at the same time thanking the stars above that very soon I'd never have to deal with any of these finger-pointing, tongue-wagging nay-sayers again. The Prom dress that I had purchased when everything seemed all right, a beautiful black Betsey Johnson with a floor-length tulle skirt, was used a few months later for my first college formal; as this dress is unfortunately no longer in my possession, I resurrected a pink sundress from my senior year of high school, also by Betsey Johnson. Working at Chemistry made it easier to wear; as another fashion-conscious girl at the party concurred, it would be pretty damned anti-climactic to discover that mysterious stains have found their way onto your vintage designer dress!

Because I only caught the briefest of glimpses of the party during short breaks, I mainly listened to the music (some of which accompanied burlesque performers) and interacted with guests upon their arrival and their exeunt, although there were a few mid-party visits from disheveled revelers. And of course, I caught some tantalizing snatches of conversation:

"Yes, I thought she was hot years ago, even before I liked girls!"

"You two don't have to go home; you two can come home with me."

"Looks like I picked the wrong week to quit smoking." (Gotta love any reference to the comedy classic Airplane.)

No one was less than friendly to the coat-check girl, and indeed, one guy, whom I did not know in the slightest, presented me with a bouquet of fuchsia daisies, which are still thriving nearly a week later. I should really make it my business to meet more strangers, because I love flowers and yet never seem to receive any from known quantities. Another fellow, whose name had a very knight-of-the-roundtable ring, periodically stopped by with offerings of food (apple slices with chocolate fondue...yummy!) for me and the sweetheart of a guy whose job it was to check names off the guest list. I took a few swigs from the knight's flask as well, which added up to perhaps half a drink. When you're a coat-check girl, you can't afford to get obliterated. So I was seventh-eighths sober when we started singing songs from The Electric Company. What, you may be wondering, has this got to do with a Prom-iscuous party? My answer is: everything. You just had to be there.

In fact, why weren't you?