My friend Jen and I were nearly first in line for a late show at UCB last night (the last show of the night, UCB Gets You Laid). Technically, we were first in line, as we were the first ones to stand in front of the door, by the curb, where the (unmarked) line always forms. This is no kind of accomplishment, and I am not bragging, just providing the information necessary to understand why I felt like an asshole for a decent portion of the night.
So we’re in line, Jen and I, when one of the girls who works the door comes out with her clipboard to start checking reservations. I give her the name on the reservation, we pay our $5 each, and she moves on. It’s then that two vodka-drunk girls who had been wandering around nearby (peering in the lobby window, looking at the posters, etc.) grab her and loudly exclaim that No! They had, in fact, been in line first. The UCB girl tells them that they weren’t in line (yes, that line. The one right there. The thing that looks sort of like, I dunno, a line), and they’d have to wait their turn at the back or work it out with the people in the front of the line (us). Here’s where I turned stupid.
See, those girls had been there first, teetering all around when Jen and I got in line. They’d obviously never been to UCB before, so I could understand that they didn’t know where the unmarked head of the line actually started (though when they saw a dozen other people falling in line behind us, yeah, maybe that should have been the tip-off). I felt bad, so I told them they could have their spot in front. They were obnoxious, and I wasn’t thrilled to be standing by them, but whatever. I was trying to be a nice guy.
When we were inside, seated far away from the gaggle of girls (which doubled in size when two of their friends joined them in line), Jen leaned in and told me some of the horrible things they had said about the UCB girl out front, which ranged from the mundane “Bitch didn’t know who I was! No way am I about to go to the end of a line!” to much nastier, more personal things. Suddenly I felt intensely guilty about allowing them to jump ahead of us, as if, in doing so, I had become complicit in their bitchiness. If there had been some graceful way to do it, I’d have marched back out into the lobby, found the UCB girl (who has never been anything but nice), and apologized to her directly for not saying, “Right, fuck off, then. Back of the line with you.” I’m sure she didn’t hear any of the insults, considering that I wasn’t even aware of them until Jen told me once we were inside, but I couldn’t shake that lingering guilt for the rest of the night, and instead of feeling like I’d done a nice thing by giving somebody a break I just felt like a sap.
