Lines

There are usually three lines at hotspots in LA: not a fucking chance, might get in, and don't have to wait.

The not a fucking chance line is the line to the right -- the line I'm always in, if I choose to wait in line (most of the time I go somewhere else). It consists of unconnected guys, minorities, and girls no one would buy a drink for. For some reason, the people who wait in this line cling to the hope that there's a chance they may get in. You can leave, get shitfaced at another bar, come back, and the same motherfuckers will still be waiting in this line:

"It's been 90 minutes. I gotta get in now."

Wrong. You'll never get in. You're actually doing the club/bar/lounge a favor by standing in this line. People will walk by and see you waiting like a chump and they'll automatically think this establishment is the shit. So cool and exclusive. They'll tell their friends and then their friends will tell their friends and everyone will come to see if they can get in, if they're cool enough, if they pass the test.

No.

The might get in line, the line to the left, consists of Persians, Armenians, people who know somebody who knows somebody (two-degrees motherfuckers), and thin-enough girls who wear a shitload of makeup to compensate for their lack of beauty. These people look down on the not-a-fucking-chances with a sad mixture of pity and derision -- like they feel sorry that we're dumb enough to still be waiting in line, but it's also kinda funny at the same time. Plus they wouldn't want to party with us anyway. These cocksuckers wear casual-ish clothes to project an elite, too-cool-to-give-a-fuck image, even though they spend more time thinking about their outfits than the not-a-fucking-chances who take the time to dress up and look nice. They check their cell phones and fake watches and faux huff and puff if they don't get in in under ten minutes.

"Where the fuck is Farzad? Why are we not in yet?"

A lot of these assholes get in. Especially the girls with bad teeth and blonde hair. As long as their faces are intact they're okay.

The don't have to wait line is not a line so much as it is a cluster. They gather in front of the velvet rope and name-drop without trying to sound too obvious.

"Is Tyler working?" "Kris told me to stop by." "I'm here for Shahram's party."

Some conferring will occur between the doormen to make sure that bullshit isn't being spouted, and then the velvet rope will unclip and lift. Ed Hardy apparel and smarmy, slicked-back Euro haircuts will enter and you can almost picture the size of the money clip in their back or side pockets. You may also see an oldish man or someone who looks like complete shit and try to place them with the appropriate TV show or shitty band. Some of them are with hot women. Most of them are with women you talk shit about ("Bitch looks like...") but would totally fuck if they smiled at you. Secretly you wish you were part of this non-line. Not because you necessarily want to be a personality or pseudo-celeb, but because you want to feel like a G and look like a baller in front of all these assholes waiting in line. And you may.

But we'll just talk shit about you.