Working girl

One of the bars where Dave works is called Calico Jack's. It's in midtown and is a popular place for people who live in other boroughs to stop on their way home from work. Lots of students pass through as well, as well as a fair number of tourists who venture away from Times Square. Dave asked me a few weeks ago whether I'd ever be interested in working the coat check there on a Friday or Saturday night; my schedule is such that a regular working shift would be tough, but I can do an occasionally night here and there. I went in to meet his boss, and we decided that I'd come in on Friday night. (I had my choice of Friday or Saturday, but Dave pointed out that if I worked Friday, I'd get the happy hour crowd as well as the later crowd).

Very cold weather rarely gets me excited, but when one is working coat check, priorities change. The weather report predicted temperatures in the teens, with strong winds, and I was delighted.

On Friday, I showed up at 5:15. The bar, which is also a restaurant with surprisingly decent food, was already much more crowded than I'd imagined it would be. I got myself set up in the coat closet, met a few of the bartenders (they're all girls in tight tank tops and short shorts on Friday nights) who were very nice, and then settled in with a textbook to wait. For the first hour or so, virtually nothing happened, but I'd been expecting that.

I got through two chapters and was just starting on a third when a couple came in to check their coats. I collected $3 from each of them, and gave them each a numbered ticket after hanging a matching ticket from the top of the hanger on which I put their coats. This took a lot of fumbling and I realized I was going to have to streamline the system or I'd get bogged down when things got busy. So I stowed my textbook and began setting up hangers ahead of time, attaching the numbered tickets to about 50 empty ones and hanging them in order within easy reach. This turned out to be a good idea, because things got increasingly busier. For each person that came in, I had to collect the coat shoved at me over the top of the counter (without losing any of the scarves, hats, gloves, sweaters, and headphones people stuffed into pockets and sleeves), put it on a hanger, hang it in the right spot so I could find it again, give the person the correct ticket, and collect the fee. I was amazed by how many people thought that paying a $3 fee with a $20 bill was acceptable, and I actually had two people over the course of the night pay with $50s.

Things got tricky as a line started to form and the closet started to fill. There were two racks, one on either side of the closet, at about waist level and two up above that I could barely reach. (This turned out to be good for tips, because people were pretty amused watching me teetering precariously on a step stool as I lunged for the rack.) The walkway between the racks was fairly narrow, and as they filled with coats, it became harder and harder to push my way through. The sleeves of the coats would wrap around my legs so that I was reminded of scenes from Harry Potter in which enchanted vines ensnare whoever tries to walk by them. I'd been wearing a sweater, but I quickly stripped that off as the room filled and I had to push my way around the closet. I could hardly see the numbers on the coats on the top racks because there were so many of them and they were so high. When I had to back forge my way to the back of the closet, I'd take a deep breath and plunge in with both hands in front of my like a diver, emerging with static-y hair that I could feel hovering around my head in a halo. One of the waitresses brought a glass of water at one point, and I can't remember the last time I wanted one more.

Imagine this room with about 12 times more coats in it. This is where I spent nearly 11 hours.

People were generally friendly, and I was amazed by how many of them tipped me. Personally, I think that $3 for a coat (and additional $3 for a bag) is outrageous. But the girls all smiled at me and the boys all flirted with me, and my tip bucket continued to fill, although I never left more than a couple of dollars into it, as I've heard stories about customers helping themselves when one's back is turned. A DJ works the bar on weekends, and I liked working to a soundtrack. The other employees were really friendly.

At last, I found myself returning coats to their owners rather than hanging them up. The bar emptied, and by the time the DJ announced that customers should close their tabs at 4:00, I was starting to get pretty sleepy. Although I didn't earn a salary, I was allowed to keep all the tips I made and $1 of every $3 that I collected. After checking 168 coats and about ten bags, I walked out with $111 in tips and $289 total. Lots of hours, but not a terrible outcome, and I really sort of enjoyed it.

Surprises: When things started to slow down, I looked at my hands and realized that my fingernails were BLACK underneath. I thought at first that it was dirt from people's coats (ew ew ew) but realized after examining my fingers more closely that it was lint from all the black wool coats I'd handled – everyone wears black wool coats, it seems. The next day, after getting home at nearly 5:00 A.M. and collapsing into bed, I woke up aching all over. I guess all of the struggling through a jungle of coats and straining upwards again and again to reach the high ones takes a toll. But I'd certainly do it again if given the opportunity.