April 20 2005, 9:00 AM
What the hell is wrong with people? Seriously. Sometimes I just have to tilt my head like a confused puppydog and ponder the inner workings of other people's brains. Case in point: Saturday night at the Denver Pavilions. Hubby and I are off to see Sin City, which I highly recommend if you're into massive amounts of graphic-yet-stylized black and white gore. We arrive early, hoping to pop into Coyote Ugly so that I can finally scratch it off my list of places I need to check out. We zip up to the third level to grab a quick beer-and-a-shot, or whatever else you're expected to toss back at a bar where navel-baring servers fling bottles and blow fire, only to find that there is a huge line of poor slobs waiting to get in. Hence my question. What the hell is wrong with people? I cruise by to make sure the line is in fact for Coyote Ugly. Yup. That's the deal. Why anyone is willing to wait to get in is beyond my comprehension. I wouldn't even bother going in the first place, but hey, it's kind of my job to write about nightlife and such. As to the rest of the folks lined up, waiting patiently? I have no clue. To make matters worse, the bouncer is clearly doing that fully annoying Keep People Waiting thing that they love to do. Part of my cruise-by entails checking out the true capacity of the bar, and it is clearly not overly full. Hating the bouncer, hating the line, and hating myself for in any small way taking part in this little piece of nightclub culture, I huff off to find a drink elsewhere. Halfway through my Pinot Grigio downstairs at Maggiano's, I finally recover from my little mental hissy fit. And I realize that although I may still be curious about Coyote Ugly -- and I'll probably wander in one day just to check it out -- I will absolutely never be found wasting an hour of my Saturday night queued up with a bunch of lemmings who only want in because the bouncer is keeping them out. Think they'll bother with a bouncer and a fake line on a Tuesday night? Guess I'll just have to find out.