Hidden Under a Cloak

*beep*

The cold wind tried to make me shiver as I stepped out of Bus 343 at Elephant and Castle station. The weather was bitterly cold on the second day of the year. It’s a bank holiday the next day, so that might explain why this place was unusually quiet.

I checked my watch. It was 9:40PM. Work will begin in 20 minutes.

I tried to look for the Coronet Theatre. Good thing it was just beside the Elephant and Castle Shopping Centre. The bouncers at the entrance greeted me with their usual tight and stern expressions. After a bag check and an explanation about my evening job, I was finally allowed to enter the theatre.

Or should I say bar. The Coronet is technically a theatre, but it can be transformed to a dance bar for parties of all sorts. I was there to do cloakroom for the event. The cloakroom guys will be the ones who will safe keep the guests' coats by giving them number tags so that they can pick them up later after the party.

I entered the cloakroom. Hell it was cold as it was located outside the theatre. Seems that I won’t be taking my coat off anytime soon. How ironic, as I'll be working in a cloakroom.

Since I was the first one there, the coordinators were ‘kind’ enough to ask me to put number tags on about 400 hangers. I was working on my 186th hanger when someone tapped my shoulder.

“Hey! Long time no see!”

It was Olya and his same red parka from the last event we catered about 3 weeks ago.

“Hey! How’ve you been?” We shook hands. My hands were again, cold, like last time. I gave him some number tags, so that I can do some catching up with him while getting the job done.

“I’m fine, thanks. How’s your Christmas and New Year?” he asked, while concentrating on his hangers.

“Not too bad myself. I got a bit fat due to my uncle’s constant feeding. Haha! How about yours?” I was already on my 257th.

“Not good… I was alone the whole week. My friends went back home to celebrate. I watched the countdown in Westminster by myself actually,” he said half-heartedly.

During that time, I just wanted to hug him, but then again… I had to finish these before the coordinator comes back, not to mention he might punch me in the face if I did hug him.

Thank God three more people arrived, and we managed to finish preparing about 600 hangers before the coordinators returned. One of them asked us to huddle around her so that she can brief us about the event. As expected as it can be, the surprises just kept on coming.

“Tonight’s event is just straightforward. Just get the coats from the guests, and give them a number tag. Each coat and bag will cost them 2 pounds each.”

Wow. 2 pounds just for keeping their coats? That is insanely costly. Oh well, since they are partygoers, they’ll sure have a lot of money.

“Oh, by the way, tonight’s event is a gay party. So it will be loads of fun!” the coordinator said impishly.

Oh. Dear. Lord.

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“I worked at a gay event before. They tip big, seriously… don’t worry!” said one of my colleagues, who was trying her best to pacify my other male cloakroomers. It was only 10:20, and the doors will not open until 11, so we have time to rest and prep up.

“We have to be careful when going to the toilet!” Olya commented while patting my shoulder. Wow, his comment just ticked me off a bit. It seemed to have a small trace of homophobia.

At that moment, I was still speechless. The surprises just kept on coming. First, Alexandra Burke’s mini concert, and how this? If only this catering party pays well, I will seriously do a full time work rota here.

Gay party? It will be actually my first time going into one! And the best of all, I won’t be a partygoer, but I will be the one serving them. So imagine the delight I had when I heard what the event’s gonna be. PLUs from all nationalities will gather at this dance party that will celebrate the onset of the New Year.

And they will have to pass through me (and my colleagues) if they want to ensure that their coats are in safe hands.

Back in my mind, I felt a bit sorry for myself, because I can’t mingle with them. But I couldn’t afford to get laid at the start of the year. Lol.

---

“Thank you very much sir,” I said as I took the coat from him. The cute Caucasian bloke gave me a pound as tip, winked at me, and then went inside the bar.

It was already 12 midnight. I kept my composure as gays on top of the hotness meter just kept on coming. They came in various forms… butch, drag, athletic, twink, bear, etc. (Just tell me if I used some of the terms incorrectly). Damn, if I only I always get assigned to parties like these, I might fish a prospect sooner than I thought.

I kind of struggled, partly because of the European goodies I was seeing, but it’s mainly because of their coats. They’re hardcore expensive, to the point that each coat can equate to a month’s expense. I have to take care of their Prada parkas or Burberry trench coats. And wow, the tips just kept on coming as well. The tip box just went past the 10 pound mark, and we were only hanging about 200 coats.

I was about to give the number tag to this another cute guy I was serving when he asked me, “Do you sell fags?”

Even though I knew that he meant cigarettes, I still froze. It was amusing, well, in that context.

“No, we don’t. The other cloakroom sells them.”

“Can you come with me please? Oh pretty please?” He grabbed my arm as I was about go to the back and get his change. That was a bit shocking but amusing at the same time. Before I can react, my girl colleague talked to him and said that she can show him the way to the other cloakroom. He agreed and let go of my hand, and winked at me.

Second wink of the night. Either I am that cute and they’re hitting on me, or they’re just being uber friendly. I’d go for the latter one then.

-----

Finally, after about two hours of the constant routine of getting the coats and giving the tags and change, I was tired… and nature’s calling me. The other cloakroomers bade me good luck as I went out and headed for the toilet.

Since the toilets were inside the premises, I had to pass by the dance floor before reaching my destination. It was hot and stuffy, literally and figuratively. I can’t see much because of the mist emitted from the smoke machines. The pink, blue, and yellow neon lights just illuminated the dance floor, with hundreds of men dancing to the tune of a techno song being played by the DJ with his sound mixer.

The place was kind of cramped, so I have to squeeze myself and just push myself to get to the toilets, as they would also not hear me if I say excuse me. Most of them are in their tank tops, while some are just… shirtless. Imagine the horror/delight I was feeling back then.

Finally, toilets. I double checked to see if it was the men’s or the women’s because apparently, the guys were all lining up to the cubicles… no one’s peeing on the urinals. And they were just there, chatting amongst themselves in the toilets.

I think I know the reason why they’re lining up. I’ll just have to double check with my friends as soon as I get home, I think. I just took a quick pee on the urinals (while double checking if someone's prying me or not), then went straight back to the cloakroom after a couple of more pushing and making way.

Nothing much happened after I returned to the cloakroom. It was considered to be the ‘quiet time’ when all the guests have arrived and were having the time of their lives inside. Apart from the couple kissing passionately a few metres from the cloakroom (which I kept on giving quick hidden glances at them), I just sat there, chugging on my Red Bull, and waiting for people to start going home.

A few minutes after half 2, and the coordinator finally asked me and another person to call it a night. Our services weren’t needed anymore; thus, I can have a good night’s rest back home.

So technically, I can… join the party. But the 4-pound tip I got after dividing the tip box’s contents evenly was just enough to by me a pint of lager worth 3.50. Rather than spending it, I just decided to really call it a night and headed off to the nearest bus stop.

As soon as I took a seat on the upper deck of Bus N171, I had to comprehend the things that just happened.

First and foremost, I forgot to say goodbye to Olya. Anyway, it was really a gratifying experience, serving the LGBT community. I mean, compared to the customers I was serving at the bakeshop, they’re totally more friendly and courteous, and not to mention they initiate small talks, which I totally fancy. They’re really fun to be with I guess.

it was as if it struck me hard. God seems to be giving me a message. Being exposed to a gay party at the start of the year? Hmmm.

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