Dear Diary,
I was back at my favorite performance venue last night and was again looking for ways to avoid the line.
I saw my favorite bouncer and waved him down. He came over to me and I switched into light ethnic mode. Using a few choice phrases that WhitePal taught me, I ‘hollered at my boy’ as I tried to see what I could do in terms of mitigating me standing in line. I reminded him about the show he invited me to and I told him I had to miss the all Black Comedy Spectacular because because traffic that night was retarded.
The look in his eyes told me he wasn’t feelin’ that shiz(?).
I didn’t understand. Last week, he was more than happy to accommodate my requests in exchange for the momentary belief that we had anything in common based on our simliar ability to not sunburn. Tonight, he was cold, distant, it was if he had seen through my facade and wasn’t havin’ it.
He confirmed the fact that I would have to stay in line and then moved on.
Then I saw another brother come out of the club.
Ohhhhh, that was the guy I had flirted with the week before. I realized this because he came up to me, put his hand inappropriately on the small of my back and called me his shorty.
I guess we all really do look alike.
The Oreo Experience 
Well, that never works with my people. If I’m in line at Jerry’s Deli, giving the greeter a ‘high-five’ and shouting ‘Oy-vey!’ in a boisterous fashion will not get me a better seat anytime sooner, nor will it stop them from charging me $10 for a bowl of soup. Of course, alas, the hot big-nosed, curly haired waitresses never put their hands on the small of my back either. Being Jewish sucks.
I’m not proud of that fact that it works. Also, your people are far too successful to need the social handout. I’d gladly trade the line jump for private schooling, a spot above the line in movie credits or even those snazzy tassels.
I’m not proud of the fact that I’m laughing