• by Kelly Samardak , November 12, 2010

ConcreteLoop.com Relaunch/5th Anniversary Party, Hiro Ballroom, New York
November 11, 2010

I know a ton of PR people who have performed MANY thankless tasks.  No doubt manning the list at event check-ins is one of them.  Every personality has to be run through you first, and it's your job to remain calm, pleasant.  I must be an idiot to think it's understood that in that role, especially at a launch event, such a person would realize they're setting the tone as the first touchpoint of the evening.  I must be an idiot to think that someone would also instruct the list person that it's never appropriate to exercise verbal abuse or name-calling no matter what the circumstance, as the list person/greeter type is representing the venue, the event, and the brand itself in that role.    I must be an idiot.

AttentionUSA's Karen Ram and I get in line.  I approach the list girl, who is standing, silent, covering the mouth fuzzy of her headset, staring blankly at me.  In the crook of her arm is an iPad.  Minutes go by.  No "I'll be right with you," no "just a minute."  She comes to life, props up her iPad and stares at me.   Her demeanor did not inspire warmth, so no, I did not hug and kiss her with happiness as I asked how she wanted my name.  "First name," says List Girl.  I give it.  She asks, "Kelly Mitchell?"  "No, Kelly Samardak."

She flicks the touch-screen scroll. 

"Who invited you?" she asked.  I said, "Katie Smith-Adair of Morris King."  "When did they invite you?" she continued drilling me.  "I don't know, two weeks ago?" I am sure I sounded exasperated, because having to recall dates of invitation getting is an annoyance.   Then I remembered KSA saying something about a VIP line.  "Is there a press list?" I offered.  "Yes," confirmed List Girl, "around the corner."  She gestured around the corner.  Nothing about List Girl screamed "happy happy joy joy" but I didn't take it personally.  It's not all about me.  

However, I was not expecting to hear her call me a bitch -- to the person next in line.  I couldn't control myself.

"Did you just call me a bitch?" I asked, inquisitive by nature.

"Yes," she said, confirming that I did, indeed, overhear correctly.

"Why would you call me a bitch?!" I continued my confrontation, shocked that not only would she be such a buttface, but so audacious enough to admit to it without apology -- in front of other guests!  WHO DOES THAT?!

"Because frankly, you were being very. rude." She informed me of my complete spitting in the face of Emily Post.  I just stood there, gawking at her. 

"How was I being rude?" I really wanted to know.  Either that or I was on incredulity auto-pilot. 

Her response was to turn her head away from me, checking the list for the next person in line.  I tattled to the press check-in fellow because I don't think people should get away with stuff like that.  In my world they don't, but I'm not naïve enough to think List Girl will be affected in any way.  No doubt it was my fault, everyone else with a headset that night will confirm her suspicions that I am indeed a bitch, and she'll go on wearing leggings as pants into eternity.

I also offended a young man by saying that ConcreteLoop.com is a black entertainment blog.  He made a "Uh, you can't say that" face at me when I said it.  "What?!" I bleated, "That's what it says on the blog." "Well, that's not all it's about," he erroneously corrected me.   Am I not supposed to say black? I'm white, you can call me white.  Actually, pasty would be more accurate currently, but we're not keeping score.

I turned around, ready to offend more people, and found Stuart Tracte.  He was talking with Karen about foursquare or something.  "You unfollowed me on Twitter today," he said to me, a lovely greeting.  "How did you know that?" I asked, because I thought it odd that someone would check their followers daily for drop-off.  "I have an app that tells me," he said.  I explained that I was cleaning up my list, since I kept missing hilarious stuff from Oatmeal and Rainn Wilson due to my following of people I don't really interact with that much.

 "You don't have to defend yourself," Stuart stopped me from defending myself.  "Then why say anything about it?" I asked, exhausted from being so offensive in one evening.  Stuart explained that he installed the app for clients.  Because clients want to know who unfollows them.   Really?  People unfollow me daily, usually after I surpass my toilet-joke quota or harp on the varying degrees of lameness associated with shameless self-promotion disguised as "What, I'm just real proud of myself." It's OK, I don't mind, we probably weren't meant to be.  I'm not going to confront them awkwardly in a social situation about it.

I grabbed my complimentary Belvedere beverage and meandered around, finding pockets of really kind people.  I smiled as I discovered fashion risks, lots of fake furs, fake eyelashes, and lots of sunglasses indoors.  Upstairs ConcreteLoop had erected a red carpet where guests could get snapped in their sassy little jackets with the photos displayed on screens throughout the ballroom.  Upstairs I also found some hip-hop karaoke, which Karen was all about, but then decided against it because "I like my rap dirty." 

We returned to the dance floor, bopped around a bit, ran from the smoke machine, and met a teacher/singer.  I found Morris + King's Andy Morris, who said, "You know, I hear Drake is supposed to show up."  I think I said something bitchy like "I don't care about Drake."  Now see, Andy Morris would have been closer to the truth if he had called me a bitch, however, he is a professional and a respectful person as far as I've seen, so he didn't.

My midnight oil was waning.  I retrieved my bag to check the time on my phone and found my new awesome leather present from my dude dripping with cranberry/vodka slop.  I heaved an "it figures" self-pitiful sigh, looked at Karen and said "Can we go home now?"

On the way to catch a cab, I shot the girl at the door. 

With my camera. This prompted the bouncer to suggest I "Grow up!"  He was right to give me such sage advice as I was definitely teetering on the edge of "You first!" and other snappy elemetery school comebacks. Meh, I got my tiny sliver of photographic evidence revenge, immature as it was.

Cheers, List Girl, you made me wonder why the hell I still do this -- for a moment, anyway.

Bitchin' photos!