The winter

That time of year is upon us again where the long coats, hats, leather, wool or fleece gloves come on. The sight of doorstaff shuffling their numb feet on the frozen front step is ubiquitous.

Don't be surprised if we're short with you when you prat about in the opened doorway as you try and rally your drunken herd into moving to another bar.
Don't be surprised if you find we won't lend you our ears as you whine about the unfairness of life after we've declined you entry.
Don't be surprised if we're more interested in where that hot cup of tea we were after half an hour ago has gone rather than your claim that your mates are all inside and you really are 18.
And don't be surprised, offended or threateningly violent when you ask and we decline for the n-th time in our shift, if you could have our hat, coat or gloves.

It's cold, we can't head inside and warm up, we can't wear beer jackets, we can't sod it and get a warm cab home. We don't find lines we've heard a thousand times before interesting, funny or serious. If you're going out on a night in winter, wrap up warm or get anesthetized on mulled wine or stronger, don't bitch about it to us. We bitch about it enough without you chirping up.