It’s 12:40 a.m. in Hollywood.

There is still a small line to get in the club, and I can hear the people in the back of line complaining to the left of me almost as clearly as I can hear the words to the song the DJ’s playing to my right: “I want to live like common people; I want to do whatever common people do…”

Nice song – too bad the noisy people bitching about waiting in line are drowning it out.

Right now I wish the song were called COME ON PEOPLE, instead of “Common People,” so they would quit bitching. Besides, the line to get in was a lot longer only minutes ago, so they should just chill.

I, on the other hand, should really use the restroom. A few bottled waters and four hours sitting at this door make for one anxious doorman.

Plus, I enjoy walking through the crowded dance floor when there is good energy and a good song playing like this. Problem is I can’t just walk to my office.

I know it’s really the bathroom, but it’s my fantasy, and in my fantasy I’m the boss and I call it my office. Also in my fantasy no one bitches inside or outside of the club. There is always good energy, and a good song playing. I give the doorman a raise … and his own office.

Alas, I’m still here, still having to go to the bathroom, and the only thing worse than trying to fantasize at work is trying to fantasize while having to go to the bathroom.

“Yo!” my co-worker Will yells and surprises me. “The most gorgeous girl is on the black couch. She’s been sitting there alone for an hour.”

“Of course she’s sitting on the black couch,” I said.