Working Rivoli Ballroom cloakroom

We’ve all been there before: scrounging around Tesco’s reduced section/grappling for copper at the bottom of the fanny pack/wondering whether that half-finished ciggy in the ashtray is still smoke-able. I cannot tell you how or why I always seem to end up “there” a sad-awful lot… but a bad habit of spontaneous money squandering is a safe bet.

So one does the obvious thing while juggling a degree, GRASSGRASS and laundry — work the cloakroom for a night in the boudoir of a tranny Halloween party at Rivoli Ballroom.

Where else
would your employer be a wonderous latex-clad catwoman ?
can you happily wear a leopard button-up without feeling too “hoochie-mama” ?
would you get to feel dwarfed alongside glamorous Amazonian-height trannies ?
would you be able to chill in a room decorated in the 50’s ?
can you have a chat at length about nipple piercings ?

Photographs courtesy of Miss Dalia Kranauskaite

And because it is a boudoir — making it exceptionally fancy (refer to wallpaper) — our services extended to pinning thick hair extensions, tying angel wings to bra straps and receiving various removed clothing items throughout the night.

Operating this cloakroom is well worth the friendly conversation, free-flow cider and bit of dosh… which I immediately spent on expired colour transparency film and a ticket to Charlie’s DIY taxidermy class (refer to bad habit). Despite the intimidation of being lost in a coat-jungle and bag-jumble, this is a piece of work experience I highly recommend.

/E

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