"Normally, mate, you'd be at the back of the queue." The Doorman said it with a smile you could have hung a coat on. But tonight the card said otherwise: you go next, whoever's turn it is.
The player whose turn it really was had been reaching for their cards. They pulled their hand back. The lucky one stepped forward, a little embarrassed, and played.
"Don't make it a habit," said the Doorman, and unhooked the rope.
A latecomer asked whether they could join the queue. The Doorman looked them up and down. "Name on the list?"
For the rest of the evening, whenever somebody tried to jump a turn, the whole table said "back of the queue" in the same voice, and the Doorman, deep in a speech about the dress code, pretended not to hear.