Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer

     Working the side door can have it's moments of tedium and it can let you see the customers at their height of drunken hilarity but it can also give you a chance to meet people in a way that working the floor doesn't. Sometimes people just get tired or they're waiting for their friend to use the bathroom so they'll sit down on the stool next to mine. Some times they're obnoxious, other times they're just making a pit stop before they head out the door into the great American night. This past weekend pretty much ran the gauntlet of my fan club.
     Girl number one, I'll call her H to avoid too much confusion but still protect the identities of the innocent, is the best example in recent history of what we'll call the grateful customer. Every door guy has a couple of these stories, the really creative wind up in Penthouse Forum, the honest tend to sound like this. I did a favor for a friend of hers. It had nothing to do with the fact that they were both very cute, it was a judgement call and they put up a better argument, I ruled in their favor. The friend wandered off toward the dance floor, she stuck around and offered to buy me drinks. I don't drink on duty so she improvised and kissed me. It was brief but appreciated. The priceless part of the evening came later when H and her two friends walked by on their way to the restroom. The first time I was dealing with somebody else so she just waved. I waved back and her friend that I hadn't seen yet got a confused look on her face. When they came back upstairs, H fist bumped me and the same friend is still looking confused. They made one more trip to the restroom and on each pass she high fived me. At this point, the confused friend (?) is looking somewhere between disgusted and appalled. The daggers being stared in my direction pretty much told me I was going home alone if she had anything to say about it.
     Girl number two, J, is a different variation on the grateful customer. A purse had been turned into me by a woman returning from the restroom. I put it next to me and figured somebody would miss it eventually since there was a set of keys in it. Luckily there was also an i.d. About an hour or so later, these two women come  walking up to me, well, to be fair, only one was walking, the other one kind of wobbled. The wobbly one with the empty hands pointed to the purse and said it was hers. I checked the i.d. to verify and handed it back to her. She was so relieved that she practically fell on me, kissing my cheeks numerous times. She was cute so it was fun but she was obviously a couple of shots past sober so I was just happy to get the purse back to her. She sat down on the stool next to me as her friend went downstairs. J then pulled the typical young girl move of trying to dissuade any interest on my part by telling me that her boyfriend would be so upset if she lost her purse. If she was a little more sober I would have either flagged the play or at least warned her that she was dating a gay man. Ladies, this story may work in high school or on anybody under 25 but you can't put the boogie-woogie over on the king of rock-n-roll. As a man, I'm here to tell you that your boyfriend doesn't care about what happens to your purse unless he's trying to accessorize himself properly. It's a purse. We may be sympathetic towards your loss and may even hang out with you as you replace your drivers license but at the end of the day, it's a purse, we don't care. Ever the product of her generation, she then pulled out her phone and became one with the internet. When her friend came back upstairs, they thanked me again and then left. They can be cute yet annoying at that age.
     Girl number three, S, is a definite product of her generation but yet still inspires hope that they're not all brainless. S is in her mid 20's and a semi-regular. We first met when I was working side door a few months ago. She just sat down and started talking to me. I'm not sure if she was avoiding the people she was with or if I was just something shiny that grabbed her attention. We probably talked for about a half hour on different subjects. It was refreshing and passed the time. She's come in other times and always seems to check in. I don't think we've had a conversation that lasted less than ten minutes if I'm on side door. She always seems to show up when I least expect her to so it's a pleasant surprise when she's there. I used to feel like her dirty little secret because despite multiple times of her telling me she'd come see me again before she left, it never happened. I just smile and nod when she says this. She introduced me to her boyfriend the other night so I guess I'm not so dirty or secret. This encounter seemed to go better than the last one where they were making out on the dance floor until I walked by and she yells my name and gives me a big hug. We had a five minute conversation on her new job while he went in search of another Miller Lite. The kid has some strange priorities.
     The other member of the drunk whisperer fan club is T. Early 20's, amazing legs, great ass and a radiant smile. You can usually find her with a drink in her hand and two to three friends in tow. She's another one that just sat down and started talking to me at the side door. She gets distracted easily but she's a nice person. By the end of our first conversation she was introducing me to her group as her best friend. She puts a spark of life into a dead evening when things are going slow.

Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer

He who cannot be whispered must be backed down.

     It was a typical slow Thursday, approaching the witching hour. The radio suddenly came to life with the managers voice. "Alex, get up to the deck, I need you." I felt a little like Bell's assistant as I hurried upstairs after telling the bartender to watch the door. I learned that there was a disturbance on my way up.

     As I get to the deck, I see the other bouncer and the manager dealing with one of the patrons. I'm about to go over and see what's what when my path is suddenly blocked. The human obstruction is about 5'10, buzz hair cut, thick neck, barrel chest, uglier than me. Basically, he looked like that stereotype in movies that always hangs out in bars looking for a fight. He has a pint glass in one hand and he's staring at me, not blinking. "You lookin' fer me?" he asks in an accent I would eventually learn was Australian. I'm trying to look at the manager to see if I am looking for this guy. She's busy dealing with the first guy. 

     I'm at the wrong angle to try any kind of fancy grab the arm and twist kind of move. That's the great thing about drinkers is that they always have that arm out there. I lower my chin a little and set my left foot forward, pretending I'm trying to get by him. If I shift my weight and pop my neck I'll Metal Health this guy right in the bridge of the nose with my forehead. Using my momentum and surprise, I can also give him two open handed hits to the chest, pushing him backwards and giving me room to move. It may not be Marquist of Queensbury but it's fast and effective and I'm a little over matched so I have to take my advantage where I can.

     I looked straight back at him, not blinking either, and said, "I got a call about somebody causing trouble up here, am I looking for you?" He must have figured out that it was easier to drink beer from inside the bar because a second later he took a step back and tried to look a little more sober. "That wasn't me, mate, try over there", he points across the deck with his chin. "I'll do that, thanks" I said. I talk to the manager, turns out I'm not looking for that guy. It was a disturbance of one and he's on his way out the door. Having already had to break up a fight and toss two drunken chuckle heads out, it was refreshing to only deal with one idiot. Everybody went back to drinking and I went back to filtering out the jail bait.  

Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer

Blood & Piss: or misadventures at the side door.
     Working the side door can be boring or interesting, it depends on the crowd. Most nights you can count on some interesting scenery but the more you drink, the more entertaining you become.
      One night, there was a young man who pinballed his way down the stairs and then stopped in front of the storage closet. He tried to open it but found the door locked. He then proceeded to lean against the wall and wait for the door to open. After a few minutes, he was starting to shift his weight from foot to foot and became motivated to knock on the door. By this point there have been a few guys walking back to the stairs from the mens room. Finally, the guy standing outside the storage closet picks up on this and heads that way. After finishing up, he falls up the stairs twice at which point I just hold open the door for him and let him know it's time to go home.
     A different night, there was a woman who dropped her glass and broke it. We were able to get it swept up fairly quickly but as she's standing out of the way, her friend notices she standing in a puddle of blood. It suddenly becomes very apparent that this woman has nicked an artery in her ankle. Luckily she can't feel it so she holds still while we administer first aid. After getting the bleeding to stop and bandaging her up, the manager sent her to the hospital. Luckily, it wasn't serious but it was amusing watching this woman turn in circles trying to figure out where the blood was coming from.

You know you're alone when...

     I'm driving home in the middle of the night when Search And Destroy by The Stooges comes on the local public radio station. I had a split second of surprise as I turned to the empty passenger seat. The good ol' days are over. I'll never know if she was really into the music or just a good actress. 23 hours and 56 minutes of most days I'm over and past it, but every so often, when you're all alone, that's when it hits with a vengeance.

Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer

     He stood there, waiting for the server to return with his card. "How's your night going?" he asked. "Okay, kind of slow, though" I answered. We hadn't quite hit our prime time yet and the crowd was a little light. "How's yours going?" I asked for lack of anything else. "Pretty good. I'm out with this girl, it's our fourth date. Things are looking good. I was single for six years before her." Six? Is that all? Don't talk numbers with me kid, I'll make you cry. Poor, desperate sap. It was tempting to try to pass on some advice, but they never listen. "Good luck with that" I told him, why spoil his night, he'll have plenty of shit nights spent in bars soon enough. "Thanks" he said as the server returned with the card.
     I was distracted momentarily by the servers shorts as she started making the rounds through her section. I  didn't see the kid and his mystery date leave. Oh well, I've seen young love in action before and probably will again before closing time. The best you can hope for is that you don't get one that wants to twist the knife after she sinks it into your gut. Couldn't help but entertain a quick thought about what kind of person the server turned into after the fact. Was she a knife twister? Probably. She is the text book definition of feminine beauty but as Robert Palmer told us, a pretty face don't make no pretty heart. We talk about literature to pass the time at work, why spoil a good thing?
     The crowd picked up some. Only had to deal with one drunk person and that didn't even require speaking. The guy staggered into me and I grabbed him to steady him. His buddy's came over to lead him back to the table and apologized profusely for his behavior. He sat down while they slammed their drinks. They picked up their friend and walked out the door in to the great American night. It was a fairly uneventful night but at least I got to see my friends from Lost Wax.

Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer

     Friday nights can be interesting. It was the first Friday of the month so I didn't anticipate a lot of business. We were baby bear for the night. I alternated between the side door and the dance floor. It's amazing how many people had the extra mustard on their retard sandwiches.
     The side door was amusing with how many people can be cautious going down the stairs to the bathrooms but then trip and fall on their way up being just as careful. Sometimes on the side door, people will sit down and hang out for a few minutes. It's a nice break from the boredom to hear about somebody else's night.
     The dance floor gets entertaining on a sociological level. This particular night, I had two women to watch. If I position myself on the far side of the room, I can see the dance floor and the bar so no matter where rowdiness rears it's ugly head, I can be there to show it to the door.
     On the bar side was a woman who was wearing a green dress with white stripes hanging out with a friend who was wearing a grey blouse and a print skirt. They seemed to just be talking among themselves, minding their own business. A guy would pass by the two and want to approach but then get intimidated and move on. This went on for a while. I'd walk around on glass patrol, do a trash or bottle run, take up my position and those two would still be there. Eventually, grey blouse was approached by a male acquaintance. Introductions were made and the conversations started back up. It was just a matter of time before grey blouse and the guy would start holding their own conversation and green dress would just have the music and her rum and Coke for company.
     The three of them moved over to the dance floor side and that's when the games began. It's always interesting to see the natural selection process unfold. Despite five or six contestants in the game of come home with me tonight, green dress didn't make a connection. Some were obvious rejections, a couple of them were trying too hard and a couple of others were so stereotypical of the kind of guy you see women like that wind up with that I was surprised to see them walk away empty handed. I would say that it was refreshing to see a woman who wasn't full of alcohol and bad decisions but in reality she probably already had a man and was just out for the night with her friend playing wing man.
     In between trash runs and when things were slowing down on the bar side, there was a group of four women on the dance floor side that made for good people watching. There was one in particular that would have stood out regardless but in the crowd she was with, she might as well have hung a neon sign around her neck. Wearing heels, she was easily six feet tall which put her literally head and shoulders above everybody else in the group. She had long legs and a short skirt. When Dorothy Parker said that men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses, she obviously had not met this girl. She definitely had the all this and brains too vibe working for her.
     If you thought two women intimidated guys, by the time you double that those light beer drinking rugged individualists had no idea what to do with themselves. They'd try going in tandem, waiting for one to go to the bar to divide and conquer. Guys were getting shot down like clay pigeons. It was amusing up to a point but that night I was kind of curious to see just what kind of guy either of these two women would go for. All things considered, I guess it's better to go home with unsatisfied morbid curiosity than a case of blue balls like the leg humpers.

Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer

     I work at an Irish pub as a drunk whisperer. Dealing with drunk people just seems to be a skill I've acquired in this crazy little thing called life. Some of my co-workers seem to vent their frustrations or maybe they're just looking for a fight. They're young and haven't gotten it out of their system yet. Personally, I just don't feel the need to yell and manhandle some dumb soul who's biggest sin is not knowing their limitations.
     Most of the time I can handle an individual with a stern look. They know they're fucking up, they just need me to come in and tell them. It's the whole negative attention thing. They get loud and belligerent until you notice them and then they get passive and head for the door.
     There are the exceptions that have no idea where they are or why you're making them leave. Shoulders are natures steering wheel for the human. You can hold them up, keep them balanced and make sure they head for the door. No muss, no fuss. Sometimes when they're out on the sidewalk, they'll want to play 20 questions, "what did I do?" "why am I out here?" "how come I can't come back in?" At this point it becomes a little like breaking news to a trauma patient. "you're drunk, you need to go home, drink some water and go to bed" will usually work. If they're aggressively ignorant and keep trying to re-enter the bar, you just have to tell them that they're not getting back in. Don't growl it like a threat but just state it as fact. Threats get the ego riled up and now they can't leave without making a big show. Facts define the options.
   

Life In The Hole

     Back in the hole. I hate the hole. I either feel nothing or it's rage and anger. So tired of it all. I've always felt like I served some kind of purpose in the world but now I'm just another piece of meat taking up space. Nobody will miss me for long when I'm gone. Work will replace me. I'm easily replaceable. I'll just be one less phone call to return or one less post to read. Nobody wants to hire me or fuck me or talk to me. On a good day they'll look at me. I've lived in the hole for too long.
     Oddly enough, the hole didn't break my spirit. It was after I escaped. Life outside the hole was good. No hatred. No anger. No alienation. You can take the man out of the hole but after 18 years, you'll never take the hole out of the man. After the lies and the pain, you'll never be able to take the man out of the hole either. There's only one way to escape the hole. The dead are fortunate.