"Are you a cop?" she asks. "No". I get that a lot. "Are you with SWAT or DEA?" "No." That's a fresh spin on an old line. "I'm the bouncer, I work here." "You know, with that microphone, nobody's going to talk to you, b t dub." She's looking at my radio mic clipped to my collar. Another dead give away that I work there. She reaches up to pull my jacket over the mic. She's maybe 5'5, with the heels. If she's in the triple digit weight class she must have something in her pockets. Threat assessment-zero. I let her. The damn thing doesn't broadcast most of the time anyway.
She runs her hand along my head. "Your hair's really soft." I can't tell if she's flirty or just drunk. "Thanks." What else are you supposed to say to that? I wash it, I cut it, after that it takes care of itself.
"Are you having a good night?" Standard question, but it gives me something to say besides "Good night, thanks for coming" or "See you next time". Since there's a d.j. I can't ask her if she's here for the band. Outside of 3 or 4 friends, nobody ever shows up for the d.j.
She says her night's going okay, at least nobody's offered her drugs. "That's a good thing, right? Unless you're here to score." She doesn't laugh, just looks kind of confused. I suddenly feel like a character in a Jay McInerney novel. She goes from confused to serious. I've seen this look too many times. At a party or a bar, you learn to make a quick joke and change the subject or just excuse yourself and go to the bathroom. Working the side door, you're a dog on a leash, a captive audience. Well, the string has been pulled, the doctor will see you now. I hope you're okay with this bar stool, I'm having my couch reupholstered. So, vhut seems to be ze problem? "I've been off drugs for...yeah, ten months now. In two years, I'll get my two year chip" "Good for you." "Yeah, I was arrested once for possession, but, and I know you hear this all the time," she still thinks I'm a cop "but I REALLY was just holding it for a friend that time." "Bad timing, tough break" "It didn't help matters much that I was driving drunk when they found it." "Yeah, I can see how that could be bad."
"You're judging me aren't you?" "I'm not here to judge you, I'm just here to make sure that nobody screws with your good time or vice versa." "So, are you with the city or the county?" "I'm with the bar." Like a dog with a frisbee. "Okay, have it your way, I'm going to go look for my friends, it's been nice talking with you."
As she turns around, there are two blondes form earlier who had asked me if anyone had left recently. It's a big reunion. "Hey, come over here, I want you to meet my new friend." she says, dragging them over to where I am. Smiles, nods, hello's all around. "He says he's the bouncer, but you know he's a cop." She sounds like Rick Masters introducing Mr. Jessup-He says he's from Palm Springs, but he doesn't have a tan...tell me, do you like your work?
She's about two drinks away from being obnoxious but it's a slow night and she's harmless. Her friends could care less. They're debating between Brookside or Westport. The burning question of every Friday night. She keeps bouncing between me and them. The noise is escalating into what my former platoon daddy used to call a fish market.
She wants to exchange numbers and her friends are about to stroke out if they don't get to leave in the next 20 seconds. Normally I don't give out my number, but I'm pretty confident that she'll wake up tomorrow, look at her phone, wonder who in the hell is that? hit delete and life goes on. No harm, no foul.
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