The day was off to a good start. I had seven uninterrupted hours of sleep and the room wasn't cold when I climbed out from under the blankets. Breakfast consisted of my favorite cereal, yogurt and a Bloody Maria. When I arrived at my favorite coffee house, the barista had a smile on her face and clean mug in her hand awaiting my order.
I had a good internet connection and was hacking my way through the paper work jungle with my ink filled machete when I hit my first stumbling block...my pen runneth dry. Luckily, I was able to borrow a pen and make it to a good stopping point. Okay, I can deal with this, I still have my book. I didn't get as much work done as I was hoping to but I have a lot to read so this is just the universe telling me it's time to pick up the book.
At some point in the day, there was this woman who came in and was camping out as well. Pretty face, nice figure, sharp dresser, simple taste in coffee; a pleasant distraction between chapters. If you're waiting for me to say that we struck a conversation somewhere between James Patterson and Chris Radant, keep waiting, because at this point I'm still in the good part of my day.
You know you've been in the coffee shop too long when you can get twice as many refills than you're supposed to because the shift that sold you your first cup left a few hours ago. I didn't set out to bilk the system, it just sort of turned out that way. Where normally you get your first cup and a free refill, I think I had at least three. I kind of lost track after a while, like when you drink out of a keg.
By this point, I've been there longer than the employees and my ass is going numb like I've been in a cross country car ride. I pack my stuff and head to the grocery store to get a new pen. As I've written a lot through the ages, I've learned one thing-the medium point Paper Mate Write Bros. Grip pen is truly a gift from the Gods. If Harper Lee would have had one of these pens, she would have written more than one book. This is truly the Glenlivet of writing instruments. On a scale of 1 to Tori Black's legs, this is easily a 25.
The night wind blows across the cold pavement and into my face with a reality-like harshness. I just have to make it into the store, get the pen, and then I can go get dinner. Walking past the same old selection of books and magazines, I get to the stationary aisle. Ticonderoga number 2 pencils (might work for Stephen King but not for yours truly, of course, he does put out a book a year so maybe he's on to something) followed by the many flavors of Bic (for the most part, a fine instrument except for the erasable ink pens which smear the page when you write more than a grocery list) and finally, we get to the Paper Mate section.
There are the fancy retractables and the felt tips and the gel tips and even Sharpies. Suddenly, like a vision, it appears at the end of the rack. Write Bros. Grip, a pack of 10 for $1.95! I find the blue easily enough but it's not my thing. There is an empty hook with a sign over it that reads Write Bros Grip blk. I'm beginning to understand how Nicholson felt in As Good As It Gets when he went into the diner and Helen Hunt wasn't working. Who is responsible for this outrage? Bring the head of Alfredo Garcia and the son of a bitch who didn't order enough pens!
For about five seconds I seriously considered tracking down a manager and dragging the back room until they found my pens but having worked in a grocery store before I knew that what they had (or didn't have) on the shelf was all they had in the store. Now I was faced with a bigger problem, do I get 10 of the pens I want in the wrong color or two pens I don't want in the right color? After debating the problem for a couple of minutes and suppressing another urge to tear the back room apart, I settled on the Bic Cristal. It's not a bad pen and it's guaranteed to write the first time every time, but it doesn't feel as good in the hand as a Write Bros. Grip. At least I could get two for a buck o'three.
Thinking that the Universe was done with me for the day, I went out in search of food. I had developed a craving for some French toast, somebody probably mentioned it in a book. I knew just the spot and it was on the way home. I should have seen it coming but you just don't expect a 24 hour diner to be closed at 8:00 at night. Chubby's, open 24 hours, just not always in a row.
Looking to my right, I saw the golden arches. The clown is open 24 hours in a row, that greedy pimp bastard. I order by number since all of the employees have been conditioned to not think in words anymore. The burger was what it was, they haven't had good burgers in years. The salt lick, I mean, the fries were okay. For being the mecca of fries, it was a little disappointing. Have they always been that salty or is just because I haven't been in for a while? When did I turn into my dad on this matter? I do have to admit that the egg nog shake that I had been told about was pretty good. I had been led to believe that it was just this side of Manna from Heaven though, so again referring to the 1 to Tori Black's legs scale, it was about a 4.5.
The night ended on a fairly positive note though since I made it home without my car dying or anything of that nature and I saw my land lady whom I have not seen in so long, her hair was noticeably longer. If it wasn't for the internet, we'd probably have forgotten each others names by now.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Saturday, December 8, 2012
The Drunk Whisperer Off Duty
It's damn near 4 a.m., closing time. I've worked four days in a row dealing with humanity at it's basest level. I stepped into the little cafe expecting to be turned away but the girl behind the counter seems to be a nice person.
The Eggs Benedict is really good here and reasonably priced. Whenever I get a little extra money in my pocket and make it out of work in time, I like to indulge. Eggs Benedict, fried potatoes and coffee, a breakfast worthy of a British spy or an American bouncer.
There's a couple sitting at a table by the window and an old man sleeping at a table in the corner. He looks like he could be homeless. The girl behind the counter doesn't look as if she has it in her to wake him up and push him out. If he's still there when I'm done maybe I'll do it for her. Captain Fucking America at your service, ma'am.
He wakes up shortly after my food arrives. He says something incoherent that maybe sounds like a girls name. I think he's trying to summon the girl. A couple of bites later, he says it again. This time I make it out. Excuse me. He's talking to me. I look up and he asks me for the time. He has a thick lipped, Eastern European accent that's a little slurred. I tell him it's 3:50. 3:15? No, fifty, five zero. He's still confused. Ten minutes until four, I clarify. Good food, bad acoustics. The place is high ceilinged and all concrete and glass. The radio is at closing time level also.
He mutters something about the minute hand on his watch as he resets the time. I smile and nod and go back to eating. I don't want to be rude but dealing with people in a similar state for the past four days, I just want to eat in peace.
He starts talking again and I can only make out about every third word. Something about back home and family and community. I smile, nod and shovel hash browns into my face. I'll play the part of an attentive listener but not at the expense of warm food.
Smile, nod, shovel. This goes on until the plate is empty. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be asking questions, just rambling on about something. I kind of wish I could make out what he's saying because I'm always interested to hear about life in other places, especially foreign countries, but I'm just too tired to care. This will probably be me in twenty years. Homeless, incoherent and prattling on to anyone who'll listen. Shit, I already do that now sometimes just out of boredom.
He gets up and puts his coat on as I've finished my coffee. I want to beat him to the door before he gets a chance to ask me for a ride. Note to self-when you're homeless, don't be that guy that asks for rides.
I take my plate and cup to the counter as he asks the girl to help him with the zipper on his coat. I guess he's a regular since she seems to be expecting it. She thanks me for coming in and I respond with have a good night (even though it's really morning). She says thanks and he says you too, sir. That always fucks with me when people older than me call me sir. I understand it in customer service situations, but on the street? I'll never get used to it.
The Eggs Benedict is really good here and reasonably priced. Whenever I get a little extra money in my pocket and make it out of work in time, I like to indulge. Eggs Benedict, fried potatoes and coffee, a breakfast worthy of a British spy or an American bouncer.
There's a couple sitting at a table by the window and an old man sleeping at a table in the corner. He looks like he could be homeless. The girl behind the counter doesn't look as if she has it in her to wake him up and push him out. If he's still there when I'm done maybe I'll do it for her. Captain Fucking America at your service, ma'am.
He wakes up shortly after my food arrives. He says something incoherent that maybe sounds like a girls name. I think he's trying to summon the girl. A couple of bites later, he says it again. This time I make it out. Excuse me. He's talking to me. I look up and he asks me for the time. He has a thick lipped, Eastern European accent that's a little slurred. I tell him it's 3:50. 3:15? No, fifty, five zero. He's still confused. Ten minutes until four, I clarify. Good food, bad acoustics. The place is high ceilinged and all concrete and glass. The radio is at closing time level also.
He mutters something about the minute hand on his watch as he resets the time. I smile and nod and go back to eating. I don't want to be rude but dealing with people in a similar state for the past four days, I just want to eat in peace.
He starts talking again and I can only make out about every third word. Something about back home and family and community. I smile, nod and shovel hash browns into my face. I'll play the part of an attentive listener but not at the expense of warm food.
Smile, nod, shovel. This goes on until the plate is empty. Luckily, he doesn't seem to be asking questions, just rambling on about something. I kind of wish I could make out what he's saying because I'm always interested to hear about life in other places, especially foreign countries, but I'm just too tired to care. This will probably be me in twenty years. Homeless, incoherent and prattling on to anyone who'll listen. Shit, I already do that now sometimes just out of boredom.
He gets up and puts his coat on as I've finished my coffee. I want to beat him to the door before he gets a chance to ask me for a ride. Note to self-when you're homeless, don't be that guy that asks for rides.
I take my plate and cup to the counter as he asks the girl to help him with the zipper on his coat. I guess he's a regular since she seems to be expecting it. She thanks me for coming in and I respond with have a good night (even though it's really morning). She says thanks and he says you too, sir. That always fucks with me when people older than me call me sir. I understand it in customer service situations, but on the street? I'll never get used to it.
Monday, August 27, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, August 24, 2012
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.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
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.
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.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
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.
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.
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