Tuesday, November 20, 2007


Here's the thing about working in a bar that pisses me off.

I'm being paid to stand here and check your IDs. It's part of my job and a legal necessity. I make sure you don't fight each other. I make sure you don't rip the place up. I make sure you don't block the doorways or smoke inside or carry your drinks outside. I make sure you file calmly inside, drink to your hearts content, pay your tab and tip a fair amount. I make sure you don't get too rowdy. I make sure you don't steal anything.

Bottom line, I make sure you don't do anything beyond the limits of common courtesy or decency that's expected at any other business establishment in the city, the state or even the entire country.

The part about this that pisses me off is the reaction I get from customers when I correct them when they do the things I've been specifically told not to let them do.

"You're carding me? I'm 26!" they'll say.

I stay quiet. I let it slide. Because I hear it every 5 fucking minutes, I simply don't have the energy to grab someone around the throat and take them aside to explain my position.

I want to say this: "You're questioning the entire purpose of my job? What the fuck is your problem? You came to me. Not the other way around. What's so tough about pulling out your wallet and showing me your goddamn drivers license? The effort you've spent trying to question the entire purpose of my existence at this bar at this particular moment in time will be much greater than simply taking your motherfucking ID out of your motherfucking pocket, you motherfucking cocksucker."

"I can't grab this girls ass? What the fuck?!" they'll say.

Where else in the world does one feel that it's acceptable to grab and touch random girls besides a bar or nightclub? Just because you're at a dimply lit establishment late at night overly imbibing a substance that significantly lowers your inhibition, does that suddenly mean that every girl within a 6 foot radius of you is simply dying for you to paw at her ass and boobs?

"What in the fuck, man? I can't smoke inside?" they'll scream.

"No dude. You can't. Sadly, I didn't write the laws, and odds are, you didn't call your county commissioner like I did back when they passed the ridiculous anti-smoking laws several years ago. It wasn't my decision and it wasn't yours. Quit giving me shit for not allowing you to break the law."

All of this to say, it isn't us, as doorguys, who are in the wrong here. We didn't force you to come out and suck down half a bottle of whiskey. It's you motherfucking drunken, coked up, bitching, whining, moaning and complaining cocksuckers who decided, of your own free will, to enter my workplace where I am paid to prohibit specific activities that you happen to occasionally engage in.

So don't give me shit for doing my goddamn job, you fucking frat boy shit stain.


At 4:13 PM, Blogger Russell said...

Amen! and cheers!

Happy Thanksgiving Athens Door Guy.


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