Monday, July 30, 2007

Not Me!

"Yo, you know I didn't do nothin'. You know, dawg!" said the thug wannabe, as I walked him to the door, ending his night much earlier than I'm sure he had anticipated.

"Well then I'm sure you know that I really don't care." I responded.

"Man...that's some bullshit!" He stopped near the front door and turned to face me.

"Dude...keep moving and we'll talk about it outside, alright?"

He looked at me for a moment and then shrugged his shoulders.

"Whateva, play'a"

I rolled my eyes at the guys at the door when he walked out. I'm sure they had overheard that.

This guy, I mouthed, pointing at the thug wannabe while simultaneously doing the universal door guy cut-throat motion with my other hand, meaning that he had been kicked out for the night.

I immediately turned around and walked back inside the second he was safely on the sidewalk.

"Hey!!! You were supposed to talk to me!" I heard the thug yelling at me from the sidewalk as I disappeared back inside.

Yea, yea. I was supposed to talk to him, but I didn't want to. He threatened another guy on the floor, which means we had absolutely nothing to talk about. It's just a line to get a shithead out the door without dragging him out, and he fell for it.

And yea...I might be a dick for tossing a guy out under the pretense that I would have a conversation about his subsequent dismissal from the bar for the night once he was outside, and then not doing it and leaving the guys at the door to deal with him, but I had already talked him out the door.

But I knew he wasn't a threat to myself, or especially the guys at the door. Trust me.

What really gets to me about this entire situation is the fact that nobody can fucking own up to what they did or stay on the subject at hand. Working in a bar has shown me that time and time again.

He "didn't do nothin'". Well yea...ya actually did, you piece of shit. You threatened to fuck up another floor guy for calling his friend on his rowdy behavior. Then, when you noticed the guy you were threatening was an employee, all of the sudden you weren't so aggressive anymore. But alas, it was too late for you. Your night was over.

In my book, a dude going around threatening people will eventually get called on his shit and get in a fight. And that, my friends, is where it eventually would become my problem. And my aim was to prevent that from happening.

So yes, young little gangster wannabe - you did do something.

And that applies everywhere. But I'm 21! doesn't negate the fact that you're so hammered you can't stand up. The matter at hand is your level of intoxication, not your age. So shut it.

The same goes for dress code. That sure is wonderful that your friends are inside, but I didn't seem to notice that quad-XL shirt you're wearing getting any smaller, did you?

And yes, little honest angel. You may indeed be the DD and have been upfront with the fact you're underage, but that doesn't make you any older in my eyes. Yes, yes. I hear you. You still have to be 21+ to enter...even if you're not drinking. Oh, what's that you say? You promise you're not drinking? Hmmm...let me think about it. No. You're not 21. You can't go in. The issue is your age and you keep changing subjects.

And dude, I saw you push that girl last week. I fucking saw you. Remember immediately afterwards when I got in your face and you were too much of a pussy to push me like you pushed her? And you were such a pussy that you wouldn't even own up to what I had just seen with my own eyes?

So no, it's not bullshit that you can't come in, and yes, you're still banned. Quit trying to come inside because eventually your skinny little ass is gonna find me on a night when I'm drinking and pissed off and I'm going to jump up and down on your head. At least own up to your own actions, if nothing else.

So please....PLEASE....own up to your actions and stay on subject, for Gods sake.

A New Year's almost that time of year. That magical time when everyone moves back to Athens after a long summer back home. School starts, everyone gets to see their old friends, kids have to study again, and everyone heads back downtown.

As much as I bitch about work, this is my most lucrative time of year. August-December are the money-making months. Perhaps it has to do with being back in town that makes fall semester the most busy time of the year...everyone wants to get drunk.

In addition, there's a whole new class of freshman living within walking distance of downtown, who eventually wander out this way during the hours of 9pm-2am and try to sneak into the bars with their fakes.

And the cherry on top is football season. This year we have 7 games at home. So far the first two are back to back Saturday night games. Which means it's gonna be crazy.

On top of all this, it may be my last football season myself. I'm getting too old for this shit. So expect a lot of funny stories come September 1st. Most likely before that, when the freshmen come out and make me laugh at their drunken antics.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Another night...

"You're going to card me?? I've got pubic hair older than you!" said the older woman, who hurriedly tried to brush by me at the door last night.

I put my arm out to stop her from entering.

"Sorry ma'am. I still need to check your ID. Policy." I responded.

The woman impatiently huffed and rolled her eyes as she dug through her purse to find her ID. When she found it, she handed it to me. I scanned it quickly and gave it back. She snatched it out of my hand and went inside, going out of her way to act incredibly annoyed that I had inconvienced her so.

This isn't an uncommon scene. Older folks are difficult at the door. Either they'll assume they won't be carded or act insulted because they aren't carded. It's a lose-lose situation.

The truth is that I don't have to card them, but I'll ask them for it anyway. Their reaction gauges if I actually do card them. The lady above was a bitch, so I made her stand out there and dig through her purse and show me her ID. It was my own little "fuck you" to someone who can't appreciate that my entire purpose at the bar is to check everyones ID.

In other news, I was standing in the bathroom last night washing my hands, when the guy behind me shoved a handful of paper towels down the back of his pants, wiped his ass, walked over to the stall and proceeded to smear the paper towels all over the the face of a guy who was currently pissing in said stall.

I left the bathroom. Quickly.

Thursday, July 26, 2007


This is hilarious...if you're a drunk college student. My personal favorite is above.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007


Again, another article about downtown and drink prices, bouncer training, etc...

So while I really have no personal problems with these proposals - besides, of course, my objections to the government sticking its nose into my business - I continue to see little to no personal accountability for the customers who choose to drink themselves retarded. Bad things are going to happen to people who are hammered.

Please don't take that statement in the wrong way, though. Victims of sexual assaults are exactly that: victims. But wouldn't it be an intelligent decision when going downtown to stay with your group of friends, not leave your drinks unattended, not go over to strange peoples homes or apartments whom you meet downtown, and not drink yourself past the point of good decision making, and just overall have some good, old fashioned common sense? Wouldn't that be a great deterrent against sexual assaults?

To leave yourself to the mercy of friends, or worse, to anyone who happens by you while you're passed out on the sidewalk, laying in your own puke, seems like a situation most women would want to avoid. Because eventually, someone will come by with intentions that are not in your best interest.

But the truth is, I've seen it. Dozens upon dozens of times night after night. I've helped many of these people get in touch with their friends, hail a cab, whatever. I do what I can, but I certainly can't say every other employee of every other bar downtown would do the same. Much less a random jackass who happens to walk by.

So...I sincerely hope legislation like the one in the article helps, especially with sexual assaults - I really do - but Suzy sorority girl and Johnny frat boy with mommy and daddys credit card won't give a flying fuck if a vodka & cranberry is $1 or $5, they're going to drink themselves into oblivion anyway, and bad things will continue to happen. And until the all knowing Athens-Clarke County government can figure out a way to prevent underaged, overprivleged college kids from going downtown, drinking, doing stupid shit, and harming other people in the process, the problems will remain.

So I say again....

Put the focus on the fucking customers, not the bars!!!

Saturday, July 21, 2007

Game Day Fun

More pictures from Athens, Ga.
Don't forget, the season starts September 1st, with the first game being right here in Athens, so there will undoubtedly be many more photo opportunities like these.
These pictures are all courtesy of


I just found this image on The caption reads:
"Walking to the UGA - TN game 10 minutes after kick off. 100 yds from stadium entrance right on a main road in front of Memorial Hall."
A fine example of the fuckers I deal with. The girl seems very classy. I'd be willing to bet they did a little tailgating before heading to the game.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Another Article...

This article appeared in the Red & Black yesterday.

More legislation. More rules to follow. Personally, I don't have a problem with a majority of what they're proposing, after some thought. I do, however, have an issue with the government sticking their fucking nose in my fucking business, a move that could potentially affect my paycheck.

I should also add that the "training" aspect of it sort of gets to me. Not to say I'm a fucking expert of anything, but I have been doing this awhile. I know a little bit about it. I'd be suprised if they told me anything I didn't already know or haven't already experienced. But the background checks, training and certification of bouncers downtown really is addressing a problem that doesn't even exist, bottom line. Most are decent guys just trying to make some money and have a good time while doing it.

The owner of The Loft is quoted in there, and makes an interesting point. All of this focus is on making new rules and regulations for the bars/clubs and restaurants to follow, how about a little more policing and legislation in the direction of those who are coming downtown and getting drunk, throwing up on the sidewalks, fighting and generally being a nuisance? Maybe a little more effort towards nailing underaged drinkers?

Bottom line, as long as UGA and alcohol are in Athens, there will be drunk college kids. And hopefully I can continue to profit from it.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

A Great Piece of Advice

In the event that you are ejected from a bar or club, threatening the bouncers from the safety of the sidewalk is highly discouraged. If you can't say it to us while you were inside the club, then you probably are too much of a pussy to say it at all.

In addition, announcing your status as a member of the U.S. Army, or - in a recent case last weekend - a "Jujitsu master", will not intimidate those of us who just manhandled you out of the door while you pled for forgiveness.

Also, pushing those around you who were simply walking by and in no way involved with said confrontation is looked down upon by us. Pushing around kids who aren't even paying attention doesn't impress us nor does it strike fear into our hearts, as I'm sure you were hoping it would.

Finally, taking off ones shirt is also discouraged. This is especially true when you are significantly smaller than those who just made you their bitch while dragging you out.

This concludes todays advice for getting thrown out of a bar and/or club.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

I Got Yo Back, dawg!

On a staff like ours, there's a big emphasis on having each others respective "backs". You have to. Especially like this summer, which has been unusually violent. So you want everyone you work with to know that you'll help them out if need be. You go out of your way to make sure that you'll help out your fellow floor staff member should the shit hit the fan. And it always eventually does. You trust them to evaluate situations effectively, and you trust them to only make it physical when necessary, not just when they're pissed off because a customer said they fucked respective staff members girlfriend last night.

In turn, a good staff member does the same for you. They don't tap you on the shoulder while you're choking a kid blue and ask for a comprehensive explaination of what happened to see if it would be justified for him to join in. They just jump in. They automatically raise the level of force to match yours without hesitation. Because they trust you. This is how things should work. If everything works out right and everyone does their job, this plan works flawlessly.

Unfortunately, it often doesn't work out how it's supposed to.

You walk in for your shift at night and look at the schedule to see who's working and where. And you find yourself pissed because the do-nothing floor staff guy is scheduled with or near you, and you know you're royally fucked if something happens and he's your only backup.

This is the guy who magically appears 30 seconds after the rest of us have things under control. Or if he, unfortunately, stumbles into something in the heat of the moment, this is the guy thats standing around with his thumb up his ass while the rest of us are rolling around on the floor during the huge brawl. Imagine the bouncer who's standing at the edge of a fight, palms up, yelling "whoa! whoa!", afraid to actually dive in and stop it.

Yea, you know who I'm talking about.

To a casual observer, he's an employee here, but the rest of us know he really isn't. He might wear the shirt and walk around during business hours with a rag hanging out of his back pocket, but he doesn't actually work there. He's just pretending. It's an illusion. Except he walks out with a paycheck, just like the rest of us. And he's taking up a spot that could be filled with a guy who actually does his fucking job so I don't get a bottle across the back of my head while I'm dragging a frat boy out by his nasty frat boy hair.

This guy is a problem, but there's another kind that I despise just as much.

It's the too-aggressive staff member who escalates everything into a fight. Puts their hands on customers. Pushes them. Instigates shit. Mouth off to them? Haul 'em out. Doesn't tip? Haul 'em out.

All this gets me in a fight - being one who honors the rule of helping each other out regardless - because this floor guy has been drinking too much and they want to throw out the guy that looked at him wrong. And he takes this rule of having each others backs that we all honor, and perverts it to do his own bidding and we all end up in a situation that shouldn't have even started to begin with.

Worse than that, the guys who do this are usually on the smaller side, and think the bigger guys will bail them out of any shit they've found themselves sitting directly in. Meaning this is a huge pain in my ass, because I ain't that big.

The ultimate outcome for these situations is that those of us who actually do our fucking job eventually end up getting hurt in some way. Nobody likes getting hit or pulling a muscle, getting stabbed or worse.

Go to Google News and google "bouncer" and I guarantee you'll find stories of bouncers who were attacked and sometimes even killed. The threat of harm to us is out there and it can happen any night, and if you aren't working with guys who you can trust to do the right thing, then the odds stack up against you very quickly. You often hear about bouncer brutality, but we're the ones really getting the short end of the stick most consistently.

Trust me, you fucking customers are killing us faster than we can kill you.

Thursday, July 12, 2007


Recently I've noticed an influx of extremely underaged kids drunkenly running around downtown. Now...I know what some of you may be thinking: They're all already completely underaged! Completely true. But these kids I'm seeing around haven't even began at UGA for the regularly scheduled fall semester. They're barely out of high school. They're in town early and they're here to annoy me.

I was recently alerted to something called Freshman College. Apparently, incoming freshman have the option of coming here a month before class starts to get a few extra hours and be introduced to the great town of Athens. They'll be involved in various activities, classes, "rigorous coursework" and basically make the transition from high school to college much easier than it can be at times.

They also like to come downtown and disturb my otherwise calm summer that I always look forward to by yelling, screaming, staggering, and being annoying - always in my general vicinity, it seems.

Normally, I have time to mentally prepare myself for the incoming class of freshman who inevitably come downtown and throw up all over the place. My preperations usually don't begin until early August, but now, thanks to this "Freshman College", I've had the opportunity to get an unexpected early sample of the bullshit I'll get to endure in full force next month when downtown is overrun with 18 year olds who don't realize that a dozen shots of anything in an hour is a bad idea.

And they look so goddamn young. I know, I know...I'm old(er), and a whole hell of lot more of the college kids look young to me as time goes by and I get even older, but these people coming downtown now look like my fucking kid sister who's just out of middle school. I would barely trust them to cross the street without an adult accompanying them, and they're coming out drinking themselves absolutely retarded and likely driving home.

Still, I can't blame them entirely. I did the same shit myself years ago. But the difference is, I had a little bit of common sense. I knew it was a bad idea to wander the sidewalks of downtown Athens with drink in hand. I knew I shouldn't get into a fist fight on the sidewalk because that's where the bike cops could see you. And when they see you fighting and you're underage, they can arrest you. I knew I shouldn't have a dozen drinks and then try to drive home. Arguing with the door guys was never an option, either. If I didn't get in, so what? Next bar, please. They all served alcohol, was my reasoning. And at the time, I was more interested in seeing how much alcohol my body could endure before I blacked out, as opposed to getting in the popular trendy bar where those hot sorority girls were dancing like sluts, surely making their fathers proud.

Yet despite my own mistakes, I emerged from that period relatively unscathed. I attribute that directly to continuing to have a tiny bit of common sense, regardless of how intoxicated I was. But these kids now, a majority of them, don't. And now, they're in my face a month earlier than expected, doing everything in their power to annoy me and make my life more difficult.

My response? Drinking heavily myself, bitching about it on this blog, and continuing to lobby the powers that be at the bar to arm the floor staff with some type of weapon.

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Enough is Enough

Drunk people don't listen to reason. They can't stay on subject. I tell them one thing, they say something that has absolutely nothing to do with what has just come out of my mouth.

"Hey dude, you can't come in because I think you're a huge toolbag."

"But I'm 23!"


Yea, you're out of dresscode so I'm not going to be able to let you in."

"It's my birthday, though!"

More crickets.

"We're closed man. Sorry."

"Do you know who I am? I own the restaurant down the street!"

"Yea. That sure is nice."

So therefore, as of late, I've given up trying to explain my actions to them when my actions aren't in their best interest. I've decided my next best option for dealing with jerkoffs is to just shoot them. I should stand up at the door with a shotgun, and instead of dealing with the hassle of having the why-you-can't-come-inside-tonight conversation with one of our many valuable customers, I'll simply dispatch them with a well placed OO buckshot shell to center mass.

Granted, it might get a bit messy, but at least I won't have to talk much.

In all seriousness, though, please...if you are friends with or happen to know a drunken toolbag who frequents downtown, please instruct them to either 1) stay away from me or 2) read up on common courtesy and basic etiquette for living life and dealing with other human beings.

Thank you.

Saturday, July 07, 2007

You're Gonna Burn

"I don't want this shot," said the first guy to the second. They had just gotten a round of goldschlagger.

"Here, give it to me. I'll Jesus Christ it for you."

Second guy downs the shot and then looks back at the first guy.

"See? I took your place on the cross for that one."

I stare, with my jaw only inches from the floor.

Somebody's going to hell.

Friday, July 06, 2007


I've re-read my blog recently and have found that I come across as a pretty arrogant know it all asshole. I'm also not that great of a writer. There are a lot of past entries that I really wanted to edit while I re-read it all, but I won't.

The truth is, I'm not an asshole. I'm actually a pretty nice guy. A little reserved, maybe, until you get a few drinks in me.

But when writing some of these entries, I let what I think and what I've kept inside, out via the keyboard, unedited. I try to write my entries in such a way that they make sense to someone who has no idea what its like to work a door at a bar, but for the most part I've never focused on writing something that's "good", at least in the sense of writing as a talent. I use profanity, because that's normally how I'd like to relate my feelings to the customers who piss me off. Most of the times I don't treat my customers that way, but there are exceptions. I let out my frustrations on here.

Recently, however, my frustrations with customers has died down somewhat. I've found, at least over the last year, that it's exhausting to be so frustrated all of the time. And its felt pretty damn good to just be much more indifferent about it all.

There's a downside to this, however. Being indifferent makes me care a lot less about doing a good job while I'm working. I let things slide. I don't bust my ass like I used to. I'm detached. I don't care.

Another drawback, at least to anyone who gives a shit about reading this blog, is that I haven't put much effort into finding things to write about recently. At the moment, I'm at a loss for material. It seems to be getting a little redundant, at least from where I'm sitting.

Guy comes up to the door and I reject him. Guy is drunk and says something stupid. I laugh. Girl falls down. Guy and girl fuck in the bathroom. Guy does blow from the back of the toilet. I choke somebody out.

Same old shit.

So if you have any suggestions, let me know. Questions? I'll answer 'em.

To me, at least, I've watched drunk people do the same stupid shit over and over again for years. I've been working downtown long enough that I've watched people move into Athens, discover downtown, become a regular, do stupid drunk shit and make all the same mistakes I'm sure all students have made who have gone downtown a lot in the past, and then I watch these same kids eventually get sick of it all much like I should have years ago, stop going downtown, graduate, and move away from Athens. And then a new class of kids come in, and the cycle repeats itself.

They fight, they puke, they say absolutely asinine things, trip and fall down on the sidewalk/the stairs/themselves/each other, get arrested, fuck random people, argue with me, and then go home.

That pretty much sums up what I write about. It's nothing special, and honestly, I feel a little dumber each and every time I waste a night babysitting these people. And I'm probably wasting my time writing about it and everyone else's time who reads about it.

So now I'm feeling pretty damn indifferent about it all. And honestly, it doesn't feel too bad.

It's relaxing, sure, but at the expense of risking my job, I think it's about time that I started caring again.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

Independence Day

I love the 4th of July.

This is my chance to drink too much and be an idiot in the privacy of my own home among friends.

More posts to come shortly after this awesome holiday is over.

Sunday, July 01, 2007

What the...?

Walking to my car last night, I was feeling very relieved that the night was over after a long night of dealing with drunk people, arguing about the dress code, repeating myself a dozen times over, listening to blaring music and feeling like I was going to go insane at any moment. I wanted to go home and go to bed.

The streets were empty, dark and calm, much different than it had been just 2 hours before when it was overflowing with drunk college kids puking, fighting, and hanging off each other as they made their way to a cab or their cars - the blind leading the blind.

Thankfully, the only activity that was going on at that moment were the cleaning crews that came through the streets to pick up the garbage from all the bars. Or so I thought.

I was enjoying my quiet little walk back to my car when I rounded the corner to find a man and woman arguing.

They were walking down the sidwalk in the opposite direction that I was headed, him behind her, and when she saw me 'round the corner she immediately began walking towards me and began to plead her case. I immediately recognized her as a prostitute.

"He think' I done stole his wallet, but all I did was suck his dick fo' money! Tell him to get away from me! I didn't do nothin'!" she said as she continued to do what I call the "crackhead powerwalk" away from him as he followed. She was probably only in her 30's, but she looked closer to 50. Too much crack and meth.

"No she didn't," he said to me. "She stole my wallet and won't give it back." He said this very nonchalantly with his hands in his pocket, almost as if he was uncomfortable with my presence. In all likelyhood, she probably did blow him and then pickpocketed him.

What also made this situation all the more strange was that she had, attached around her neck, one of those microphones that she spoke out of, because there was a fucking hole in her throat - probably from cancer from too many cigarettes. She had to press a button to talk, and her voice sounded like a raspy 90 year old woman, who was very annoyed and also happened to have a robot voice.

For the life of me, I can't figure out what those things are called. Oh, well.

"Ya gotta help me!" she continued to plead with her robot voice which sounded unusually loud. "Get him away from me! I ain't done nothin'!

I had just spent over 6 hours dealing with arguments, drunkeness, stress, loud music, and a general sense of chaos. So I did what anyone else in my situation would do...

I stuck my hands deep into my pockets, looked at the ground, quickened my pace and walked right by them without acknowledging their presence.

Those silly prostitutes.


Guy carrying a girl at his side walking down the sidewalk past the door who could barely walk with a few of his friends walking ahead of them, the friends walking slowly so they both could keep up. Her eyes were half open with the infamous "drunken lazy eye" and a goofy grin on her face to top it all off. She was making a half-hearted attempt to put one foot in front of the other while he practically drug her along. Her shoes were missing.

"Hey guys!" he said to his friends. "Wanna see how to do the two-step? Look at her!" motioning to the girl he was carrying.


I found her heels later that night in a parking space. I didn't save them.