ArmyofDude

Finding this guys blog made me wonder why I waste my time writing about drunk people on here. Don't I have anything better to do when this guy is writing about things that actually matter?

If you're interested in getting a different point of view about the war in Iraq, then check out ArmyofDude's blog.

This is Why

I do this job, despite my constant bitching, because of two simple reasons.

The absolute best thing about my job is that I go to work every night, and I have absolutely no idea what's going to happen. I find that to be the single most attractive part of it all. I've seen some of the craziest, funniest, most unbelievable things just watching over college kids getting intoxicated night after night. I've seen police chases, people getting arrested, fights, buildings on fire, ridiculously massive crowds, kids hooking up in bathrooms or in plain view, drunk kids tripping, spitting, fighting, staggering, saying and doing hilarious things, talking shit and generally being extremely entertaining when they're not directing their drunken antics in my direction.

If nothing else, I can go into work every single night and know that I have no idea what's in store for me. I can be bored out of my mind and I won't crack a smile all night over anything, or I can spend the majority of the night laughing at the funny shit drunk kids do.

There really should be a reality show for my bar. I'm serious.

The second reason I like doing what I do is my coworkers. A regular, normal guy has guy friends. We all do. But one of the real test for a friend - as a guy, at least - is when the shit hits the fan. Say you get in a fight and somebody double-teams you while your friend is there with you. Then the question is, does your friend jump in and help? Even if you've known the kid for years and years but have never been in a situation that called for him to jump in and physically back you up, you really don't know what he going to do or what he's capable of.

Well for the guys I work with, I do. I know that they've got my best interests at heart and wouldn't hesitate to jump in and help me with whatever I need. And the same is true of me for them. I've got a bunch of guys with me every night I'm at the bar and we're all on the same team. And that's a great feeling. If you've never had a group of friends like that, then I highly recommend that you find some.

And that, in a nutshell, are two reasons why I do what I do.

I Guess They're Not As Good of Friends as He Thought

Overheard in the bathroom:

"Hey, Tyler! How'd you get here man?"

"My parents fucked back in '83, how'd you get here?"

"Uhh...ok. Well, I guess I'll call you later then."

"Unless your number is under 'vagina', I ain't answerin' your call, dude."

My 100th Post!

I thought this article, The 6 People You Meet in Bars was funny. Check it out.

On another unrelated note, instead of bitching and whining about doorman licenses, minimum ages for bar employees and minimum drink prices, what's our local government doing to prevent shit like this from happening again? This guy was brutally beaten for nothing. These pieces of shit were already breaking the law by panhandling. Apparently, making a law against something won't always stop people from doing it. And now, a perfectly innocent man has brain damage. I wonder where the cops were when this happened? Maybe off enforcing some ridiculous ordinance like the smoking ban or the fabulously effective no-cruising law. Who knows.

Anyway, more fun stuff later. I promise.

First football game of the season in t-minus 2 days and 9 hours!

Don't Bother the Staff

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MI7LFQ9ZSkg

Since I'm an idiot and don't know how to imbed videos, check out the one above. It's a little situation outside a nightclub somewhere in England...for entertainment purposes only. I'll withhold my comments about this particular situation.

Watch it

When I spend 7-8 hours a night playing babysitter for grown men and women, it comes as no surprise that after work sometimes we all just want to sit back and have a beer. Sometimes there's a late night party somewhere and we'll drink more than one beer, sometimes we'll all go hang out at one of our houses or apartments, and sometimes we'll raid a pool at one of our apartments and go swimming and drinking until the sun comes up, much like these kids did.

I guess the only real difference is that we're all of age and they're not.

I just can't believe these alcohol-related stories continue to be newsworthy enough to regularly be printed in the paper.

NEWSFLASH: COLLEGE KIDS CAUGHT DRINKING.

Oh, the horror.

My own opinion on the drinking age aside, who the fuck really cares if a bunch of frat boys and sorority girls were caught drinking at a pool at an apartment complex? Print something a little more interesting. And on that same note, go to any pool at any number of college apartment complexes at 2pm on a friday or saturday and you'll get 20x more arrests for underaged drinking than they got from this little bust at 4am early on a Saturday morning.

My Attempts to Look the Other Way

I think a big reason that I get so frustrated with some of the customers that we have is that I try way too hard to actually understand what they're thinking when doing ridiculous things in public. I guess I have a difficult time separating myself from them and I just can't stop myself from trying to wrap my mind around what in the world they're thinking when doing stupid shit.

So I'm going to really try to quit doing that. I'll simply expect the worst at all times. Expect the brain-dead to be in the bar throughout the entire night. Expect them to horribly embarrass themselves in front of me, you, and whatever member of the opposite sex they're attempting to impress at that particular moment.

In other news, a recent comment made me think about some shit and I think I'll write about it in a few days. Stay tuned.

Attention

To every card-carrying, under-aged frat boy, I issue the following statement and recommendation:

You look like you're 18. You act like you're 18. You may as well have a large, flashing, neon sign above your head that says "Freshman". If you were hot shit in high school then I've got a newsflash for you: This isn't high school. And I may have been generous last night by not calling you all on your bullshit, but because these are the first few weeks of school, that's how I try to be: Generous.

Your little antics downtown may be tolerated, at least temporarily, by myself, but there are plenty of other doormen downtown who are bigger and badder than I am who would throw your skinny ass in the gutter without batting an eye. Calling us names doesn't fly. I'm sorry you're dressed up in ridiculous costumes for your social, but no one forced you at gunpoint to put on clothes that make you look like a bad attempt at replicating a cross dressing transsexual. Behave yourself, for Gods sake. See the last 6 months of posting I've done and figure out how the fuck not to act while you're making my life a living hell.

And oh yea, nobody gives a flying fuck what fraternity you're in.

Someone Finally Gets It

This appeared in the Athens Banner-Herald today.

I, as usual, had several reactions that immediately came to mind as I was reading the article, but I couldn't seem to get one particular reaction out of my head the entire time. It sort of went like this:

No shit.

Apparently not every commissioner is as concerned about appearances, as much as they are about ideas that actually work, as I thought.

Countdown til Doomsday..

It's official. 9 days and counting until the start of the football season here in Athens. It's a home game against Oklahoma State and it starts at 6:45pm.

So this is the timeframe that we'll likely be working with on that particular Saturday.

12pm(ish): The tailgating will start all over Athens. This is good because with earlier games, tailgating started as early at 7am. A 12pm start means enough rest for everyone, plus a solid 6 hours of drinking beforehand. Drunkenness.

6:00pm: Most people tailgating start walking - some staggering - towards the stadium. This can be a treacherous journey for some, depending on how many beers they shotgunned and/or funneled in the last 6 hours. Many are lost along the way and never make it in

6:45pm: Kickoff. Drunken screaming. Bulldawg barking. More booze that was smuggled in is consumed inside the stadium.

8pm: Multiple persons are escorted out of the stadium for various reasons. Nearly all are alcohol related. M.I.P. arrests are numerous by the UGA police.

10pm(ish) The game ends. 92,000+ people disperse. Those who have survived the tailgating and the game and want even more begin the half-mile or so walk downtown to continue drinking. During the next 4 hours, pandemonium reigns and I, most likely, will be positioned as the gatekeeper to try and keep the kids (remember, everyone's drunk so they're all toddlers regardless of age, unsteady on their feet and apt to vomit at any moment) that shouldn't be inside, outside. Despite my best efforts, intoxicated individuals swarm my place of employment, and in the process completely trash the place. The streets are totally clogged with pedestrians. The cops have their hands full all night. And me? I pray for 2am so I can close the door and not let anyone in. If you're claustrophobic, I'd advise you to stay in on this night.

Yes. 11 days.

In other news, The Globe was rated the #1 bar in America. Good times.

Clublife

The book Clublife, written by Rob the Bouncer, who also writes this blog, is one you should buy. I've said that in an earlier post. You really should definitely buy it. Someone asked me recently why I don't just quit doing what I do if I'm annoyed and pissed off all the time, and it brought to mind a paragraph in the book which I thought sums it all up perfectly.

This camaraderie is what keeps you going as a bouncer. If you're on the right staff-teamed with the right group of guys-you'll make friends you'll want to keep for a lifetime. After a while, bouncing becomes more than simply a job you do, because you start looking forward to going to the club and being with your friends. You want to protect them. When fights are called, and you all have to run to the scene of some guido bullshit and do what you're being paid to do, you want to get where you're going as fast as you can, because you know you're a part of something, as stupid and as useless as that something may seem from the outside.

I couldn't have put it better myself. This was reprinted totally without permission, so if Rob or someone from Harper Collins wants this removed, please shoot me an email and I'd be happy to take it down.

Ouch

Making little issues that don't really matter in the "game of life" into big issues that do matter are what I've found certain customers excell at.

Take, for example, several nights ago. I was walking around, doing my thing and happy to be away from the door for a night. I happened to notice one of our well behaved and valuable customers walking around in a t-shirt that was almost as big as he was. That's not saying much since he was a little guy, but it's all about proportions.

Baggy clothes are specifically prohibited by our dress code, so the gentlemen in question undoubtedly came into the bar with his shirt tucked in thereby thwarting the efforts of the guys at the door whose job it is to enforce said dress code. After coming inside, he un-tucked it and at that point attracted the attention of yours truly. This was all confirmed by the guys at the door and is an offense which can get you kicked out immediately. However, I was feeling friendly and open to letting the guy stay, seeing as his shirt may have come out unknowingly to him, or any other various reasons that may explain why he was walking around in a shirt down to his knees.

"Hey, man. Can you do me a favor and tuck in your shirt? It's a little too big and if my manager sees you with that on he's going to make me ask you to leave," I said, very un-aggressively. Mr. Friendly.

"Maaan, do you know who I am? I ain't even from here! I'm from Atlanta. I ain't never been up in Athens. I'm from tha west side, yo!" he responded, glaring at me. I think he did some weird sign with his fingers, too.

As you can imagine, the conversation went downhill from there very quickly, despite my best efforts.

Shortly thereafter, three of his friends decided to join in the conversation. Minutes after that, the conversation attracted several other floor guys as well. The conversation stopped being a conversation very quickly, and we realized it was only an exercise in futility. At that point, the decision was made to escort the kid from the "west side, yo" out. This didn't sit well with one of the guys he apparently was with.

"Hey, we'll go when I finish my drink! I just bought this!" said the friend who had absolutely nothing invested in the situation, holding up a half full liquor drink so as to prove his point.

"Ok, that's fine if you have a drink, but I'm really only talking about him," I said, motioning to the 'lil west side kid.

"He ain't goin' nowhere until I finish my drink."

Again, the conversation with the west sides friend went downhill very quickly as well.

They were all escorted out. In the way out, I was accused of hiding behind my bar t-shirt. This didn't make sense to me because my bar shirt has absolutely no protective qualities that I'm currently aware of.

As usual, their verbal threats and attempts to intimidate us raised significantly once they were safely on the sidewalk and a safe distance from us. One of the guys, who had remained quiet throughout their entire performance inside, decided that that point in time was the best for him to speak up...while standing behind two of the bigger guys.

"I will kick the living shit out of you bouncers, you fucking pussies!" he screamed, pointing and trying his best to make an intimidating face.

"Ok," I said. "Let's see you do it."

I stepped forward. He stepped back. His bluff was called.

The insults, however, continued to flow freely from the rest of their mouths while we stood there.

The suckerpunch came as I was wondering why this particular situation was preferable to them than simply tucking in the kids shirt. There was a fairly loud skin-against-skin smack, and my coworker who received the unwelcome punch took a step back, momentarily dazed.

This is precisely the point where a little issue transformed itself into a big one.

See, a little issue is when you get your change back for something - say for example, a drink you buy in a bar - and find that you've been shorted a few dollars. In keeping with a little issue, you can ask politely how much the drink cost and straighten out your little issue with a little respect. Things work well that way and in the customer service industry, we try our best to make sure people are happy. Everyone's happy in the end.

To make that particular little issue into a big one, like these guys had showed extremely able to do, then the response would be to curse, throw your drink on the bartender, rant and rave about how wronged you were and, when confronted by the bouncers, attempt to fight them. Like a fucking magician - poof! - a little issue instantly turned into a big one.

The big issue with these kids is when you wake up in the morning and realize you have to go to the hospital to get stitches where you slide across the sidewalk on your face after being thrown like a little rag doll.

As outlined in a previous post of mine, when you hit me or my friends, things go south for you very quickly. It played out exactly like it has time and time again, and the skinny guy got the brunt of it while his bigger friends actually turned around and ran away from us down the sidewalk, followed closely behind by the "west side kid".

Lesson to be learned?

Don't depend on your big buddies to fight your battles for you. And tuck your damn shirt in, please.

Last Night & My Opinion

This will serve to be a two pronged post.

Last night was ridiculous. It was absolutely nuts downtown. It was comparable to a game day in terms of the sheer number of people walking around. I felt like I was herding cattle all night long at the door. Surprisingly, there were very few problems. It's entirely possible that I simply didn't notice things as well because it was just that packed. I don't see how anyone in their right minds could come out drinking and possibly have a good time with so many people around. But then again, we are talking about college kids here. And in my younger days I would go to the bars that were the most packed and have a blast. I look back on that now and I simply wonder why.

Ok, so I've already stated my opinion about the governments role in the downtown bars. Since the topic has come up again and again since I said anything about it, I'm going to write about it yet again today.

I don't have a problem with licensing doormen. I wouldn't personally have an issue with it because I'm not a criminal. I've never been arrested. I'm not a drug dealer. I don't break the law. I have a clean slate and getting licensed for me would be a walk in the park. If I have to take a silly online test that the government wants to call "training", then so be it. Fingerprint me and give me a background check. Bring it.

What I do have a problem with, however, is the fact that the government wants to try and prosecute me as soon as I get a little card saying that I'm now a "licensed and trained" doorman. Why don't they prosecute me now? I'm sure I let in underaged kids last night. I can't be absolutely, 100% sure about every single ID I check. It's just not that easy. People make mistakes.

On the other hand, why isn't more being done to get rid of the underaged drinkers? They're the ones who are voluntarily coming downtown to consume alcohol under the legal age. I'm the one who's downtown because I have a job to do, not because I'm out to party. Why prosecute me for doing my job instead of them for going out of their way to come downtown with a fake ID to drink alcohol?

What I do know, however, is that last night I turned away an assload of people. I even confiscated some IDs from some doggedly determined underaged kids who I repeatedly rejected and handed them over to the bike cops.

Chief Lumpkin doesn't seem to hold a high opinion of doormen, either. In a recent article in the Athens Banner-Herald, he claims that "unsavory" doormen accept bribes, let underaged women in and sell drugs.

Personally, I'm pretty sick and tired of the county making an issue of something that isn't an issue and make us look like drunken idiots who are only out to let in underaged girls and contribute to the so-called "problems" downtown. Most of us are decent guys who are out to make money, have fun, and be a babysitter to drunk kids. Even more so, doormen have often gone above and beyond to help assist kids that are too drunk. We've gotten them cabs. I personally have helped assist police officers downtown apprehend people they were trying to arrest. I've seen other doormen do it as well. Working together in this fashion works much better than placing asinine rules into place that can only serve to turn us and the police against each other.

In the years I've worked downtown I have yet to meet a doorman who sells drugs. Does it happen? I'm sure it does, somewhere. But I've never seen it. Ever. Bottom line.

What I do see are drug dealers roaming around downtown, going in and out of bars selling whatever it is that they sell. I know the bars they frequent - and it's a small number that tolerate their behavior - so I'm sure someone else in a position of authority does, too. What I don't see are the police doing anything about them. We can keep them out of the place I work at but it's always an effort that needs to be put forth to keep them out. We're pretty damn good at keeping them out because we don't cater to that sort of crowd. It's not tolerated where I work and it shouldn't be tolerated at any bar, in my opinion. But I know for a fact that a huge amount of drugs, primarily cocaine, are running through the downtown nightlife scene and I don't see anyone doing a damn thing about that.

As for bribes, they happen. I've seen it. I've done it. I've taken bribes, but not to break the law. I've never compromised my sense of right and wrong for the almighty dollar, and I'll go to my grave knowing that I never looked the other way when asked to do something that simply wasn't right. It's hard to explain unless I go into specifics, but I won't do that here. If you've worked at a bar, then you may understand a little more.

Finally, I guess what I see out of this whole situation is a bunch of people getting together to argue about an issue that none of them really know how to do. County commissioners and bar owners alike...they don't work the door. I do. I work a door multiple nights a week, and I haven't seen any lawmakers seriously asking me for my opinion or inviting me, a lowly doorman who's actually doing it day in and day out, to join the conversation.

I wouldn't accept such an invitation anyway. My feelings are clearly laid out here on my little blog, and I'd like to protect my anonymity as much as possible.

So there ya have it.

Taken from the Athens-Banner Herald Blog

As far as Mr. Badass AthensDoorGuy, that's a good line for piling on and kicking drunken frat boys, but that attitude will sure 'nuff get him and all his friends hurt when one of his intended victims introduces Mr. Badass to his two good personal friends, Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson.

First of all, I'd hardly call anyone who comes into a bar willingly and gets obliterated on cheap liquor a "victim" of any kind. If you choose to go downtown and get drunk and start fights or annoy everyone within a 10 foot radius of you, you're not a victim. You're just another drunk kid downtown who can't handle his alcohol. I'm not downtown to get drunk. I'm down there to be paid for doing my job.

I don't go around beating people up who look at me wrong. I don't throw people out onto the street on a whim. I do my job and I do it well. I make this blog because it's entertaining to me, and hopefully to anyone else who decides to read it. It's for entertainment and I certainly throw some bravado into the stories I write about. Big deal.

As for being introduced to the so-called "Mr. Smith and Mr. Wesson", thanks, but I've already been there and done that. Twice, actually. I've seen people pull knives multiple times. I've been stabbed myself. I saw a kid get a knife stuck in his chest one night years ago. Dealing with weapons aren't fun at all, and I'd like not to repeat it ever again.

I've never claimed to be a badass. I've never claimed to be tough. Start thinking like that and you'll quickly be introduced to someone who's tougher than you, and he'll laugh at you while he rips your arms out of their sockets. I'm not oblivious to the dangers of downtown and, contrary to what anyone thinks, I try to avoid things like that at all costs. Unfortunately, many of my customers don't.

That is all.

Bad Ideas

Getting punched isn't fun. Nobody likes to take a fist to the face. But it does happen from time to time and it's better to get it over with early in ones "downtown bar career" than it is later on.

Specifically, if you happen to go downtown and you have an issue at a bar and feel that your options are so incredibly limited that the only thing you can think to do to express your dissatisfaction with your situation is throw a punch at a bar employee, then there are certain consequences that may come your way that you should take into consideration beforehand.

First off, it all depends what bar you're at. Every bar has different rules, but overall, most places prohibit their employees from throwing a punch at a customer. Don't breath a sigh of relief just yet, because I work at a bar that doesn't allow it either, but if you hit me I'm going to hit you back. Probably more than once. Probably until you're lying on the ground in the fetal position.

And I wouldn't be the only one hitting you, either. I have a big group of friends that I work with who will hit you too. And we'll keep hitting you until we've gotten our fill or you're unconscious. When I get tired of hitting you I'm going to use my feet to kick you.

If you hit me, I'll be pissed and things won't turn out well for you if you decide to stick around and square off with me, but if you hit one of my co workers it will be even worse. I don't like getting hit, but I especially don't like seeing one of my friends getting hit.

It doesn't have to be like this. I don't like getting into fights. So if you come downtown and make a little issue into a big one and you decide to throw a punch at me or my friends, then please be aware of what will happen next. It's a bar. It's not a life and death situation. Relax. Don't take things so personally.

I don't like talking to you. I don't like confronting you about your behavior. I don't like the conversation we're having. I'm not relishing the so-called "power trip" that I'm apparently on. I just want you to follow the rules that the management has specifically laid out for me to make sure you follow. Trust me.

Consider these things the next time you're in a bar and you get so upset with the bar staff that you decide to ball up your hand and hurl it in our general direction.

And I hope you're fucking sore this morning, too.

Don't Be This Guy

So you've just moved back to Athens to start the new school year. Last year was a blast, so you're expecting this year to be nothing less than just as good, if not better, than the last. Sure, maybe you did a little more than your share of partying, but hey...you passed all your classes. And damn, you sure are glad that you've gotten yourself the hell away from your parents. Summer was fun, but you're ready to get back to Athens and party your ass off.

Moving day sucked. You're glad it's over. Mom and dad finally went home after helping you move in. You've got your own apartment now! Well...you and three other guys. At least it's better than the dorm last year...having that dickhead of an R.A. breathing down your neck every time you stumbled in drunk was a huge drag. You're living with some of your best friends that you made last year. Sure, Jon is on year 6 of college here, and David and Jim don't even go to UGA, they go to Athens Tech - when they're not hungover, that is - but this year will be nothing but a huge fucking party, that's for sure. Alcohol, some party favors, and a shit-ton of bitches...every night, all night.

The weekend is practically here. Jim went out and bought a few cases of that cheap ass Natural Light with his fake ID. You met your neighbors earlier, and they're some hotties. They might come over later. As for now, all four of you start pounding beers. Sure, it's only 8pm but hell...this weekend will be a fucking blast. You guys do a few bumps too, just to make sure you've got the energy to make it through the night.

The time has come. Those whores next door never showed, but that's okay. You're headed downtown. Bourbon Street is the first stop. Shit, they've got roadblocks all over the place, or so you hear, so you guys take the back roads to downtown and avoid it all. You walk in around 10:30 - just in time to buy 3 or 4 drinks apiece before power hour is over at 11pm. Damn you've got a good buzz going. Off to Firehouse! Those sluts at Bourbon Street won't pry themselves away from their groups of friends to even give you the time of day. Fuckin' freshmen. You're above all those 18 year olds now, anyway.

You walk into Firehouse with your crew, and you know this is the place where you'll find some girl to go home with you. A few failed attempts at dry humping some girls dancing doesn't dampen your spirit, either. Shots....we all need shots! A few rounds of jager bombs with your boys, and you're really feeling it now. That's not a problem because you've only got 20 bucks left. Shit, it's only 12am! You've got 2 more hours to find some sluts. Hit up the bathroom again real quick and you all finish those 2 grams the four of you have been working on since earlier and you are fucking on top of the world, son!

Now you're feeling invincible. Nobody can fuck with you or your boys. Even if you can't pick up some freshman slut, then at least you know that nobody will even want to think about throwing down with you and your crew. That motherfucker in the corner was giving you the eye so you go over to see what his problem is. Next thing you know you and your boys are getting drug out and find yourselves laying on the sidewalk outside. Fuckin' A. Those bouncers knew we weren't even playin' so they got us out quick before we put the smack down on those poor little fuckers. Even the bouncers didn't want to fuck with us, so they just went back inside when we told them we'd fuck them up too.

Whateva'. Next bar anyway. You try going into a place down the street that's really fucking packed. Somehow, you get in even though the dickheads at the door usually won't let you in. They normally don't want a playa like you in there who can take down their entire staff if they ever try and fuck wit' you. You walk in feeling 10 feet tall and you make sure everyone else thinks that about you too. The mixture of alcohol and blow has you feeling tight, yo! Grab a beer at the bar from that bitch of a bartender. Tip her a quarter, she don't even deserve anything more than that.

2am comes around and while you still aren't having much luck with snagging a girl - they're all too intimidated anyway since you've been gettin' jacked hittin' up the gym the last 2 months - you know that group of guys on the other side of the bar has been talkin' smack all night long about you and your crew. Fuck it, it's the end of the night, let's go show them muthafucka's what's up. David's been going to the hardcore gym all summer so you know he can fuck some dudes up. You and your crew walk over and before you know it, push comes to shove and it's on!

Out of nowhere, somebody clocks you on the side of your head. The last thing you remember is screaming and thrashing around among a sea of STAFF shirts and then everything goes black.

You wake up on the sidewalk in handcuffs. David is laying a few feet away from you, bloodied. Those bitches must have sucker punched him! Ain't no one ever get nothin' over on your boy, Dave! Into the back of the paddywagon all of you go. Those fuckin' bouncers must have done something sneaky, because nobody can pull nothin' on you and your boys.

As you step up into the back of the paddywagon, suddenly you realize...

Mom and Dad are gonna be pissed. Shit.

Go Buy It

If you like my blog, on any imaginable level, then you need to go buy this book. Now. Go now and finish reading this entry when you get back. Get off your ass and get to Barnes and Noble.

You probably won't finish my entry though, though. You'll be hooked on the book by the time you get back. It only came out yesterday. I read it in one day. And it's a good book. It's a really good book. For obvious reasons, I can relate to it. He's a bouncer. I'm a bouncer. We're all bouncers. It's all good.

More so, I can relate to this book because Rob based the book around the premise that he's failed in practically every area of his life. That's why somebody becomes a bouncer is because he's got no other choice. That's why he did it. Then he figured out - or was reminded - that he's pretty damn good at bouncing. Then he figured out he's pretty damn good at writing. So then he wrote a book about it. And I gotta say, it's good. At least from my perspective.

I'm not one to compare myself to a big dude like Rob who has bounced in clubs all over NYC, but the part that struck me the most was the fact that I've fucked up my life too. Although the difference is I didn't turn to working in a bar because of my own fuck ups, working in a bar helped to cause a lot of my fuck ups.

College has been postponed indefinitely, a relationship that was very important to me recently went down the drain - primarily because of the bar - and I don't have a solid plan for the future. I'm a poster boy for wasting my life. Thanks, downtown Athens.

And throughout his book, Rob makes this abundantly clear about himself. But the book ends on a hopeful note.

I hope that I can do the same for myself sometime soon.

This week

I actually have a few days off for once, and for one am planning to enjoy them fully by staying as far away from Athens as I can. I can guarantee drunkenness and hilarity will ensue this weekend when downtown feels the full force of the drunken fury this years academic undergraduate scholars from UGA will be bringing to the table for the next 9 months. I'll try my best to document it here in all its glory. Until then...

General Rules

A disappointing weekend as far as funny stories go, but a success as far as keeping my sanity.

A big thing I noticed the most was the customers lack of ability to adhere to common bar and club courtesy. I attribute that directly to the fact that Athens is now being overrun with brand new college kids yet again, especially the young ones. I've written about many of these before, but I feel they're important enough to repeat again. People don't pay attention. Learn the fucking unwritten rules of going downtown before you go downtown....PLEASE!

The line. Get in line. Stay in line. Pay attention, for Christs sake. Hand me your ID immediately when it's your turn. Have the damn thing out and ready. Go inside immediately when I give it back. I'm not going to go chasing you inside the bar to check your ID if you manage to slip by me, I'm just going to throw you out. Nor will I follow you inside to return your ID to you. I check IDs. That's what I do. Arms reach is as far as I go and if you're beyond that when I'm done checking, the damn thing's going in my pocket.

Relax. Keep your sighing to yourself when I look at your ID for more than a millisecond. I know where your DOB is, so don't point it out. Don't repeat your birthday to me verbally, it's written on your ID. I can see it. Don't tell me "It's real, I swear" because I'll know if it's real or not. Don't say "Hey it's a fake, hardy har har". You're all original and creative. I know this. And scoff at your pathetic attempts to be so. Just stand there, shut the fuck up, and wait for me to hand your ID back.

Quiet, please. The screaming. The yelling. The "bulldog" barking. Jesus. It never stops. I know you haven't seen Angela the sorostitute, your best friend and roommate from freshman year, in almost a week, but could you bring the decibel level down slightly? Especially when it's 6 inches from my ear and at a frequency so high I swear it could bust out car windows a block over. So it certainly must be damaging my hearing. Thanks for that.

The doorway. Don't stand in it. Don't even hesitate in it. You doing this creates a monumental clusterfuck for me outside. And it's a domino effect. Drinks stay inside and smoking stays outside. Prepare yourself for that, for the love of God. Think common sense.

Go away. I don't mind a short greeting or farewell, but I don't want you hanging out with me for more than about 2 seconds. We're not buddies. I don't want to shoot the shit about my job. No, suprisingly I don't get a shit ton of play because I'm a door guy. I usually only piss the girls off. No, I don't want to talk about the cool fights. No I don't use steroids. But thanks. Oh, you work downtown too? Then you should know even more so that I want you to go away. Unless you're a girl offering me some sexual favors after I finish my shift or a guy offering to buy me a beer or a shot, then please....go the fuck away.

Rejection. Look, it happens. Take it like a man. Or woman. Pissing and moaning, threatening me and flicking me off don't help your cause. Go somewhere else. The longer you stick around, the more annoyed I'll get and the more likely I am to remember you next time you and your scumbag friends try to come in. And then I'll reject you again. So suck it up, dude.

Cops are everywhere. And they want to arrest you or cite you for something. Anything. So chugging that beer outside of the bar is a no-no. Fighting on the sidewalk is bad. Driving the wrong way down a one way street when you're DUI is a quick way to get arrested. Turn your damn headlights on. Carting around a dozen guys in the back of your pickup is a quick way to get pulled over. Jumping out of the cab with a beer in each hand is a bad idea. Have some common sense, people.

Don't forget your shit. Close your tabs before you leave. Don't leave your purse unattended sitting out where someone can pocket all your cash. Don't leave your phone sitting on the bar top and expect it to be there 30 minutes later. Once the doors close, even God himself isn't getting in, so save the sob stories. Next time you'll know. And yes, I know the owner too and no, he won't be firing me for calling you a douchebag.

Tip. For the love of God, tip your bartenders. I've been known to throw non-tippers out when rubbed the wrong way, so toss some cash in that tip jar. If for no other reason, than to make certain your spot in the bar is secure. You don't know me or where I work, and for all you know I'm standing right behind you watching as you play the whole "pretending to put cash in the jar while the bartender is looking, but not dropping it in when they turn away". You've been warned.

And take a cab home. Please.

Recap

Besides the fact that last night was unbearably hot and humid for those of us stuck outside at the door all night, I was surprised to find it wasn't as crowded as I had thought it would be. I was confused until someone explained to me that the fraternities and sororities had shit to do with rush and weren't allowed downtown. It was just a damn shame that I couldn't brush shoulders with the frat boys for a few nights.

So...sadly it wasn't as eventful as I had hoped, but there were a few highlights.

There was one obviously drunken kid who seemed to be making laps around the block. Each time he passed us by he seemed to be more drunk than the last time. The last we saw of him, he was drunkenly bouncing off poles and parking meters trying to keep his balance with two bike cops in hot pursuit. Keep in mind, this was around 11pm.

An older guy, he looked to me to be around 45 or 50, got belligerently drunk and decided to leave. We stop letting people in at 2am. He came back after that and after being informed that he wasn't going to be allowed inside, he decided to let us know that no "punks can keep him out of the bar". "I'm going in and you can't stop me!" he declared.

We deal with this shit all the time, but it's always funny when an older person decides to try and drink like they're 19. It usually ends with them acting like they're 19. It's even funnier when they try to fight us. This guy, drunk as he was, decided to listen to his friend and walked away before it got nasty.

The last event of the night was a guy from Kenya who decided he would blatantly grope any girl who would come within arms reach of him. When asked to leave he argued, threatened us, told us not to touch him, and was generally a huge pain in the ass. He was ushered outside where he decided to break his own rule and put his hands on me. He claimed we were going to lose thousands of dollars a night without his business. We were going to be sorry, he said.

Surprisingly, not one of us cared.

A Slow Start

Sadly, this weekend started off in a lull (Thursdays are considered the start of the weekend around here). Although it does look promising just based upon how ridiculously young everyone looked who was walking around last night, in addition to the level of drunkenness that seemed common to nearly every baby-faced kid staggering around trying to figure out what downtown Athens was all about.

I escorted a handful of too-drunk and/or puking kids out last night without any issues. I imagine tonight will be nothing short of hilarious when the new college kids hit downtown in full force.

Shit

I've got a problem with how clubs and bars operate among employees. Especially one with a larger staff. Especially one that happens to be a fairly popular nightlife spot.

I can't speak for too many other places, but in my experience, a lot of bartenders come across as thinking they're hot shit. Particularly at the spot I work at, many of the bartenders have an issue with the door guys. And vice versa.

You're a star bartender at a hot bar, you've got a hot body and are used to the drunken, sweaty fratboy customers drooling all over you and filling up those tip jars. So naturally, you're pissed when a lowly door guy gets a bartending shift, thus leaving you with the night off. That damned door guy stole your bartending shift!

So you bitch. And whine. And call us overpaid and underworked. All we do is sit at the door and look at IDs, right? Maybe pick up a few cups and glasses on the floor? No big deal. We don't do shit. We get way too much money for what we do. We don't deserve a bartending shift where you can walk out with a pocketful of cash.

But you? Oh...you've definitely earned your spot on the bartending staff. Look at everything you had to go through to get that spot! You had to fill out an application and work really hard to get hired. Door guys only have to train for 3 other spots after getting hired and wait up to a year before they get a shot behind the bar. That's nothing. They don't deserve it. But you do. Cause you're hot.

So as for me? I stay the fuck away from behind the bar. I've done it all before. A lot. And I don't particularly like it. I'm happy in my own little world, and God forbid I poke the bear known as the bartenders, and attract their rage in my direction.

Because as we know, I don't do shit anyway. And I get paid for it.

Shh...don't tell management.


On a sidenote, most kids are moving back up to Athens this week, and next weekend the dorms open up for move-in! The freshmen happen to stay at the dorms, so I expect nothing less than a fun-filled weekend of hilarious antics by drunken 18 year olds. Notable happenings will be promptly posted on here. Rest assured if it's on here, I was laughing at them.