Breaking the Rules

The way things normally go down when we have an altercation in our bar is usually like this: We're at the door, or on the floor, and we call a customer on their behavior or something that goes against a policy or rule that we have. 9 times out of 10 we do so as nicely as we can, but if you know a thing or two then you'll know that the nice doorguy finishes last.

And so the customer bitches and throws a fit, or continues to do whatever it is that caused us to confront them in the first place. These kids are so caught up in their own nascissistic self indulgence that they haven't even given a moments thought to anyone elses comfort besides their own.

God forbid that we have an actual job to do which along with it comes with a set of rules and policies that we, as a floor and door staff, have to follow and enforce. We're doing our job, which isn't always partying and drinking and allowing the customers to do whatever the fuck they want to when they want to do it.

Take, for example, last weekend. The night was finished and everyone was leaving the bar. Two gentlemen apparently thought that they could stop and hold up the line that was exiting the bar momentarily in order to light their cigarettes. They did this shoulder-to-shoulder and thus, stopped the forward momentum and inconvienienced everyone but themselves.

When we called them on their behavior and pointed out that people behind them were waiting to get outside in addition to the fact that they were not allowed to smoke until they were outside the building, they told us in no uncertain terms to chill out; Jesus Christ!

Because the night was over and I wasn't in any mood to exacerbate this relatively minor altercation by pointing out to them that they're not the only people in the bar, the event reminded me that most people coming out downtown just don't give a fuck about anyone else around them besides themselves. Absolutely no thought is given to anything on any level besides what's best for themselves right now, regardless of how it affects the world around them.

And that, on the most basic of levels, is what's wrong with most of the kids coming downtown these days. Plenty of them come from priviledged families and hardly ever hear the word no. And when they do finally hear it, they rage against the perceived injustice that's been so unfairly placed upon them.

God forbid I tell someone they can't smuggle beer inside. I'm the asshole if I tell them they need to smoke outside instead of in. They yell and scream and demand to be served the moment they approach the bar, despite the fact that the place is packed beyond capacity. If they are made to wait or don't get exactly what they want, when they want it, at a price that's reasonable to them, then the finger pointing begins. If their fake ID is pointed out to them or taken up, they simply can't believe this is happening to them.

What the hell? Are you serious??, they exclaim. That's fucking ridiculous!, they'll finally concede as they storm off, cursing at me and to themselves.

They're so wrapped up in their own little world that they'll never admit to anyone, especially themeselves that their actions and missteps have led to the position that they're in.

They came downtown. They used a fake ID. They got drunk and they broke the rules, which caused them to get thrown out and arrested. Yet somehow it's our fault for doing our job. It's our fault for rejecting them or telling them to wait in line like everyone else. It's our fault that they ran their tab up to $100 dollars, but they'll continually point at us and complain and scream and rail against the wrongs that have allegedly been committed against them.

And in the end, I'll never be able to right all the things that I find defective with the behaviors of college kids who come downtown. I realized that last weekend in the worst way possible because the turn-over rate for the college students is just too damn great and happens too damn quickly for anything I do to even be somewhat effective.

It's not my job to educate the fuckers before they come out and break the rules that society has placed upon them - I've given up on that for sure - but I'll certainly continue to call them on it while they're actually breaking them in the form of a headlock and a quick trip out the front door.

Possible National Champions? Not these Guys...

Well, this attitude sure sounds familiar.

Occasionally, we'll get a UGA football player at our door who is obviously underaged and bewildered at his refusal to enter. At times, an attitude will crop up, words will be exchanged - much like Munzenmaiers situation - and if you know me, I'm sure you'll know what my answer ends up being.

I swear, some of these football players act like they're making a top salary in the NFL and everyone should bow down before them for the Gods that they are.

Fucking idiots.

More Things that Annoy Me

I stand at the door nightly, and write extensively about it on this blog on a regular basis, and I continue to find things that irritate me to no end. It's the same shit every fucking night, and so to anyone who gives a fuck about reading this trainwreck of a website, you're going to be treated to a very similiar bitch fest to which I regularly indulge in.

A few things that annoyed me last night: Handing me your ID and stating your date of birth or your age when I have the fucking thing in my hand doesn't do anyone any good. Shockingly, I'm literate. I have your ID in my hand. In fact, I'm looking directly at it. Even more specifically, my entire job revolves around this one act that I'm performing. Your attempt to expedite the encounter we're currently engaged in only serves to make me grit my teeth and do everything in my power to not explode and rip your arms out of your sockets and beat you unconscious with the severed limbs.

That's right...I'm a doorguy. An uncontrollable meathead who can barely contain my murderous, drunken rage towards the innocent UGA college undergraduate. If it weren't for me and my kind, then downtown would simply be a heavenly spectacle of harmless college aged tomfoolery. Not real crime, mind you. Only angelic horseplay. But moving on...

Perhaps it's an innocuous slip of the tongue. An honest mistake. Who knows? What I do know is that us doorguys aren't always the sharpest tools in the shed apparently, but regardless, I can do simple arithmetic from time to time given a suitable opportunity. So please...just shut the fuck up, dude.

"Hey man! You must be freezing out here!" I must have heard this one, or some variation, about 200 times Saturday night. Yea, shitbag. I'm fucking cold. It's 25 degrees outside. I can't feel my toes or my fingers. But thanks for reminding me for the fifth time in the last two minutes because otherwise I might have gone into hypothermic shock and passed out without your friendly reminder, leaving you no one to annoy on your pilgrimage into the bar.

Later on, I was called a faggot and a racist for rejecting two of our fine local rap superstar teenagers. To me, there's really nothing like railing against a perceived discrimination by using another bigoted term to insult me, is there? One was wearing a grill and pants at least 5 times bigger than necessary. After the name calling started, I generously offered to help him remove his grill by using my fist in order to comply with said dress code. They didn't take me up on my offer, sadly, and went on their way, undoubtedly to find another doorman to give a hard time to.

And while I'm on this subject, let's get something straight. If you've read this blog and taken to heart anything I've said, then you'll know that the name of the game is moderation in everything in regard to your downtown expedition. In terms of dress codes, if you want to dress in the hip hop fashion, then fine. I can respect that. But do so moderately. If you come up to me as a 140lb dude wearing a XXXXXL shirt and pants big enough for a small family to reside in, I'm not going to let you in. You look ridiculous and the act of rejection is saving my job, as well as your fragile ego for the taunting you'll receive should you somehow make it inside. And to add my very own NAACP disclaimer: That doesn't go just for blacks; it goes for rednecks, whites, Nascar fans, to those who wear those stupid ass Scarface jackets, and pretty much anyone else dressed like a fucking clown.

The guy who gave me an ID stating he was born in 1979, which of course I rejected for my very own, very valid reasons, and then came back only moments later with yet another ID stating he was now apparently born in 1985 went on to explain, under questioning, that the first ID was actually not his, but his fathers. He was not granted admission. Again, as a doorguy I'm not that bright, but I can do a little math at times and I think we all know why this explanation doesn't make much sense to anyone.

Another fine young gentlemen was lightly bumped into while drinking in our establishment last weekend. Apparently to him, a perfectly reasonable reaction to that horrific slight was to repeatedly club the offender over the back of the head with a beer bottle and then top it all off with a body slam onto the floor. An impromtu search was conducted by our floor staff for the offender since this brave young gentlemen turned tail and took off immediately afterwards, and given that none of us actually saw the incident in person, unfortunately he got away with an aggravated assault and surely felt vindicated that he had righted such a grievious wrong that had been committed.

To top the sub-freezing temperature night off, we finished it with a confusing shoving match with a number of drunken, nameless, faceless college kids that ended with what I can say was one of the scarier, and louder, floor guy stampedes to the front to assist the rest of their helpless coworkers who found themselves caught up in the melee.

At least I didn't end up with frostbite.

A Wonderful Update

This is how it is: I work at one of the best downtown spots I could ask for. It's popular, it's busy on a regular basis, and I'm never ashamed to tell anyone who asks where I work (so long as I have no connection to this blog). I work with some of the best guys out there. I'd put them up against any other staff downtown. I work for a couple of great guys that I trust completely. It's rare for a bar employee, especially one with any sort of experience, to say something like that. But I can, and I do so without any doubt.

I have all of these things and in addition, I have this stupid ass blog where I can vent whatever frustrations that I can think of. And if you've gone over any of the shit that I've written about in the past, then you'll know that there's a whole lotta shit that I complain about.

What's strange to me, is that people actually read this shit. People who matter. People who make decisions about things that have to do with my job. And I guarantee you that somebody's chomping at the bit to figure out who the hell I am. Where I work. Why I say the things I say.

I've said it before. I'll never filter what I say on here. I promise to tell it how it is. I write about downtown and drinking and fighting, and it's really all fucking stupid when it comes down to it. But the downtown "scene" and the huge amounts of alcohol that the college kids consume is apparently a nice big, blistering eyesore for the government officials who would have the permanent residents of Athens believe that everything is all roses and ponies in Clarke County. But it isn't. We have thousands of binge drinking college students - and high school students, too - who come downtown and take 15 shots of jager and do blow in the bathrooms and smoke weed and then drive themselves home.

So at the expense of those who would rather do nothing about the actual problem itself and continue to rake in the cash generated because of that problem, I'll confirm to everyone reading that Athens, Georgia has a massive drug and alcohol problem, with the college students directly in the epicenter. And I'll tell you this much: it isn't my fucking fault or anyone else who works at or owns a bar.

Yet the legislation that's continually passed by the county commissioners comes down on the bar employees who are only trying to make some money and go home, as if it's our fault that college kids want to experiment with drugs and alcohol. They have their nice little dog and pony show in the form of ridiculous and useless laws that they'll parade around in front of the tax paying voters to make them believe that they're trying to do something about the "underaged drinking problem", when in reality they haven't done anything but waste our time. And in the end, the only thing they really give a fuck about is continuing to get your money and your votes so they can stay in power, and they certainly don't want to give up the tax money generated from the enormous amount of alcohol that Athens plows through on a nightly basis.

I'm not bitching like this so I can get your sympathy. I don't need anything from you besides your silence and good behavior when you're drinking at the place I work at. Oh, and your money. I happen to be a big fan of that myself. But in all fairness, I'm not extorting you at the expense of anyone else besides you, unlike our great elected leaders. You chose to come downtown and get fucked up, not me. So I'm taking your decisions and twisting them in my favor. That's what we do at the bar. We get you to give us your money. And it's okay to us because you made the choice to come downtown.

So what am I really trying to get at here? I'm not really sure. Maybe this post is an impromptu pulse check and a quick look to see what I still think about it all. I still like my job. I don't like the government. But regardless, I'll be down there - tonight, actually - freezing my ass off and attempting to devise a clever plan to get you shitbags out of my face and will the clocks to move forward faster so I can go inside, lock the door and get away from it all only to repeat it all next week, for some strange reason.

Quick Reads

This makes no sense. 27 years old and hitting people with beer bottles in downtown Athens? Grow up, man.

I'm just now hearing that Detour is closed. It's a shame that the owners/managers couldn't get their shit together to renew one of the most important things you need to operate a bar downtown. That's a shame.

Finally, this is just ridiculous. As a doorman, discriminate is what you do. It's your job. Of course, not based upon race, but on a number of things that I judge everyone by. Your level of intoxication, your attitude, your looks, whether I suspect you're underage, if you're under the influence of drugs or might do something that we deem to be inappropriate at some point, and yes, even what you're wearing.

Dresscodes have been used for years by doormen worldwide. Dress nicely, get inside. Don't dress nicely, risk getting rejected at the door. I have no idea what the doormen at The Ritz did or how they handled this situation, but it something stinks here. Something isn't right.

I'll save my ranting for later, but enjoy these short reads.

My Weekend

Friday night. The bar. 12am. We've spotted two guys who are really drunk, staggering around the bar and eyeballing the girls a little too much. They're not a problem now, but when it gets busy in a few minutes and they down a few more drinks, they'll eventually be an issue.

They seperate from each other for a moment and we hover a few steps away, looking for an excuse to kick them out. The first one staggers a little too much, and we swoop in and escort him out while his friend is distracted. The friend doesn't notice. This is a good thing.

The second one is asked to leave shortly thereafter. He loudly proclaims his sobriety, and then proceeds to trip over a table and faceplant on the ground with a loud thud immediatly after his proclaimation. We find this funny. He doesn't. He's escorted out. We laugh about it for a long time among ourselves.

1:57am. Walking the floor. I turn a corner and happen upon a floor guy with one of our wonderful customers in a choke hold on the way to the front door. He hands our wonderfully well behaved customer to me and then the fight's on. Drunk people feel no pain and this guy is no exception. He happened to be pretty strong and extremely drunk. He's swinging on us, fighting, screaming, all the way out the front door to the sidewalk. The cops step in but he keeps fighting. The pepper spray comes out. I fall on my ass trying to get away from the pepper spray. After all is said and done, our customer is hooked up and given a place to stay for the night at the Athens-Clarke County Jail.

2:50. Front of the bar. We look out of the front windows to see a fight in progress on the sidewalk after the bar has cleared out. One of the fighters has taken his shirt off. It's freezing outside, so none of us understand his reasoning for this. We laugh. A lot. We laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and we laugh because that fight isn't our problem. Let 'em kill each other, we say. Then I drink a beer and laugh some more about it.

Saturday night. The door. 11:30pm. A bunch of us crowd together and watch with amusement as a drunk townie tries his best to chop down one of the many trees on the sidewalk. By himself. With his hand. For twenty minutes we watch him. Then, he tries to come inside and is extremely confused when he's rejected. Again, we laugh out loud but inside I'm thinking what the fuck?

12:15am. The door. I'm trying to explain to a girl why her friend isn't allowed inside. She isn't 21. This is because when she was taking her ID out of her purse I happened to spot her real ID, which clearly stated she was 20 years old instead of 28. Her friend is upset. Extremely upset. She yells at me. She screams. She gives me the finger. I continue trying to explain to her what happened but she won't listen. So I tell her she can't come in, either. This, of course, doesn't go over well. She decides that she'll go inside anyway and trys to barge past me. Her friends drag her away from me after I gently stop her from going inside. I'm glad she's gone, because I was seriously concerned she was about to start swinging on me, and that situation just wouldn't have been fun for anyone.

12:45am. The door. Dejavu from 30 minutes ago. I'm trying to explain to a drunk and angry girl why I can't accept her credit card as an ID. It has her picture on it and her date of birth, but since we only accept certain forms of ID I can't let her in. Every other bar has taken it, she explains. Well, I say, we're not every other bar. She gets angry too. She tells me to fuck off. This approach to the situation customers sometimes take always goes over well with me so I tell her to go away. She comes back a few minutes later and we go through the whole process again. At this point I think that if I figure out what bar was serving the shit that made people this fucking stupid on this particular night, I'm gonna firebomb the place.

1:30am. We rejected the kid thats been hovering near the door at the begining of the night. He's stuck around for the past hour for reasons unknown. He's really drunk. Droopy eyes. Slurring his words. He still can't understand why we won't let him in. So he starts checking IDs at the door. This is a good way to get negative attention from doorguys. And so he gets it from me. A few words are exchanged between him and I, and the threat of getting thrown in the gutter if he doesn't go away sends him across the sidewalk, thankfully.

2am. I'm doing backflips in my mind because I couldn't be more excited that we're closed for the night and the weekend is finally over. I've never been more happy to lock the door and clean the bar and be away from the drunken, angry, fighting, staggering college kids who won't listen to a fucking word that I say.

Next weekend will be here in no time.

Breaking News

It seems like some variation of this article comes out at the start of every semester.

Something New

Big weekend coming up.

My last few posts have been a little bland, partially because I wrote them some time ago and just now ended up posting them for lack of anything else of substance to share.

I've gone to work recently with the blog only halfway on my mind, so things happen and then I only vaguely recall them when I sit down at the computer to post some more nonsense. Because of that, I feel like I'm missing some good material, so I think I'm going to start bringing a piece of paper and a pen to work to jot down the stupid shit I see as I see it. Hopefully this will translate into a more vivid and accurate picture of ridiculousness that I witness on a night to night basis.

It's tough to really translate what I see and hear minute by minute onto a blog, because most of the time I'm standing there wondering what the fuck, even when the smallest of things happen. Then I forget them a few minutes later and the opportunity is gone.

So we'll see how this little experiment works out Friday and Saturday night.

Getting What You Want

As with anything in the bar business, we're often offered money to allow customers to do things we either have initially decided not to let them do, have been specifically ordered by our bosses not to let them do, or that is specifically against the law.

Bars are full of shady characters on either side of the bar. The customers are shady, the employees can be shady, and the owners can especially be shady. It's tough to find a place to work where honesty is something that's more of the rule than the exception. Thankfully, I happen to work at one of those rare places.

But that doesn't stop the shady customers from trying to come in. I'm offered money on a nightly basis. I used to sometimes take it, but only if it didn't violate several rules that I considered non-negotiable. With the recent crackdown on bars and the host of new laws that have recently been passed, my money-taking days are behind me - for now - so you may have a little difficulty buying what you want when you're out, but regardless...here are some things that I'll never take money to ignore, plus some other things that you may be able to buy your way past.

If you're under 21, you're not getting in. People offer me money to get their underaged friends in every single night. It never fails. We're a 21+ establishment which means if I let you in, there's nothing to stop you from drinking once you're past me. And that happens to be against the law and a serious threat to our liquor license, which happens to employ a number of people who depend on having cash in their pocket several nights a week. And you think that waving a $20 in my face will convince me to risk that? Fuck off.

Say you get your underaged girlfriend in and she then drinks herself retarded and gets arrested when she leaves. What do you think the first thing the cops are going to ask her? They'll ask where she was drinking and how she got into that particular establishment. Then I'm screwed. And then the bar's screwed. I'm definitely out of a job and the rest of my coworkers possibly may be as well. Cops do stings all the time and there is no way in hell I'm risking getting ticketed or fired for the likes of you. So forget it.

IDs. If it's fake, don't even try to offer me money to look the other way. If it ain't yours, don't try it. If it's expired, then we might have something to work with. If it expired 3 years ago, forget it. If it expired 3 months ago, then there's a possibility.

We're at capacity or the doors are closed. This is a much more workable situation for you. By law, everyone has to be out of the bar by 2:45am. So if it's before then, you may have a shot to get back inside. Talk to the guy at the door discreetly. If its important enough to you, then you'll cough up the dough. If not, then leave us the hell alone because the answer will always be no. And no, your friend can't come with you unless they pay, too. I'm trying to get you fuckers out of here so I can go home. Why would I make that process take any longer than necessary unless I got something out of it?

Dresscode. A lot more bars around here have a strict dress code these days. It all depends on management and the guys working the door and the night of the week and a million other variables, but if you're denied for not wearing the right thing then try approaching the guys at the door discreetly and politely to ask what you can do to make things right. If its fixable, then they'll help you to make it happen. If not, then quit asking. They've made their decision.

Kicked out. The odds are against you on this one, sadly. If you're escorted out, the best way, again, is to discreetly approach one of us and ask if there's a possibility you can be allowed back in. If there's a way and you offer the right amount of cash, then we'll try to make it happen. Don't be a dick, don't be loud and don't act like you can't be kicked out again if you continue to do whatever you did to be escorted out in the first place.

Illegal acts. I'm not getting arrested for you. I won't allow your underaged friends in, I won't cover up your drug dealing or usage, and I won't sell/give you alcohol after 2am. I happen to have a set of morals that dictate my actions while working regardless of how much green you wave in my face. If it's illegal, then don't even ask. It won't happen.

Minimum. If you slide me less than $20 then our deal is no longer a deal. I've been offered several hundred dollars to do things that I ended up refusing to do. I don't need your money, but I'm going out of my way for you because apparently you badly need to be in the bar for some unknown reason. So it'll cost you. Therefore, don't be cheap.

There you have it. Some general rules to making happen what you want to happen is to be polite, respectful, and discrete. If we say no, then we really mean no. And that doesn't mean to ask us again for another 10 minutes because we might change our mind. It means go the fuck away.

What I Am

I was brought up in "the business" so to speak, where the word bouncer was one that we didn't use. It was almost like a dirty word.

We were never bouncers. We were doorguys. Or floor staff. Or doormen. But not bouncers. Our sole job was never just to keep the peace at the bar. It was also to wash glasses, run the floor and clear tables, and check IDs. We occasionally broke up fights and escorted people out, but the place I initially worked at was tame and the crowd was fairly good at policing themselves, for the most part.

The owner didn't like the word bouncer, either. It conjured up images of big, burly ex-football players dragging someone out of the door and tossing them on the sidewalk in a heap of drunkenness and blood. That, technically, is what the now defunct Classic City once employed back in their hayday. Big guys who frequently were accused of beating the shit out of their customers in the back alley. I was once told there was a minimum weight requirement to work at Classic City. I think it was 200 lbs, if I remember correctly.

But I digress.

So eventually, I bought into the theory that we weren't bouncers. No one was. At one time, I had a belief that bouncers didn't even exist in Athens. For one thing, nobody was big enough. Real bouncers, I believed, were huge. Monsters. And all they did was throw people out all night long. And to be any smaller than 6"5, 300lbs, didn't make the cut.

Time went by and I moved on from the first place I worked and found out that there are plenty of bars that aren't so tame. I went through a lot of firsts after that. The first time I choked someone into unconsciousness, the first time I was punched directly in the face, the first time I had a weapon pulled on me. These were all things that simply didn't happen at other, hole-in-the-wall bars. Especially not in Athens. At least that's what I thought. And it was a shock.

So I changed, too. My theories changed. Maybe I was a bouncer after all, but it didn't feel right calling myself one. Sure, my website says that I'm a bouncer - technically - but the only reason it does is to simplify the explaining that's required of me when I tell people what I do or what my website is about. Hell, look at the URL to my page. Athens Door Guy. Not Athens Bouncer. On some levels, I think it would be a little presumptuous to call myself a bouncer. Not everyone knows what a doorman is, or a "cooler" or a "greeter" or whatever it happens to be called at the moment by the politically correct.

So yeah, I guess I am a bouncer. But I'm also a bartender and a barback. I work the floor sometimes. I also take the garbage out at the end of the night. I sweep the floors of all the shit our customers are too lazy to toss in one of the 2 dozen trash cans that are strategically placed around the bar. I'm a glorified janitor at times, cleaning up puke and broken glass. I help drunk girls into cabs when they can't walk by themselves. I'm an omniscient general information booth about all things downtown Athens, giving directions to various bars, clubs and restaurants while I'm standing on the sidewalk checking IDs and freezing my ass off.

I'm your best friend when you're drunk and out of your mind and want someone to share your drug and alcohol induced moment of euphoria with while checking out all the hot sorority girls. I'm the biggest asshole in the world when I won't let you in or I'm kicking you out. I'm the guy you ask when you can't find your cellphone or your keys. I'm also the guy you'll run to when you're looking for your girlfriend or the group of guys who just left without you. I'm an authority figure to some and the lowest of the low to those who think they make in a day what I make in a year. I'm an impromptu EMT, an amateur counselor for the drunk and disorderly, and a professional collector of a various assortment of fake IDs.

I work at a bar in Athens, Georgia. This isn't the big city, so I'm not delusional about my place in the overall scheme of the bar business. I don't think that I could compete with any of the guys who put up with much more shit than I do at their big city clubs. I'm well aware of my ranking overall. Just to put it down, in writing, that I know who the fuck I am and where the fuck I fall in terms of importance.

But really, I'm a little bit of everything. Being a bouncer, I suppose, is one of those things. But as doorguys that's only part of the equation, as you can see.

Cayle Bywater

Please visit this website. If you have any information on Cayle, please contact the ACC Police Department. Thanks.

Welcome Back!

Every single semester, this is what happens.

The students are psyched to be back in Athens with their friends. Class has started, but it hasn't really started. Everything's fresh again. The weather's changed. Things are different and fun again. It's been a month since most of them have been in town, and it's sucked being at home with mom and dad, so the logical thing happens:

The partying begins. Hard.

We'll have at least a 2-3 week window of time where the students will party their ass off, usually at my expense.

So these first 2 or 3 weeks, I'll spend the majority of my night from 12am to close running to fights and throwing people out. This is because everyone's so amped up to be back, they all go out with their big groups of friends and drink like it's the last time they'll have a chance to touch alcohol. It's true. Eventually the beer muscles come out in force and the nobody-fucks-with-me-or-my-boys mentality emerges. I know this because I've watched it happen for years now. It started last Saturday, and that was only a taste.

The problem with running to these fights when they're called is that unless you've watched the inital fight unfold, you're basically running into a situation unknown. It's running to an emergency with practically a guarantee that you'll be getting physical with someone, except you have no idea what's happening, who's involved, how many are in on it, and how intense it is.

To me, those are some pretty important pieces of information that I usually like to have handy when breaking these sorts of things up. Sadly for us doorguys, we must do without sometimes. Another glorious part of the job.

So when we finally get to these situations, we like to take a moment to wait. To evaluate and scan the fight to see where we would be most useful. This is the smart thing to do. However, if your fellow doorguy is already in the shit, that moment of scan time usually is a luxury that isn't affordable, at least not at the expense of your friend getting hurt.

So we'll dive in, grab somebody, hope we don't get suckerpunched and haul 'em out the door. Go back to the door and check IDs and wait to repeat it again. We'll do that over and over until 2:30am or so and then we'll go home. Continue that for the next 2-3 weeks, and there you have the start of the 2008 Spring Semester.

Welcome back students.

And on a completely unrelated note, the wonderful law which now specifically bans us from drinking at work, which recently went into effect, has been devestating to many of us. I thought all you little fuckers were bad before, but goddamn; you're louder, drunker and more fucking annoying than I ever could have imagined.

So please, for the sake of your painfully sober doorguy/barback/bartender/whatever, please just shut the fuck up and stop screaming in my fucking face. Seriously. No one needs to raise their voice to that decibal level ever in their entire life. Jesus.

They're Back

Tonight I was called a cocksucker, and informed that a certain customer regularly fucks my mother.

While not disheartened, I was mildly insulted because I don't suck cock and was fairly certain that he hadn't fucked my mother. So the well-mannered customer was subsequently thrown out, although not physically as I hoped he would be.

In other, more important news, I plan to begin postings again very shortly since it's now 2008 and I said I would. Students are slowly trickling back into Athens and I expect this Saturday - and especially next weekend - to be busy, which means drunken stories of stupidity for your entertainment.

Stay tuned. I'm still here.