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.