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.