The South Carolina Game

What a weekend. I mean, really. Some of the things that went on were right up my alley, if my alley consists of things that are loud, aggravating, and drunken.

A quick preview to a few highlights of the weekend that made the paper can be found here, here, and here.

I spent most of the evenings at the door, as usual, and mostly felt like a pinball being bounced from person to person on the clogged sidewalks while trying in vain to organize some semblance of a line outside the bar.

I laughed at the guy whom I overheard bragging to the door guys at the bar next door that he "fights UFC". I think that he meant that he "fights MMA", but I doubt he does anything but watch a lot of UFC fights on pay per view. Saying that you "fight UFC" is a lot like saying that you "play NFL" instead of saying that you "play football".

As the bar was letting out Friday night, I found one polite drunken pudgy gentleman, dressed in standard frat gear, standing fairly close to me watching the parade of drunk people slowly trickeling out from inside.

"Wow, man. There's so many hot girls in there. I bet you get a ton of pussy every night."

"I guess," I said, not making eye contact and turning my head away from him. I wasn't interested in talking to anyone else that night. Especially not him on the subject of my door guy status giving me special powers to hook up with hot college girls.

"I mean, really. You must have your pick every night! I know you've got a few in there waiting for you. I used to work at The Library and On The Rocks. I know how it is," he went on. Of course he had to tell me he "used to" work downtown. As if I really gave a shit. As if that changes anything. But I knew why he was trying to shoot the shit with me.

He kept glancing at his cell phone while eyeing the people leaving. I knew what was next.

"So, bro...I got my friend inside. Can I go in? I know so-and-so," he went on, dropping a few names of people who I knew, people who used to work there, and a few people who really had no connection to the bar.

"Sorry man, we closed up our doors a half hour ago. Everybody's letting out, though. Your friend will be out here soon enough," I said. He looked disappointed, but it was late and I didn't care. With that, I left the door to help take some garbage out and came back a moment later to find the other door guy in a heated conversation with the same guy.

"You have no idea who I am," the drunk frat boy challenged the other door guy.

"What's the problem?" I asked him. "I thought we already said you couldn't come in."

"Yea, but I know your manager. You guys are going to lose all of your sponsors. That money is going to burn a hole in your pocket and disappear, and you're going to lose your job" he threatened us.

"What the hell are you talking about? What business are you with?" I countered.

"Name one. I represent them all," he answered.

"Alright, man," I said as I made my way back inside and began to shut the front door. He was still standing on the sidewalk looking at us, although from a little farther away. "Tell you what. How about you walk your ass over here to me so I can turn you upside down and drop you on your head. Go shove your bullshit sponsorship story up your ass, you fat fuck. Get over here!"

Sadly, he didn't oblige my request and walked away. I sincerely fear my loss of his money very soon.

Game day night wasn't much better. The newspaper stories about fist fights downtown wasn't too far off from the sorts of things that were going on everywhere. I'm too old for this shit.