People always use the "full moon" explanation to excuse all sorts of fucked up behavior, but in the case of last night, that's the only plausible reason I can think of to describe the actions of those I encountered.
Being a Doorman/Bouncer/Babysitter can be both extremely tedious, and also randomly hilarious (and slightly dangerous when dealing with drunk, pissed of guys twice my size). By far the worst though, is when it's some one's BIRTHDAY!
These assholes, and their fucking friends are always a problem. See, in addition to patrolling the door, I also take the money for covers. Last night it was $8. Not too steep for a big city, especially when one considers that the promoters flew in DJ's from LA and Miami.
So last night, 5 people showed up and balked at paying the $8 cover. I offered to let them all in for $25, not bad right? NOT GOOD ENOUGH! They stated that they also had "20-ish" more people about to show up for this dude's birthday bash. To their credit, it was a large crowd, so I offered to let them all in for $80. Guess what...NOT GOOD ENOUGH! Fuckers could barely scrape together $52 in crumpled, sweaty, drug imbued bills. Fine. Fuck it. I let them in.
Eventually it dawned on me that this group of people were ROLLING THEIR NUTS OFF on some high grade ecstasy. I'm not one to judge. That shit is awesome fun. Really. But when I peer outside and the birthday boy is laying down on the sidewalk next to MY door, sweating profusely, it brings out my latent "Mommy" gene.
I asked him if he was OK, and if maybe he needed some water. He eyes fell toward my shoes, and widened, then he said "I LOVE YOUR SHOES, WANNA TRADE THOSE FOR MINE?" Um...I declined politely as possible. Then he realized I was the Doorman and pleaded with me not to kick him out. He was totally wasted but not really a problem. This shit is usual. Or maybe I'm the WORLD'S NICEST DOORMAN/BOUNCER (can I get a coffee mug that says that?). Dunno. They were cool though. And no one puked.
So, the bar I work at on Fridays is kind of a bitch to get to/back from. I have no problem using public transportation, but when the CTA decides to close down a major rail line on the weekend, and the logical alternative bus routes don't run after 3AM, when I leave work, well, shit it can be a challenge.
After I shewed away the trendy drunks and locked the door, I was lamenting my transportation issues with my manager. To my complete and total fucking surprise, he offered to drive me half way home, to a bus route I could catch. This was mildly shocking since he never once offered this favor in the 8+ months I've worked there. I took him up on his offer...
"We just need to make a quick stop first" he said as soon as I got into his car. The "quick stop" was a Punk Rock Dive Bar in the opposite direction from where I needed to get getting to. The reason for said stop was so he could score some blow. Again, I'm not one to judge.
That whole process was fascinating, to say the least. he bought 2 drinks for us, for $60. The bartender gave the money to the bar back, then passed it off to someone else, and after 15 minutes of watching old-school porn on the TV's, we were off. Except, he wanted to get high before we left.
I'll be honest, I like cocaine. Really. As Rick James would say, "it's a hell of a drug" but it's something I do on a VERY rare occasion. I've never snorted that shit from the tip of an extremely sharp hunting knife in a parked car in an industrial neighborhood with my employer, but hey, fuck it.
Said employer insisted he drive me all the way home. I weakly protested, then went on a futile search for an supplemental seat belt, as he zoomed up the on ramp for the Kennedy expressway. I know this sounds all kinds of stupid crazy, but it really wasn't. His driving wasn't what scared me...it was how he explained how easy it is to rob a fucking bank.
JESUS C!
So that was my night. When I arrived home (safely) I couldn't sleep and decided to ride my bike around to burn off some of that crazy drug induced energy. It worked. And somehow I awoke this afternoon feeling totally good. No hangover. So, there's always that. I blame the Moon, and the CTA for my actions.
