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My Brief Chaotic Tenure As a Bouncer
Rarely does an irritable, angry person become a bundle of joy after a few drinks.
The cool night breeze flowed over my face as the bar door swung open to the street. Behind me, I heard a deep voice call out, “Sean.”
I turned to see the long-time bouncer, Mike. He stepped forward to me, ignoring the line of patrons extending down the sidewalk. “You need a gig?”
There’d been an all-out brawl in our bar that night. I hadn’t taken part but had helped subdue an out-of-control drunk that was overwhelming Mike. It was the catalyst for my leaving that night, realizing I’d had enough.
Mike nodded to me in appreciation, “We need more security over at this new club a few blocks down. The money is good. Interested?”
I’m not a tough guy, but I am decently athletic and 6’4", 215 lbs. I needed the money, and I figured, why not? It’d be a cool gig, and I’d feel manly. I figured they probably wouldn’t throw me into the fire too much.
Boy, was I wrong.
The gig begins
Towering metal double doors with ornate patterns in them greeted me. The huge club was hours from opening, and I was there for “orientation.” The lights were dim, the stage empty — and the obsidian bar stood polished and ready.
A second floor wrapped around like a perpetual balcony with two bars on each side. A man, David, came forward and said, “Welcome. You’re Sean, right?”
David was the head bouncer and totally looked the part. He wore a black T-shirt with the club name and security written next to it. He was about 6’2, 350 lbs, and looked like he could uproot a tree. His cauliflower ears added to his undeniable aura of toughness.
“Yes, sir.”
He looked me up and down, with clear doubt in his eyes, “You ever worked security?”
I lied, “I have. But how do you guys do things here?”
And so began my crash course. He gave me the walkthrough, and we talked about the basic rules. He also gave me that classic black bouncer shirt. I’d expected to be shadowing someone that night, not working the floor.
They gave me an earpiece, which kept me in the loop at all times.At first, I felt like a special agentat first, but then, I began to dread hearing something on that earpiece.
Six to eight bouncers usually worked at a given time, which barely felt like enough. The club was huge, packed with hundreds of people spread out across different levels, VIP areas, and a dance floor that never stopped moving.
Initially, I stood out front checking IDs with an older bouncer, Mick. He complained incessantly about his ex-wife while we checked IDs. The two were locked in a perpetual legal case with their divorce.
The second week, at 11 PM, I heard, “Red. Main floor,” on my earpiece, which was code for an active physical altercation on the main floor. Security only called this out if they actually needed help. Sometimes, fights happened, and I found out after the fact.
Joe nodded for me to go check on it. I pushed through the entrance, which was congested with scantily clad women and bro-dudes trying to flirt with them while they waited to get their wristbands.
Neon lights flashed around me, and insufferable pop music blasted, thumping my inner ear drum into submission.
As I pushed through the main crowd, I got to the circular dance floor, a massive disc that rotated, taking dozens of people on a slow spin. The crowd shifted to the right like it had been hit by a wrecking ball. Then I saw Tom, a bouncer, stand up while still looking down, grimacing — then he disappeared to the ground again.
“Oh boy,” I thought. It looked like a tiger had him by the leg. But I suspected he was getting jumped. I ran, shouting for people to get out of the way, and felt slightly terrified.
I got to the opening and was surprised to see a full two-on-two catfight. Both pairs of girls had each other by the hair and were rolling around on the ground, swatting their hands at each other’s faces and kicking. They were screaming endless profanities, many of which had to do with the others' alleged promiscuousness.
Tom, a burly bald man with a friendly face, had one woman fully lifted off the ground with one arm and the other trying to break the other girl’s grip on her hair. Their legs dragged along the ground as he pulled them, grimacing in frustration.
In front of me, one of the other girls had a high heel and was trying to hit the other girl in the face with the pointy end. I dove in and yanked the shoe out of her hand. I started working through breaking their grips on each other’s hair and trying to talk them down (which was laughably futile). I fancied myself as pretty strong at that point. I was a Division 1 swimmer at the time. But I was shocked by these women’s steel trap grips. Smartphones weren’t a thing yet,but I suspect there would have been many versions of this video on YouTube today.
Eventually, as another two bouncers arrived, we separated them. But it was a hot mess, and ten people got thrown out. I was covered in scratches like I’d been swarmed by feral cats. My shirt was soaked and smelled of fruity girly mixed drinks which were being thrown (part of why bouncers wear dark shirts).
It was my first major incident as a bouncer. Most of the time, my daily conflict consisted of me saying no to people with laughably fake IDs or IDs of some relative who looked 20 years older than them. The experience was sobering — both literally and figuratively. Spending so much time sober around drunk people makes you realize how foolish alcohol makes them.
I realized that much of our job was about playing peacemaker. Guys would start beating their chests more often than beating each other. I’d intervene, take the guys' side, and say, “I know, man. I get it. Just let it go.”
Sometimes, talking just didn’t work. We had to haul people out.
And then there was just the general annoyingness of drunk people, their unpredictability, antics, and endless headaches they conjure. For example, the club did karaoke night on Thursdays. A vendor, Jen, who was super friendly and a single mother, would come in every Thursday and set up her equipment. We paid her a few hundred bucks. It was a good gig.
One night, a young man went on stage to start singing after Jen called him up. Everything was going great. He was obviously drunk — but that’s the norm for singers.
His song ends, and rather than hand his mic back to Jen, he takes the mic and power spikes it like a football — as hard as he can. I mean, as hard as humanly possible, and without provocation.
The mic explodes into 30 pieces, sending a shard that hits a lady in the face. She started crying and had to get stitches. It was completely random and also damaged an expensive part of Jen’s equipment. It tanked the whole karaoke night. Needless to say, the guy was blacklisted from the club.
My stint as a bouncer only lasted a few months before I handed in my “badge.” I explained to Mike that spring training was starting for swimming, and I wouldn’t have time for it. The real reason was that it was putting a cramp on my social life and overall happiness. It was screwing up my sleep cycle, and I was tired of dealing with the constant chaos and drunks.
But I do think these gigs give you perspective on humanity and how people behave with alcohol. It gives them a mask. They become someone they wouldn’t dare be sober. It gave them something to run through when things weren’t going well.
Others drank to escape from something deeper, something they feared confronting. What I learned is that alcohol tends to exaggerate whatever state a person was in when they started. Rarely did an irritable, angry person become a bundle of joy after a few drinks. I’d take note of that point in particular because I’ve seen too many times that, indeed, few good things happen after midnight. And if you don’t believe that adage, ask a bouncer.
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