"Excuse me...excuse me...um, hello?"
It's now four hours into shift. Today, it's my turn doing inside security. A near-capacity crowd is in the nightclub: couple of hundred little twentynothings on the floor "dancing", couple more hundred upstairs, others scattered wherever. Four hours of nonstop "house music" so far, no emerg calls on the radio (so damn quiet I keep checking to see if it's even on, and on the right channel, and if my earpiece is actually still in my ear, and...), everyone's behaving (not closing time yet)--I'm slapping myself to keep awake.
I look down to find, tugging on my sleeve, a clubbette. Typical skimp-fit, pain-stilettos (who says foot-binding died with imperial China?) and long-running war-paint (KISS me). She gamely tries to ask her question in a speaking voice and--as per my pitying-look response--renounces this in favour of the standard beat-the-loudspeakers shriek:
"Um, like, I always wanted to know, like--like why are you guys called 'bouncers'?"
You have to understand, it isn't always the alcohol. Sometimes even the DDs of a group automatically dumb-down as soon as they're in the club. There's just a seeming congruence of social, hormonal and technological factors that results in this state of astounding genius where the most obvious of terms suddenly needs verbal explanation.
Perhaps, though, this is overly harsh. It is tenable to plead that that--even for non-clubbing (read: normal) humanity--onomatopoeic imagery does not necessarily lead to definition; however, if sufficiently repeated via anecdote, a definition need not be required.
Fortunately, such an anecdote--a keystone-kops comedy of professional errors--occurs later the very same night:
A colleague and I are getting ready to embrace closing-time with our gentle labours. Last call was some time ago and the bars in the club have ceased serving. We are posted in an area near one of the main sets of exit doors. Some clients are already heading up to beat the rush to the coat-check, more than a few of them BOUNCING off walls and other such inconveniences. Among those who remain behind are two males, seated on one of the club's many BOUNCY chill-couches. They're both looking at the barely-covered, BOUNCING glutes of the departing sweaty-babes. One guy is about one-ninety and slim, the other a few pounds more and lipid-greasy. In other words, both are teeny-tiny.
Suddenly, without the usual lead-up (no thousand-yard stare, no chin-to-chin, no "wtf u lookin' at?"), they're both BOUNCING fists off each other. Glasses and other items go flying off the nearest table, some shattering on the floor, others BOUNCING every which way. By the time aforementioned colleague and I call for backup and get through the exiting line to reach these two exemplars, Skinny has somehow sort-of gotten on top of Greasy and is trying, with his left side, to mount and g'n'p his rotund pal-turned-nemesis...and with his right side, trying to do some imitation of a clinch-plus-knees. Both, at the same time. Methinks several MMA vids have gotten mixed up in the heavenly glory that passes for his mind.
Getting there first, I grab and leverage Skinny off, arm-cranking him into standing position while my coworker restrains Greasy. Unfortunately, the latter jiggles free and takes a run at Skinny, BOUNCING off us and (transfer-of-kinetic-energy blah blah blah) knocking us down while BOUNCING back into my coworker who had been rushing forward to re-establish control of his client. Now I'm on the floor with skinny on top, but I still have his back, so I switch from hammerlock to RNC (just enough to restrain, I don't want to get sued or charged).
Greasy, having pinballed (aka BOUNCED) off of my colleague--knocking him back down--comes back forward and tries to g'n'p Skinny while he's being held down. Skinny is too busy trying to deal with the arm clamped under his jaw to pay much attention, so I have to let go the grapes and try to use my own feet to keep Greasy off.
There I am, one arm clamped in a choke on Skinny, the other hand trying to get to the bud-mike at my own collar so I can find out where the hell the backup is, and using my feet in the worst-possible take on something between a butterfly- and a spider-guard to keep Greaseball off. Greasy tries stacking my legs so he can really get to Skinny; I manage to get enough of him with my soles to send him back--to BOUNCE into my once-again onrushing colleague (whose latest approach I couldn't see because Greasy's celestial form had blocked my line of sight).
Both of them get knocked backward, and that's when backup arrives--to see two of theirs on the tiles, having the backs of two wayward souls.
"What the **** are you doin' down there?"
"Well, where the **** have you been all this time?"
"Well, duh, fuckin' crowd's hard to get through..."
"Well, what the ****..."
"What the ****."
This brilliant and savory bit of repartee complete, we stand our new friends up while backup open the exit doors and clear a route through the crowd. Greasy and Skinny soon find themselves out in a festive minus-ten surroundings, BOUNCING off of various nearby snow-covered items, the former for some reason intoning "Yeah, yeah, yeeeeahhh!", the latter querying delicately: "****'s goin' on? Fcksgoin'ooonnn?" Some snow having drifted into the frames, the exit doors BOUNCE when tugged and have to be re-closed for the crash-bars to latch properly.
Once all the patrons are all on their way home, to the nearest all-night eatery, or to whatever divine source has birthed them, our shift is over and it is time for us to BOUNCE.
There you have it...
...and you can have it.
Last edited by Vieux Normand; 12/22/2008 6:21pm at .
Great story! Damn my life is boring.
So wait, why are you guys called bouncers?
Made of rubber.
Originally Posted by gunterfan3819282
i would like to be a bouncer.
For one night, at least.
Having gone clubbing for the first time on saturday with some of the coconuts from my judo club, I can say that elements of your story are depressingly familiar.
Why didn't you post this in the Articles section? You shoulda posted this in the Articles section. That's where articles like this go. This is an article, by the way. At least, that's how I interpret it. Therefore, it should go in the Articles section. Maybe in the Martial Arts Humor sub-section? Whatever. I mean, I'm just saying. Just, I just wanted to point that out, you know? Because this is an article, and I think it should... it's... it would BEHOOVE you to put it in the Articles section. Lord knows it's starving for content.
I mean, just... just think about it.
(Do not take me seriously, I am giving you an unnecessarily hard time because I am bored and trolling for "big laffs.")
Articles section, hell - why are you giving this stuff away for free?
It's gay slang, like every other word the meaning or etymology of which you are unsure.
Originally Posted by gunterfan3819282
ok Vieux, how big are you? because I consider myself at around 200 a decent sized guy, but you just described a 190lb guy as tiny. Are you a Nephilim?
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