“I’m Not Drunk”…A Bouncer’s Story

Entertainment — January 26, 2013 at 1:48 pm by

I suppose an introduction is in order. My name is [OMITTED], and I work as a bouncer at [OMITTED] in [OMITTED], Maryland. You can just call me “Warlock,” though. Everyone else does. Let me begin by saying that being a bouncer is a very strange job. One minute, you’re sitting there eating a chicken wing or talking with a buddy and the next minute you’re on the ground at the bottom of a pile of 7 people trying to pry two men apart. The dynamic can change from molasses slow to lightning fast in an instant. I’ve been in plenty of scrapes, scraps, dust-ups, and what-have-you’s in my time as a bouncer, and I’m certain you’d be entertained by the stories I could tell you about all these fights. The black eyes, broken noses, shattered jaws, bruised egos… all top-shelf stuff. I’m not going to tell you about the fights, though. No, no… that’s not what this little section of the website is about. This section is about the trusting nature of man. How, deep down in his soul, he wants to connect with you. Well, not with you. With me. He wants to connect with me, and he doesn’t care one bit if I want to connect with him. He’s going to tell me anyway. He’s going to shove that love right down my throat, whether I want it or not. And there’s nothing I can do about it, because he’s not doing anything wrong. He’s not too drunk to get kicked out, nor is he starting a fight. He just wants to tell me that he loves me, that he’s not drunk, and that he would, given the opportunity, “totally fuck [his] sister.” Welcome to “I’m Not Drunk: A bouncer’s account of conversations with drunk people.” Keep checking back, because I guarantee you these god-damned drunks will keep telling me their deepest secrets, and I guarantee you that I’ll put them here for your enjoyment.MSDROHO EC062

Meet Charlene:

“I’m not drunk. I’m old enough to be your mother. I’m not hitting on you. I just want to tell you about what life holds.” Nothing good has ever come out of a conversation that begins with those words. A 52-year-old woman, let’s call her Charlene, approached me tonight in hopes of dropping some wisdom onto my young(ish) mind. What followed was an account of her trials and tribulations, her children, her marriages, and, ultimately, asking for a job application.

Let me begin first with a disclaimer. If it’s 11PM and you’re already drunk enough that you can’t process all of the “Please go away” signs I’m giving you, then you probably should stop drinking. Or you should drink a lot more, and then I can tell you to leave and we can avoid this whole interaction. But ol’ Charlene was somewhere right smack dab in the middle. After the aforementioned introduction, Charlene wanted to know my age, seemingly to give herself justification for imparting unsolicited wisdom on a guy who is just trying to read the ESPN ticker. In no time, Charlene was in high gear: “What direction is your life going in?”; “Ever been married?”; “Do you have kids?”; “What are you studying in school?” It felt like I was signing up for a dating service, only without the potential no-strings-attached sex as the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel.

So, I answer Charlene’s barrage of questions (in as few words as possible), telling her about my life in brief. When I told her I was studying for a degree in computer science, you could see the hamster wheel she calls a brain trying to work this revelation out. She seems shocked. Amazed. Dumbfounded, even.

“I didn’t take you bouncer-folk for the intellectual type.”

I’d like to point out that hyphenating any word with “folk” after it automatically disqualifies you from making any sort of judgment about the intellect of another person. Next, just because I work in a profession that involves me getting into fights does not mean that I do not have a brain or that am not a nice guy. Christ, one of my co-workers choked a guy out on a Wednesday only to get up on a Thursday morning to teach preschool.

So the conversation continues. She tells me about her daughter in South Carolina, she tells me about her husband the iron-worker, and, over and over again, she makes sure to mention that she isn’t drunk and she isn’t hitting on me. I had had enough of drunk Charlene, but as I rapidly clicked the button on my flashlight, giving my co-worker the universal “SAVE ME FROM THIS DRUNK” sign, she was able to impart these last words of wisdom on me:

“I might just be an old southern mother and grandmother, but I’ll tell you what to do in life… keep studying. And when you’re done studying, find a job with that computers science (sic) and take as much money as they’ll give you.”

Thanks, Charlene. I will.



[Editor’s Note] Charlene said she was from Anne Arundel County. That’s not really “southern.”



One Comment

  1. I never did get my job application.

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