Fortune favors the bravado
Jul. 7th, 2005 02:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonI don't like work, no man does, but I like what is in the work - the chance to find yourself. Your own reality - for yourself, not for others - which no other man can ever know.
Joseph Conrad
Heart of Darkness
I have him in a headlock but he's worming his way out, any second and he'll be loose and then this goes to the next stage. Meanwhile he's given up trying to stomp on my foot and has decided to try and kick my kneecaps out. So far he just hits the shins and thighs.
'Calm Down' I shout in his ear to which he replies with a backwards headbutt to my face that hits my chin pretty hard. I shift my weight and try to put more leverage on my clasped hands and bring it down on his neck. This would be as good a time as any to tell you that I have no idea what i'm doing. Outside of wrestling junior varsity in highschool and sparring with some friends, I've never been much of the grappling type. Which is a shame because grappling usually amounts to 80% of the fist fights i've seen go down. I'm more of the sucker punch & pummel type. Not an option when your working the door at your friends club. He's bucking hard now, barking curses that echo all the way down Spring St. He gets his legs up against the wall and uses them to spring us both backward. We crash to the pavement together, concrete slamming a blackout flare across me.
'A little help' I yell to the door but no one answers. It's to late now he's free and i'm on the ground dazed. A belly up turtle thats just pissed off a scorpion.
But why is this even an issue. Well five - ten minutes ago I got a complaint from a few of the patrons. Seems some frat boy has never been to a fetish club before and has taken it upon himself to declare his opinions on the various activities and fashion choices as loudly & lewdly as possible. I go in to talk to him and find him doing the 'Cabbage Patch' to Revolting Cocks 'Do ya think i'm sexy' right there on the dancefloor. I ask him to step outside, trying to use my 'Authority' voice. He ignores me and downs his beer and tosses it right there on the floor. I ask him again and he spins on me two inches from my face.
'I ain't afraid of no skinhead now!'
I'm more Telly Savalas than Romper Stomper but nows not the time to argue semantics. I know the drill. Be cool. Be calm. I remind him that if he does'nt comply i'll have to contact the police, which is the last thing I want to do since i'm holding. I got no other back up. The promoter is off flyering a show. The regular door guy showed up drunk and passed out on the couches by the pool table. That leaves me and some new guy they got checking IDs. So here I am high noon deadlock with some kid who could easily rip me a new asshole. Said kid looks me up and down and decides i'm not worth fucking with. He turns his back on me and wolf whistles at some corsetted undead girl. That's when I get stupid. I push him hard into the chain fence that lines the dancefloor. As he ricochets back of it I catch him in a headlock and use his momentary shock to get him out of the club. He starts trying to shake me off but I got more weight than he has muscle but the adrenal & alcohol will kick in soon negating my temporary edge. I manage to get him outside only to find the new guy working the door is gone. The mean girl working the register in the little window is yelling at me but I can't make out the words. I yell back for her to call the cops. I can barely see anything but this kids baseball cap the bill of which keeps tapping me in the nose.
So here I am. Grounded. The pain of having the back of my skull hit raw sidewalk is making me dizzy. I try to scramble up only to get a swift kick straight to the guts. The air goes out of me. For a few seconds I'm asphyxiating. No oxygen panic.
'Stay down bitch!' he yells.
I catch my breath and put my hands up in a gesture of surrender. He kicks again and I manage to step backward. He's so drunk he loses his balance and falls down. I go toward him, ready to press the advantage. I'm right over him ready to drop some steel toe loving on him when suddenly i'm tackled to the ground.
'FREEZE' Someone barks in my ear. I hit the sidewalk again only this time face first. My arms are folded at an unnatural angle behind my back. I see frat boy get up and bolt. He hits the parking lot across the street and is making his way to North Avenue. Ladies & gentleman 5-0 to the rescue. Now everybodys around me, trying to explain to the officer that they got the wrong man. The officer is yelling at everyone to move back. His weight on me is pushing the air out of my lungs. Finally he gets off me. But I decide to just lay there. Everytime I seem to get up someone has a problem with it. Motherfuckers are gonna have to lean down and wail on me from this point on. Too bad Officer Shitheel's got other plans. I explain to him the story very slowly. I explain it again. A squad car arrives. A bicycle cop pulls up.
They ask me who started it
'The kid who took off when you showed up'
They ask me if I have a record
'No sir'
They ask me if i'm lying
'No sir'
They ask me if i'm a skinhead.
'No sir'
They ask me if i'm a nazi.
'I'm not even a Republican sir'
They warn me to watch my mouth. They take a description of the kid and drive off. I stand there in a state of shock. My brain throbbing. Adrenal buzz wearing down and i'm fighting the urge to puke right there and then. Only the sudden arrival of the new door guy, reeking of pot smoke and pussy juice on his chin, snaps me out of my stupor.
'Duuuude what happened?'he asks me. I light up a cigarette deciding answering him will only piss me off. Just another night at 688. Just another night at 'Outta Control'.
Joseph Conrad
Heart of Darkness
I have him in a headlock but he's worming his way out, any second and he'll be loose and then this goes to the next stage. Meanwhile he's given up trying to stomp on my foot and has decided to try and kick my kneecaps out. So far he just hits the shins and thighs.
'Calm Down' I shout in his ear to which he replies with a backwards headbutt to my face that hits my chin pretty hard. I shift my weight and try to put more leverage on my clasped hands and bring it down on his neck. This would be as good a time as any to tell you that I have no idea what i'm doing. Outside of wrestling junior varsity in highschool and sparring with some friends, I've never been much of the grappling type. Which is a shame because grappling usually amounts to 80% of the fist fights i've seen go down. I'm more of the sucker punch & pummel type. Not an option when your working the door at your friends club. He's bucking hard now, barking curses that echo all the way down Spring St. He gets his legs up against the wall and uses them to spring us both backward. We crash to the pavement together, concrete slamming a blackout flare across me.
'A little help' I yell to the door but no one answers. It's to late now he's free and i'm on the ground dazed. A belly up turtle thats just pissed off a scorpion.
But why is this even an issue. Well five - ten minutes ago I got a complaint from a few of the patrons. Seems some frat boy has never been to a fetish club before and has taken it upon himself to declare his opinions on the various activities and fashion choices as loudly & lewdly as possible. I go in to talk to him and find him doing the 'Cabbage Patch' to Revolting Cocks 'Do ya think i'm sexy' right there on the dancefloor. I ask him to step outside, trying to use my 'Authority' voice. He ignores me and downs his beer and tosses it right there on the floor. I ask him again and he spins on me two inches from my face.
'I ain't afraid of no skinhead now!'
I'm more Telly Savalas than Romper Stomper but nows not the time to argue semantics. I know the drill. Be cool. Be calm. I remind him that if he does'nt comply i'll have to contact the police, which is the last thing I want to do since i'm holding. I got no other back up. The promoter is off flyering a show. The regular door guy showed up drunk and passed out on the couches by the pool table. That leaves me and some new guy they got checking IDs. So here I am high noon deadlock with some kid who could easily rip me a new asshole. Said kid looks me up and down and decides i'm not worth fucking with. He turns his back on me and wolf whistles at some corsetted undead girl. That's when I get stupid. I push him hard into the chain fence that lines the dancefloor. As he ricochets back of it I catch him in a headlock and use his momentary shock to get him out of the club. He starts trying to shake me off but I got more weight than he has muscle but the adrenal & alcohol will kick in soon negating my temporary edge. I manage to get him outside only to find the new guy working the door is gone. The mean girl working the register in the little window is yelling at me but I can't make out the words. I yell back for her to call the cops. I can barely see anything but this kids baseball cap the bill of which keeps tapping me in the nose.
So here I am. Grounded. The pain of having the back of my skull hit raw sidewalk is making me dizzy. I try to scramble up only to get a swift kick straight to the guts. The air goes out of me. For a few seconds I'm asphyxiating. No oxygen panic.
'Stay down bitch!' he yells.
I catch my breath and put my hands up in a gesture of surrender. He kicks again and I manage to step backward. He's so drunk he loses his balance and falls down. I go toward him, ready to press the advantage. I'm right over him ready to drop some steel toe loving on him when suddenly i'm tackled to the ground.
'FREEZE' Someone barks in my ear. I hit the sidewalk again only this time face first. My arms are folded at an unnatural angle behind my back. I see frat boy get up and bolt. He hits the parking lot across the street and is making his way to North Avenue. Ladies & gentleman 5-0 to the rescue. Now everybodys around me, trying to explain to the officer that they got the wrong man. The officer is yelling at everyone to move back. His weight on me is pushing the air out of my lungs. Finally he gets off me. But I decide to just lay there. Everytime I seem to get up someone has a problem with it. Motherfuckers are gonna have to lean down and wail on me from this point on. Too bad Officer Shitheel's got other plans. I explain to him the story very slowly. I explain it again. A squad car arrives. A bicycle cop pulls up.
They ask me who started it
'The kid who took off when you showed up'
They ask me if I have a record
'No sir'
They ask me if i'm lying
'No sir'
They ask me if i'm a skinhead.
'No sir'
They ask me if i'm a nazi.
'I'm not even a Republican sir'
They warn me to watch my mouth. They take a description of the kid and drive off. I stand there in a state of shock. My brain throbbing. Adrenal buzz wearing down and i'm fighting the urge to puke right there and then. Only the sudden arrival of the new door guy, reeking of pot smoke and pussy juice on his chin, snaps me out of my stupor.
'Duuuude what happened?'he asks me. I light up a cigarette deciding answering him will only piss me off. Just another night at 688. Just another night at 'Outta Control'.
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no subject
on 2005-07-07 07:43 pm (UTC)'I'm not even a Republican sir'
They warn me to watch my mouth.
I love when people tell me to watch my mouth.
Generally I'll spend about 40 seconds trying to stick my lower lip out as far as it will go so that I can catch a glimpse of it as I go a bit crosseyed and look straight down my nose. Seems puerile, but it really puts people off to the point where they fear me a bit.
Either that or I say "You watch my mouth. It's about to form the words 'Fuck You.'"
Bravo!
on 2005-07-07 08:31 pm (UTC)Right on. Spoken like a true New Yorker!
I can imagine the response I'd get saying that to some of Atlanta's finest. Luckily now that Male Pattern baldness has hit me, I look more like a poor mans Arthur Miller than say Ivan the Aryan. So the last five years have been relatively cop clean. And that's the best kind of clean there is.
Thanks, as always, for reading btw. :)