Gender Equality

Posted: October 14, 2011 in Fighting, Humor, Work

I think I’m done bitching about my computer troubles, so let’s talk about my crazy job!

Last night, I went to fighter practice.  I fought, but not well.  I had a few moments of brilliance, but they were mostly the orchid sprouts in a pile of elephant dung, if you get my meaning.  By the time I got to work, I was tired and sore and otherwise unprepared to work.  I grabbed my customary Rockstar, and started feeling better.  It was a calm night, and I knew I was just having an off day.  Things would be better tomorrow. 

Anyone who’s ever met me will know that the exact moment I feel fine is the moment that shit is lauched at fans. 

The cocktail waitress walked up to me.  “The drunk blonde at the bar says someone hit her in the face.”  Oh goodie.  I go to the bar and talk to this drunk blonde.  To be fair, she wasn’t that drunk, but she was upset.  She pointed out this girl who had hit her.  I told her I’d take care of it and thanked her for getting me instead of fighting. 

I walk up to the table and loom.  I’m not huge, but I can harden my eyes pretty damn well.  The girl is sitting there with a guy who turns out to be her boyfriend.  It always makes me nervous, because guys always want to look tough in front of their girls and resisting the smallest bouncer in the bar always seems like such a good idea.  The guy is cool though, and the girl starts going on about how the blonde took a swing at her too and she wants to close her tab and she expects free drinks and how she works in the industry and she would never let people be treated like that in her restaurant and so on. 

I explain things to her.  First, either your boy can close the tab or I will have the waitress bring it outside for you.  Second, I don’t comp drinks.  Take that up with the waitress (I leave out the part where we don’t comp drinks for people who start fights in our bar).  Third, if the blonde had started it, you should have gotten me.  I’m the only person allowed to hit people around here.  I tell her I’ll be kicking the blonde out too, because I don’t care who started it (I later gather enough information to be certain that the blonde didn’t do shit, so I ended up letting her stay). 

Everyone stands.  The boyfriend heads to the bar.  The girl walks to the serving station and stops.  “Keep going I tell her.”  This is why we have to follow people out.

“I need to close my tab,” she says.

“The waitress will bring it to the gate.  Keep moving.”  We go to the front door.  She stops again.  We repeat the previous exchange.  Twice.  She goes out the door and stops at the bottom of the stairs.  She repeats her favorite conversation a few more times.   I tell her again that the waitress will bring the check to her.  “You need to keep going.  Please.”  My patience is not quite limitless.  I take her shoulders and turn her toward the stairs.  “Let’s go.” 

She shoves me.   Such a bad idea.  In real life it looked like I took a step back.  Inside my head, the well of patience goes all the way dry.  I put my arm around her neck as I step past her.  She hasn’t had time to blink.  “Walk up the stairs.”  She starts screaming.

“Is this how you treat customers?! I can’t breathe!  Let go of me!”  She can breathe, or she wouldn’t be screaming.  I regret my decision to keep her conscious, but I start walking up the stairs with her in tow.  She fights me all the way, but I’m not really in the mood to be lenient anymore.  We clear the stairs.  Other customers are staring.  We have to go through the heart of the smoking crowd.  Customers are looking.  I hear people saying what the fuck and telling me to let her go.  My shirt has the word Security on it in six places.  The people who can read are laughing.  One guy tells the girl to shut up and points out that she can still breathe.  Some dude tries to lecture me about my hold.  Something about grabbing her by the body instead.  He doesn’t get that giving someone free hands and trying to manhandle them can go bad real quick.  I want the option to cut off air to defend myself.  Besides, a headlock can never be mistaken for sexual harassment.  I feel extra hands on my arm: people trying to pull me off. I glare and I growl.  “Don’t touch me or you’re next.”  I’m three quarters of the way to the gate.  Mike heads back.  The girl latches on to the hand rail. 

“Back the fuck off!” He roars.  I love Mike.  He comes back and grabs her arm.  We pull her free of the rail.  I take the other arm.  Now that it’s a team effort, I let go of her neck.  We haul her out.  I look at Mike. 

“Need me to stay?”

“We cool.” 

“Cool.”  I head back inside.  As I pass my adoring public, I tell them that wasn’t fun for me either.  That’s truth.  Everyone laughs when I do that exact same thing to a guy who’s uncooperative.  Because it was a girl, it’s less funny.  The boyfriend finds me just inside the door.  He’s trying to close the tab.  I help him, and he apologizes.  For the next ten minutes it’s apologies from everyone who interfered previously.  Lots of claims that they didn’t see the shirt.  I tell them that it’s good that they wouldn’t just stand by and let a random dude do what I just had to.  That’s truth too. 

I go back up to check on Mike.  The girl is still there, and now so are the police.  I have to sign paperwork.  “What happened?” I whisper to Mike.

“After she calmed down, her boy and I were talking.  He was even laughing about it.  Then she comes up to me and takes my picture.  I asked her ‘What’s that for’ and she tells me it’s for the cops.  Then she kicked me in the nuts!”

Stupid girl.  Even if a bar toss goes ugly like that, you’re basically off the hook unless there’s permanent damage.  She was out, and went and got herself an assault charge.  Let’s face it, though: if she were a guy at that moment, Mike would have beaten her stupid ass.  I almost think guys have it easier.  We fight the bouncer and we get beat up, but we get to go home and heal.  Girls do the same thing and they get police involvement and legal woes. 


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