Thursday, April 6, 2006

The front step

The front step of most venues is where ninety percent of the trouble happens and it's the place I enjoy working most of the time.

It's where people get asked for I.D. and are often found lacking, not just of I.D. but many other faculties normally necessary for continued life on this planet.

It is the place where my years of experience at making snap observations of drunks come in. I have scant warning of an impending drunken individual and have to quickly decide if the venue will be better with them in than left outside. Usually outside is best and I'm a nasty man for doing this to ladies too. I appreciate the level of wobble ankle shatteringly stupid heels can induce, but when the totty is in no state to control her totter its time to refuse and hope she gets in a taxi before her legs snap.

It's where the barred get refused and generally don't go quietly into the dark night. They're seldom drunk enough to repeat the antisocial behaviour that has resulted in their barring. They are however often bemused by the fact that we don't have to be fair, we don't have to care if we've upset them, we dont have to sort it out and don't have to be a mate. I'm happy being a grumpy, tired, miserable sod and wouldn't freely associate myself with these folk whatever circumstances were.

It's also where the folk who've been ejected for various misdemeanours within the venue stand and vent their anger. Some just stand and vent their stomachs which is probably more offensive. Those who stand and argue fall into two broad categories, those who accept they've left and will demand a full justification in copperplate script in triplicate and notarised signed by the owner of the whole venue chain and there are those who don't seem to think the escorted trip to the front door will interrupt their plans to woo the beer gogglingly attractive female they've had their eyes on inside. The repeated efforts by stealth, verbal assault and physical assualt to get back into the venue are scuppered by our years of experience, thick hide and liking for a little rough and tumble respectively.

It's a place I spend alot of time and if you're asked to move off it, please do so and don't be back, I get rather protective of my 6" slab of blood, vomit and chewing-gum covered concrete.