Another Weeks' Work...

Well, another week has passed and I seem to have earned my keep yet again. For those unaware, I lost my kush computer job and am now once again beating the streets of Greenville for my three squares. The street is a funny place. Lots of people, lots of action, lots of cops. The trick is never to let the first two cross the path of the third. The boys at Crem (long e, but I dunno how to make this thing do the little bar over the e) learned that the hard way this week. Friday night was unusually quiet, which of course bodes ill for Saturday. 'Round about 11 or so Saturday night I looked up from the cute giggly thing in front of me to see a large blob of male physicalia burst forth from the door down the street and onto the hood of a parked car. Because I am a member of the few, the proud, the vastly outnumbered, I rushed to the scene to see if any of my fellow security personnel were in need of a fist. I soon realized that they had things under control and walked back to my post in time to see the local police headed toward the scuffle. They arrested two and sent one away in the meat wagon thanks to my boy at the door. Normally, if a bouncer walks away from a scuffle with all four limbs intact and no missing teeth we consider it a success. However, the unwritten rule is to keep the cops away. Because... even if you are playing everything straight, cops mean trouble for a bar. And once they've decided they need to keep an eye on your place, you've had it. So, as of 11:45 Saturday night, its cops 1, Crem staff, 0. Fast forward to 12:30. Pop-pa-pop-pop-pop! and I snap up from the I.D. I was looking at just in time to notice that there are 20 cops with tear gas rifles working their way through the crowd quickly gathering at Crem's door. Apparently some gang-bangers decided to start more trouble which was dealt with swiftly and abusively by DPD's not-so-finest. Which, of course, sends EVERYBODY out of Crem and down the street into my and a couple other places. Thankfully we have Neil Diamond on the jukebox and a regular crowd so white it'll blind you, so I didn't have to deal with the g'd up folks. Not that I have anything against the brutha's, mind you, its just that I am the only security person at my bar and am quite keen on keeping all of my teeth. So, now the score is 2-0, cops. Things finally settle down on the street again and things get back to "normal." I say "normal" because, as anyone who has ever worked the bar scene can attest, normal takes on a different meaning when herds of horny drunks walk the streets of your neighborhood. By this time, it's almost closing time and time for me to escape to sanity. Back to my banal little existence in delightfully boring Arling-hell. They don't pay me enough for this shit...