Headbutts & Numbnuts.
Wednesday, 9 May 2007
First of all, I saw The Condemned earlier today, and really enjoyed it. Yes, it's basically nonsense, but while I was sober in this viewing, it'll be essential in the future after a session or three. Vinnie Jones hams it to the nth degree and Steve Austin is actually half-decent. If you like 80s-style action films, it's recommended.
Now, on to tonight - a couple of experiences with customers that verged from a farce to a total fucking joke.
About 10pm. I'm working the DJ booth in the main bar. The cabaret is still on, but this chap comes walking over to, I assume, request a song. He gets near the booth and I step over to block his path, and politely enquire what he wants. He's about seven inches taller than me.
"Yes mate?" I say.
Blank stare. A few seconds pass. He's clearly pissed. I can smell it.
"You alright, mate?" I ask.
Another pause. He nods towards the booth.
"Yeah, if you tell me which song you'd like, I'll go up and speak to them for you."
He steps forward a bit more, now less than an arm-length away.
"Behave yourself," he says.
Hmmmm, I think. "Look mate," I say, "I'm happy to take your request. Just tell me what the song is and I'll go up and tell the DJ. It's company policy mate. Nobody's allowed in the booth at this time."
He mumbles something and I can't really hear what he's saying, so I lean forward slightly. BUT... as I do so, he leans forward as well.
And I accidentally headbutt him.
Now, it's certainly not full on or really even hard, but it's enough to get his attention. He stands back upright again and gives me a look. Oddly, it seems to knock some sense into him because he immediately begins speaking more clearly. He tells me he's worked as a doorman for 25 years, and today is his birthday, blah blah blah blah blah. He tells me the song he wants (Queen, 'Don't Stop Me Now') and I tell the DJ.
They never play it. He doesn't seem to notice.
Right. So the rest of evening passes without incident. We get to closing time, and there are a couple of blokes at the bar who have long since passed the key stage of 'pissed' and are now wankered. Both last orders and time have been called, but I look over and see one of the guys paying for something with his debit card. Not only have the bar staff served him after time but, get this, the two of them have bought an entire tray of vodka shots. Now, a couple of times a night one of the bartenders walks around with this tray trying to pick up a few extra quid from the crowd. The shots are two quid a piece. Fine. But each tray has sixty shots, and these two guys, together, bought (£120) and downed the entire fucking lot. And then got a couple of pints each as well.
Now, first of all, this is a massive license breach. The bar staff are representative of the licensee and as such act on his behalf; by serving anybody this much alcohol, particularly two gentlemen who are already well over the limit, they're acting extremely irresponsibly. It may even be a crime for all I know. Either way, and naturally, this pushes the two chaps well beyond any comfort point. They'd both been fairly pleasant drunks earlier in the night, but one of them - who was an Australian, naturally - now immediately had a clear and blatant personality change. From 'harmless drunk' to 'mental drunk'.
I have one of those annoying habits of calling everybody 'mate' (as you may have noted above), and while this had been okay with the Aussie earlier in the evening, he now suddenly found it insulting. Maybe it's because he was Australian, and that's a term they use over there a lot too. I don't know. But he suddenly came out with, "Don't call me 'mate'. I know you hate me."
"I don't, uh, mate," I said.
"You do. You hate me. Look at you, judging me..."
etc etc, blah blah fucking blah.
Well, he was the last one to leave but I got him to the main doors where Edmonson was waiting to lock up. And then he just started unloading the abuse. Two girls had stopped to chat to Edmonson on their way out - nothing at all dodgy - but Aussie didn't like that. Oh no. After finding out Edmonson was married, he started going into a "You disgust me. Fucking around with girls like that as a married man. You security. You're an insult to the badge," and all this sort of malarkey.
At one point I reached down under my coat to my belt to push my radio back, as it has a habit of moving forward as you're walking around. He notice this, and said to me, "What have you got there, a knife? You gonna stab me and leave me for dead?"
I wish.
We got him outside and I motioned for Bilbo to lock up. Oz was carrying two pints - in plastic cups, of course - and he turned to face me as the doors were closing, like he was standing in a lift. I could feel the tension rising and I was waiting for him to do anything to justify me beating him to a pulp. I mean, why is it that the people who can handle alcohol the worst are always the biggest drunks? What the fuck was the good Lord thinking there? It's one thing to have alcoholics, but why not them all the nice, sleepy, peaceful kind? Nooooo, they have to become violent and mentally ill. Which, of course, they are before they've even had a sip. It just makes it worse.
"You can get your Hastings police," he said, as the doors closed, "I don't care. Security. You..."
Finally, a bit of silence. But he stood there for a long time, shouting idle threats that nobody could hear. The problem, though, as I said, is that this job has enough risk as it is without the situation being made infinitely worse by incompetent bar staff. Now, what concerns me is that this place is so about the 'money, money, money' at the expense of everything else - it's getting the most out of the staff and the customers while giving them the least back - that I don't see this changing. The manager will weigh up this incident - which, after all, did not end with any actual violence - against the ker-ching of the £120 in the last five minutes and think, "Nice one."
And it's not just the punters; we've had consistent problems with staff finishing their shifts at 10pm, say, and then drinking themselves to stupidity/bravado at closing time.
And that's all well and good until one of these twats raises a fist and we take care of him, and then get dragged to court to defend our actions. Or a few of them kick off and one of us gets put in hospital. That is part of the job and I accept it, but you don't need additional problems on your home turf, too. That's just a poor fucking show.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:30 am
