Psycho.
Thursday 3 May 2007
So, right up to about 11pm it was the third in a row of a really tedious, 'what time is it now? Fuck.' kind of shift.
Then it all went a bit mental.
I was waltzing around the arcade when suddenly one of the senior ENTS girls hurried out to speak to me. "Can you go in and help Jabba?", she asks, nodding towards the family bar, "We've got some people in there who've been heckling my team and they called one of them a cunt." Well, I could hardly say 'no'. So in I went.
Inside, I saw Jabba chatting to a bloke who I had seen a few times over the past couple of days. I remembered him because he always seemed to have whatever shirt he was wearing totally unbuttoned. We have a 'shirt at all times' policy and he was always kind of on the line but I'd basically ignored it. So I walked over, and Jabba turns to me.
"This guy has said he's going to headbutt me."
I look at the bloke. "Right," I say, "I'm gonna have to ask you to leave mate."
He was taller than me by a couple of inches. I'm certainly no giant, but Jabba is about 6ft4 or so, and dwarfed the guy in height and stature. To threaten such an action against him was indicative of either dump-truck filling balls, drugs, or some kind of mental ineptitude. With hindsight and analysis it became clear it was probably both of the latter.
Later, Jabba informed me that originally he'd gone up to a group who he thought had been causing the abuse, but this guy had come out of nowhere and said it was him. Jabba took him at face value. At this stage, however, after I'd said my one line, the guy went kind of defensive, and started saying he'd done nothing wrong. That he was innocent. That he chose to use 'fucking' in every sentence didn't do him in favours. We called over the same ENTS girl I'd spoken to outside to get clarification. The thing was, like us, she hadn't seen anything, but one of her team had singled the guy out. At this point the bombshell was dropped that he'd also been going around 'getting his willy out' and showing people. Lovely. On hearing this, the bloke went into major protest, and started claiming that it was only because he was wearing ridiculously low-cut jeans. He was, and as he was probably in his early 30s, took 'right cunt'dom to a new peak.
He was now becoming more aggressive and threatening, repeatedly using 'fucking' in a negative manner against the ENTS leader and it was all becoming a bit questionable. I ask him to stop swearing at her, to which he replies, "I've been swearing all night." He was speaking at a mile-a-minute and didn't seem to understand really any point that was being made to him, nor was he capable of making much of a point himself. When it was suggested to him that he had called one of the ENTS girls a 'cunt', his line of argument was: "No I didn't; I said that to my wife." In a bar full of kids, including his own. Charming.
Jabba asked him to go outside, suggesting it would be easier for us to talk without the loud music. The bloke said he was going to leave when his wife and children returned, who were outside the bar in the toilets.
Right. So a minute or so later they come to the door, and Jabba and the bloke walk over to them. I take a moment to talk to the ENTS leader, and then walk to the bar exit, trailing Jabba and this dufus by about maybe ten yards. When I get outside, Jabba turns around to look and me, and then motions for me to back off. I'm not really sure what's going on, but when another doorman does this to you (and I've done it myself), it basically means it's under control, and that your presence is not required. It can also mean that your presence might make things a hell of a lot worse, and that was the case here, I later discovered. The bloke was ranting and raving about something but it was all out of earshot. Suddenly, his missus grabs him by the shirt, throws him around a bit and then pushes him towards the door. I can't hear anything that's being said but when they've left the complex, Jabba tells me that the bloke said to his wife, "When we get back I'm going to beat the shit out of you." Score another point for Romeo.
So, he's gone. I look at Jabba and go, "What was that all about?" And he tells me. Remember that incident I had a month or two back with the owner who didn't like something I had said (or not said), and threatened to punch me 'in the fucking face'? This was all oddly familiar. Basically, the guy had told Jabba that he'd speak to him, but not to me (or, indeed, the ENTS girl), as "I was pushing him to do something violent", or somesuch nonsense. And that if I came up to him again, he was going to "have me". Oooo, missus. Again with the idle, out of range threats. See, the thing about people who tell you that they're going to hit you, is that 99.99 per cent of the time they never, ever do. It's an ego thing. Especially when women are present (his wife, the ENTS girl). What you have to watch out for is the ones that don't give any kind of signal and just lamp you from the off.
However... what's been bugging me is the possibility that something I'm saying, or not saying, or something in my tone or body language, or whatever, acts as a trigger in certain individuals. Now, there's a pattern here, both in the behaviour of the two blokes I'm referencing, and the fact that both of them were totally off their trollies. There's also the likelihood that in any kind of conflict situation the bully-type personality will automatically single out the shortest guy in the group, irrespective of anything else. It's always bemused me that an aggressor always assumes that because a person is tall that they're more of a threat, even if they're rail-thin or much older. I suppose it's some kind of basic instinct. The thing is, I weigh nearly 15 stone. Jabba, however, is much taller and weighs about 19. I imagine our BMI is basically the same; mine might even be a little higher. But none of these things, of course, are known or matter to your common or garden lunatic. They just see what they see and very quickly do the math.
It's bothering me a little though; I mean, how do you find out if you give off a kind of unconscious trigger to certain, albeit fleeting individuals? And at the end of the day, does everybody do it to somebody, and therefore it doesn't really matter?
The annoying part about all this is that this same twat had been kicked out of the lower bar not once, but twice... earlier today. I mean, Jesus, this place is a fucking shambles. Naturally, we had to incident report the cunt to death and while I'm not in tomorrow, I'll find out from Jabba or Edmonson if he shows up, because really and absofuckinglutely the park security needs to go down to see him first thing tomorrow morning and pull his fucking pass. Thing is, if he attacks his missus tonight, the police will inevitably get involved anyway, and then he'll be booted off to the cells, but that's hardly the desired outcome, is it?
The reality is nothing will be done and the guys will have to deal with this shit all over again.
I'm really not looking forward to this weekend. We're fully booked, with 600 units having been rented to footballers from all over the country that have come down for a series of local tournaments. Most of them are under-eighteens, and operate under a curfew, but it's their pisshead dads, and the in-house security of 10-15 old-school fucking muppet bouncers that they bring with them that are the real problem. The latter whom, naturally, down pints all night and cause more problems than they start.
Fucking marvellous.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 am
