I know for a fact this article is going to alienate about a quarter of the girls reading it, which is disheartening, because it means that nearly 25% of girls are unable to keep their silly girl emotions under control when they are at the bar. I’m not talking about the occasional breakdown; that is understandable, and in most cases, excusable. I’m talking about your single friend who sobs as though you just ran over her dog every night you guys go out. Call me a misogynist, but I am simply sharing a little empirical evidence I have picked up, while watching girls sob out of control, after having a few beers and a Dirty Girl Scout shot.
Pictured: Not what I was talking about
It’s a funny thing when you’re able to watch girls walk into a bar on their own two feet, and then, hours later, be able to see what remains of a night that has crashed and burned harder than, well, I’ll let you insert your own dick joke here. Little bit like “Dick Joke Mad Libs.” Not gonna lie…watching this seemingly put-together girl walk into the bar, then later getting dragged out of the bar as she’s crying like she’s getting waterboarded, is something that lies close to my heart. Side note: I don’t get why girls sob like that. They’re getting kicked out of a bar, not gang-raped by a troupe of silverback gorillas. All I’m saying is, you have to tailor your crying levels to the situation, otherwise your friends aren’t going to know the difference between you getting kicked out of a bar, and you getting molested by a gaggle of wildly exotic primates.
Pictured: Something generally not allowed in bars
What I’m about to tell you is a true story that occurred a few weeks ago. I truly hope, by some twist of fate, this girl reads this article and knows what an embarrassment she is to females across the world. This girl came into the bar on a Thursday night and got so drunk, that I literally watched her slip and fall 5 separate times. She clearly wasn’t a fan of balance, and by the look of her, wasn’t a big fan of exercising and wearing clothes that were her size either. But I digress. As the night wound down, she started sobbing about some nonsense, which I only knew because she barreled past me not unlike a linebacker runbing by a lineman to tackle the quarterback (except replace “linebacker” with “hippopotamus,” and “lineman” with “me,” and “tackle the quarterback” with “tackle some fast food…in tears”). So, no big deal, that happens. The next night however, she was back. She had stuffed herself into some very, very small pants, a bright red tank top, and seemed to have it together. ‘Together’ being a relative term. I actually turned to the other door guy as she passed and said, “Dude, she was here last night. I saw her eat stuff on the dance floor like 5 or 6 times. I can’t imagine she will be drinking much tonight.” Boy howdy, was I wrong.
Yeah, this about explains it.
If this had been a movie, I would have said that to my co-worker and then there would have been a loud, record scratch, followed by a cut to not one, but two other bouncers. One on each arm, literally dragging this girl out as she screamed at the top of her lungs. The sound was so shrill that I was able to hear it in a bar filled with people, while the DJ music was blaring, and there were about 15 yards separating us. This heaping mess of a human being was actually dragging her feet, as in, not taking any steps, as she was being kicked out. Needless to say, being a bouncer requires strength and endurance. Also, it takes some intestinal fortitude since the majority of the time, drunken dudes and girls are sweaty from dancing, causing them to smell really badly. The girl being dragged out was clearly sweaty from just being alive.
Anyways, as they dragged her limp, screaming body towards the doorway, she posted out both arms on both sides of the doorway, screaming and bawling hysterically as she was physically being shoved outside. As the entire bar watched. She then pounded on the window like a sad, drunk, crying, foul hobo trying to be let back in. The top portion of our door is a window, so I was able to witness her inability to stand up on her own accord while one of her male friends stood out in the cold with her. Then, I watched her look towards the ground, sway back and forth slowly, and boom. Faceplant. I have never seen anything quite like it. It’s disappointing that billions of years of evolution produced such a ladydouche. Although I do give her some credit; she stood back up shortly after, though I feel like she had to be suffering from some sort of traumatic brain injury. Hopefully not traumatic enough to make her act like any more of a complete crazy person. Side note: calling a girl crazy when she’s being crazy yields some pretty incredible results. Anyways, once I finally went outside to collect her and to tell her we were calling the cops, she hopped up and started chasing after some poor stranger who happened to be casually passing by at the worst time ever.
It looked exactly like this
One of my most favorite things about working at a bar is the blackout person’s friend. Normally, they are behind the person getting kicked out, apologizing for having such a twat for a friend, but occasionally, you get a person who is going to die defending the person. Admirable yes, but at the same time, it is insanely fruitless. This slopfest had a friend with her, who came back in the bar, and confronted me directly. We had an interesting interaction.
Twat: Hey…hey. Listen to me.
Me: (Already wanting to throw this girl out by her beltloops for interrupting and being rude) What?
T: You guys had better have a good lawyer, because my friend just fell on the wet ramp, and she hurt her head. So you guys had better have a great lawyer, because we are probably going to sue. You butts need to salt the frickin walkway.
Me: Your friend in the red? (sidenote: walkway was salted just fine, no ice whatsoever)
T: Yes.
Me: Your friend is literally one of the drunkest skanks I have ever seen in my life. She fell on her face without taking one single step, which up until today, I thought was impossible. I know she’s a bit top heavy, but she can’t even stand up straight. Please get her out of here before we call the cops.
T: Well…whatever, you better have a good frickin lawyer.
This is what I love. Do people actually think that I am the legal council for the bar? Why do people think that I 1) give a stuff about that or 2) have ANY type of say whatsoever in the daily operations of this place? I’m a door guy. I constantly have people telling me they are going to sue us for something that is clearly their fault. Being a bouncer means sitting pretty low on the totem pole, relatively. I don’t attend board meetings; so really, anything legal or policy-related should be directed towards a manager, and more specifically, someone who gives a stuff.
Again, I digress. It’s unfortunate, being a complete trainwreck like that. I only pick on girls because I have only seen one guy get wasted and cry, and about (at the very least) 100 girls. Honestly, being that out of control has got to be a little bit like playing the video game of life on hard mode. All I’m saying is that the bar is a happy place, not a place to scream and cry. That having said people, please keep your tears in your ducts, because as a rule, the wahmublance very rarely take trips to Poundtown.
Location: NOT Poundtown
