Tuesday, September 28, 2010


This one was originally published on July 14, 2004. I disagree with presenting myself as a "big, doofy white guy," but other than that, I've always thought this was a pretty good story. I forgot about the night when he offered me a cordless phone, but in thinking about it, I also remember him offering me a really shitty bookcase for free, and a weight bench for $20. I barely knew the guy, and dealings with him were always fairly surreal.

I'm going to attempt to interject some racial humor at this point, and we'll see how things go. I'll preface this post by stating that my intention is to relate this story exactly as it happened. I'm just a big, doofy white guy, and I played absolutely no part in the following sequence of events. I'm merely a conduit of information here.

One of the bouncers at the club is a massive Jamaican dude named Trevor. Trevor is stationed, somewhat appropriately, I suppose, in the 'Hip-Hop Room,' which is located on the opposite side of the club from my two spots out on the dock. I've not had much significant interaction with Trevor, other than greetings and goodnights, simply because I only see the man at the beginning and end of our shifts. A few weeks ago, he inexplicably offered to give me a used cordless phone in the parking lot at the end of the night, but I declined.

Saturday night, there was an altercation between two black guys in the Hip-Hop Room. I heard the call on the radio, and saw the familiar cluster of bouncers and ejected customers heading for the front door, so I ran up there in order to provide extra backup. Even if an ejection is not necessarily your 'show,' you still have to respond to the call and mill around on the periphery in case there's a flareup. I've covered this previously.

Outside, Trevor was engaged in a heated argument with one of the combatants. Actually, I take that back. The customer was heated. Trevor's island lilt was so calm I was tempted to go check his pulse. The customer evidently took offense at having been manhandled by a Jamaican bouncer.

"Fuck you, coconut muthafucka!"

"Don't make it be like dat, mon. You got to go home now."

"Yo, fuck you, island muthafucka. Why you even workin' here muthafucka? All you island muthafuckas do is come here and take jobs away from us n*****s!"

"Yo, mon, de only ting you got right is dat you're a n****r."