Tuesday

Initial Disclaimer: I made a decision about something today that could potentially make me look and feel really, really stupid for a variety of reasons. Given my current situation, this is also probably a very stereotypical and predictable decision – a fact of which I’m well aware. In the interest of doing something, however, I’m doing something.

So, yeah. There’s that. I’m nervous but hopeful, but I’m also cognizant of the risks involved and the volume of work I need to do to extract myself from this mess I’ve created. I don’t like looking and feeling like an asshole, but I probably should have thought about that before I adopted it as my permanent persona. That’s all I have to say about that.

I did some bouncing this past weekend, as you can see from yesterday’s post, but I haven’t really been able to conjure up anything good out of it because my sense of humor switch has been duct taped in the off position for a few weeks now. Ordinarily, I could probably come up with something pretty good about a skinny fat guy screaming in the middle of a bar, but...well...you know how it is.

What’s good and bad about this is that I wasn’t paying attention to a lot of the stupid shit that went on. The habit’s become so ingrained that I always stand around looking for – and mentally filing away – material when I bounce. This weekend? Didn’t happen. I just bounced, without giving a flying fuck what I was looking at.

When I was involved in a fight, I didn’t give a shit about the guy’s clothes, or about what he was saying, or about what he’d done to the other guy. He was leaving, I was ready, and my mind was just blank. I suppose that’s how it feels to do this job without having a blog in mind every time something happens. It actually felt pretty good.

This isn’t some kind of cockeyed goodbye to job-blogging, mind you. I’ll probably always do that in some way, shape or form. Things happened the way they did this weekend because I was in a bad mood, preoccupied with something, and wanted to “lose myself” in my job for a few hours. That’s all it was. I paid attention to what I was doing, did a good job, got paid and went home.

Of course, that didn’t bode well for Sunday, when I went back to being preoccupied, but at least I know why I’m having a hard time writing about bouncing in any way other than matter-of-factly.

Two guys squared off. I ran over, yoked one up, dragged him out the back door, yelled at him a little, didn’t listen to a word he said, then stood there until he walked off. The end.

That’s some exciting shit, right? You see how I can make a narrative sing when I’m in the mood? I did tell another bouncer who was bemoaning the fact that he was turning 28 to “Fuck off,” which elicited laughs from the other guys, but there weren’t many highlights this weekend. Just a lot of dead space, dead air, and a great big dead zone that I created with my own shit shovel.