Last night for my part time job I worked 2nd door at a bar where a very popular RVA band played. It was PACKED! The bar in which I work is divided into 2 areas. The front is all booths, and a couple of tables, and a bar across the back wall of the long, narrow room. There is a single unisex bathroom. Beside the bar, there is a set of about 8 steps that lead to a landing where the kitchen resides, then steps down into the back room, with a few booths, tables that we remove for shows, a bar, a single unisex bathroom, and a six inch high stage are located. During dinners, the stage has tables on it for dining.
There is always a door guy at the front entrance of the bar, checking IDs, whether or not there’s a show or a DJ. If you’re not here for the show in the back, do still come in and libate! IF there is a cover for the show, there will be a second door guy at the stairs between the front and back rooms taking money. That was me last night. I take your loot, mark your hand, and you can go in. The mark means you get to come and go as you please, since we have no smoking room, and you have to go outside to smoke, or you might want to try your luck with the bathroom line in the front if it’s especially packed in the show, or hit the bar up front, which is sometimes less crowded, or just take a break from the show.
The band that played last night is very popular in RVA, and it was Saturday night, so we hit capacity before the main band even started (actually, we were WAY beyond capacity - Official capacity is 60 in the back room, I believe we had well over 200). I spent quite some time explaining to people that we were over capacity, and there was really not a reason for them to stand there begging me to let them in. The following is a list of those that attempted to circumvent my authoritah:
The people who just try to push past me, like they’re “going back”. There is no ‘type’ here. Men, women, big, small. Several of them tried to time it where I was busy with someone else. I actually had to chase a couple of them down, who then kept acting like I was speaking a language they didn’t understand as I escorted them back to the front.
The people who beg, saying, “My friends are already in there!” Well, fuck, meet them on time next show!
"Hey! Like 6 people just came out! Can I get in now?" Nope. They’re going to smoke, get a drink, hang out, masturbate, whatever. Doesn’t matter. They get to come back in. Unless they tell me goodnight, or give me some indication they’re not coming back, please go the fuck away.
"I was already in there!" Let me see your hand. Nope. No mark. I’ve been here since we started letting people in the back. No mark? You shall not pass!
"I’m on the list." I get out the list. "What’s your name?" "Uh, let me see the list?" "Uh, no. What’s your name? You’re not on the list." "Oh. I’m supposed to be. I’ll just go in and get [someone’s fucking name. I do not care]." "No, you won’t. Text, call, whatever. Please go over there."
"You just let those people in!" Yes, I did. They were on the band’s list, one of the staff’s list, or, in one case, with THE FUCKING OWNER of the bar. One guy who wanted to get in, and was clearly inebriated, kept laughing each time someone walked by with a mark on their hand, going back in. He kept muttering things like, "Oh, she must be your favorite." When the owner brought 6 people in, he laughed and said, "So, it’s just whoever the door guy wants to let in? Nice!" I told him that the owner brought them in. He muttered in some mocking tone some shit about "ghost owner? I didn’t see anyone." So, I let him know he needn’t worry. He was not getting in under any circumstances, and he should leave before I got angry. He left.
As people left, and indicated they weren’t returning, I would let others in. Because of how narrow the space is next to the bar, I chase people away so the servers and other patrons going back and forth can get through. So, I would listen to people plead their case for getting in, tell them I had people waiting, and I would get their attention to let them know when they could come in. Did I exercise some personal judgment regarding who I let in, when? You’re goddamned right I did!
Now, first off, don’t go there. I know you think the doorman is going to pick all the cute, or scantily clad women first. Not me. It doesn’t help me if you’re in the back room, where I am not. So, there were plenty of young women who were flirty, putting their hands on my arms, batting eyelashes and tilting their heads to one side. Two did the whole biting their finger thing, swaying back and forth, saying, “Pleeeeeeeease?!” Sorry. One put her hand on my chest and played with my shirt buttons while she pleaded. Nope! Another played with my earrings and stroked my neck. Look: You’re not interested in this old dude, and I know that, so nope. In fact, for me, that keeps you at the back of the line.
However, the woman who was disappointed about us being at capacity, who literally burst into tears, saying, “I just got separated 2 months ago. I lost my house, my job because I worked with my husband, my marriage, and my nice car. I just wanted to dance and have fun with my best friend in the world!” That was a new one, and whether true or not, tugged on my heart strings for reasons. I moved her to the front of my queue. The cover was $10 apiece. When I let her know they could go in, she tried to give me $40 for the two of them. I gave her the other $20 back. She said, “no, that’s for you.” I said thanks, but I can’t. She looked hurt and said, “No, really, I want you to have it.” Thank you. Keep it. Just go have fun. Think about it: If I’m pocketing money, while taking money for the band, that looks suspicious. There were several groups of people who tried to give me money when I finally let them know they could go in. I declined it all. I think I probably declined $80 or so! Also, I can’t be seen as displaying favoritism. I mean, I totally do practice some favoritism, but I can’t allow the perception that I’m taking bribes!
I had several people, when they were being told we were at capacity, say, “You’re really good at this.” I asked a couple what they meant, because no one sounded facetious. I got a couple of different replies. They were along the lines of, “You’re not being a dick. Thank you.” and “You really have a handle on this.” That was weird.
I love pirates because they have no concept on albeism. oh you have no leg? here have a peg leg. no hand?? well guess we gotta put a hook on that, give those sons of bitches a surprise. Blind in one eye, put an eyepatch on no one fucking cares, youre deaf??? go man the canons you glorious bastard.They dont care if youre disabled bcus as long as you can fuck shit up they literally dont fucking care.
I work part time as a doorman/bouncer at a kitschy bar in RVA. There are lots of hipsters at night, but it’s also an en vogue place for gray hairs for dinner. Live bands or DJs in the back room 5 nights a week. It’s the kind of place where there’s concrete with chunks missing off the walls, exposing the rock and brick underneath (which is not what’s underneath the rest of the concrete. There are crazy things hanging from the 16 foot ceiling, like 6 deer antlers, locked together like a hunter’s mobile. Cool art, and whatnot. The majority of the other door/bouncer dudes wear t - shirts and denim jackets. Kind of don’t look like they belong. Some of the bartenders, men and women, dress the same. The servers dress in mostly in button downs and skinny jeans, or pants. The restaurant manager is (27 and unbelievably cute/hot) typically wears loose-knit, see through sweaters (kind of like crochet?), with a half-shirt, like a camisole, but it’s a shirt, underneath, or something like that.
Most shifts, I’ve worn a button down with pants. I get no lack of respect. I mean, really: The 6’2” huge dude with 10 earrings tells you something, most people gone listen! But should I “dress down” like the other door/bouncers, or keep it classy?
Most girls are relentlessly told that we will be treated how we demand to be treated. If we want respect, we must respect ourselves.
This does three things. Firstly, it gets men off the hook for being held accountable for how they treat women. And secondly, it makes women feel that the mistreatment and sometimes outright violence they face due to their gender is primarily their fault. And thirdly, it positions women to be unable to speak out against sexism because we are made to believe any sexism we experience would not have happened if we had done something differently.
I cannot demand a man to respect me. No more than I can demand that anybody do anything. I can ask men to be nice to me. But chances are if I even have to ask he does not care to be nice. I can express displeasure when I’m not being respected. But that doesn’t solve the issue that I was disrespected in the first place.
I can choose to not deal with a man once he proves to be disrespectful and/or sexist. But even that does not solve the initial problem of the fact that I had to experience being disrespected in the first place.
As a young girl, I wish that instead of being told that I needed to demand respect from men that I had been told that when I am not respected by men that it’s his fault and not mine. But that would require that we quit having numerous arbitrary standards for what it means to be a “respectable” woman. It would mean that I am not judged as deserving violence based on how I speak, what I wear, what I do, and who I am.
“…think about a term like “welfare queen” or “food stamp president.” On one level, like a dog whistle, it’s silent. Silent about race. It seems race-neutral. But on another, it also has a shrill blast, like a dog whistle, that can be heard by certain folks. And what the blast is is a warning about race and a warning, in particular about threatening minorities. And the idea that I’m trying to get across here is, racism has evolved. Or, in particular, public racism has evolved. The way in which racism, the way in which racial divisions are stoked in public discourse has changed. And now it operates on two levels. On one level, it allows plausible deniability. This isn’t really about race, it’s just about welfare. Just about food stamps. And on another, there’s a subtext, an underground message which can be piercingly loud, and that is: minorities are threatening us. And so when people dog whistle about criminals, welfare cheats, terrorists, Islam, Sharia law, ostensibly they’re talking about culture, behavior, religion, but underneath are these old stereotypes of degraded minorities, but also, and this is important, implicitly of whites who are trustworthy, hard-working, decent.”—Ian Haney López (via azspot)
the worst way for friendships to end is for literally nothing to go wrong, you just stop talking. they stop messaging you to see how youre doing and you get sick of being the first one to initiate conversation so you just let the friendship go and wonder how that person is doing and never hear from them again
Too many times. I’m sorry, people with whom I’ve lost touch. I miss you.