Flying Fists at the Icehouse
In a brief exchange with one of my favorite writers, Jack Kincaid, I mentioned that I had once done time as a bartender and bouncer. It was a fact he was unaware of and this inturn set my wheels to churning, cobwebs shaking loose memories of long gone days.
Irony being what it is, and considering my infinite fondness for Robert E. Howard I think this equates, I did a seven year tour of duty in a nightclub called the Icehouse. I was tailor made for bouncing in bars I'm afraid. I was tall (6'2"), so I could see over the crowd, and I was big (at the time I weighed in at 245#), so I could move the crowd. I was also hard headed, which is probably the most important skillset to have in a bouncer's arsenal.
I've been stabbed, had chairs and bottles broken over my head and back, shot at, clawed, bit, punched, kicked, and mauled. Oh, and maced.
When I started, back in 1991, I was being paid $25 a night, three nights a week. That generally equated to about $8 per fight. Can you imagine? Here's eight dollars, now go wade through 500 people and disarm a crazy drunk with a broken beer bottle.
It was a rough life, let me assure you. Seeing as how the pay was rather poor, it was a second job. My "day job" was as a construction worker. I'd spend 12 hours Monday through Saturday roofing barns and houses, or framing additions... then on Thursday through Saturday I would bounce from 8pm to 4am. I usually got about three hours of sleep on those weekends. And had to fight on top of the lack of sleep. Like I said... a rough life.
Luckily, I never got hurt and never lost a fight. It often helps being a sober man in a drunken brawl. One of the things most people don't realize about bar security is that rarely are you just throwing down with one guy... most often it is the primary drunken idiot quickly followed by a melee with that idiot's friends. Rarely did I ever have to fight one on one with a guy... It was usually a two or three on one deal. But I survived... and I had fun.
Fun?
Really?
Yeah, it was. When the adreneline's flowing and your life is on the line, well, you feel alive in a way that you don't get elsewhere. Would I have preferred to have the night pass quietly, laughing and joking with the patrons? Sure. But looking back now, I miss it. The chest thumping. The bravado. The crushing blows.
But that shit's for young men, and I'm not the iron warrior I was then. Not by a long shot.
But there's some life in me yet.
An old scapper always got one more fight in 'em... :)
Irony being what it is, and considering my infinite fondness for Robert E. Howard I think this equates, I did a seven year tour of duty in a nightclub called the Icehouse. I was tailor made for bouncing in bars I'm afraid. I was tall (6'2"), so I could see over the crowd, and I was big (at the time I weighed in at 245#), so I could move the crowd. I was also hard headed, which is probably the most important skillset to have in a bouncer's arsenal.
I've been stabbed, had chairs and bottles broken over my head and back, shot at, clawed, bit, punched, kicked, and mauled. Oh, and maced.
When I started, back in 1991, I was being paid $25 a night, three nights a week. That generally equated to about $8 per fight. Can you imagine? Here's eight dollars, now go wade through 500 people and disarm a crazy drunk with a broken beer bottle.
It was a rough life, let me assure you. Seeing as how the pay was rather poor, it was a second job. My "day job" was as a construction worker. I'd spend 12 hours Monday through Saturday roofing barns and houses, or framing additions... then on Thursday through Saturday I would bounce from 8pm to 4am. I usually got about three hours of sleep on those weekends. And had to fight on top of the lack of sleep. Like I said... a rough life.
Luckily, I never got hurt and never lost a fight. It often helps being a sober man in a drunken brawl. One of the things most people don't realize about bar security is that rarely are you just throwing down with one guy... most often it is the primary drunken idiot quickly followed by a melee with that idiot's friends. Rarely did I ever have to fight one on one with a guy... It was usually a two or three on one deal. But I survived... and I had fun.
Fun?
Really?
Yeah, it was. When the adreneline's flowing and your life is on the line, well, you feel alive in a way that you don't get elsewhere. Would I have preferred to have the night pass quietly, laughing and joking with the patrons? Sure. But looking back now, I miss it. The chest thumping. The bravado. The crushing blows.
But that shit's for young men, and I'm not the iron warrior I was then. Not by a long shot.
But there's some life in me yet.
An old scapper always got one more fight in 'em... :)
posted by Bob Freeman at 10:51 AM
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