A bloke I met on the weekend while not at work asked me if I was a nice doorman or a nasty doorman?
I was quick to reply that I was a nasty one. I make young girls cry. I don't believe anything punters say, half of what management say and most of what other doorstaff say. I don't want to let punters in without a very good reason. I won't stop and listen to your grievances. I won't enter into conversations with you unless I'm after something. I will invade your personal space. I will intimidate you. I do not care about anything other than getting the job done in the best way possible.
I am clearly a nasty doorman.
I'm not a bad doorman, I don't hit people, I don't abuse the weak and innocent, I don't flirt/drink/text/deal/shag/steal while in paid employ.
Bad doorfolk last about as long as the nice ones. But the nasty ones hang around for ever.
Occasional postings from a toe-to-toe customer services physical interface operative.
The ramblings and collected tales from a jobbing licensed doorman. Tales of drunken woe, machismo, loose women, loose fists and 99% boredom. Hopefully updated as thoughts worthy of an audience hit my mind.
'Over a decade at it and not winning any beauty contests'
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