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Monday, August 28, 2006

Walk like a man

Talk like a man,
Punch like a little girl.

I for my sins was back at the gay night the other evening and had a whole world of fun dealing with the wonders of drunken protective tom-boy butch lesbians.

I saw one female push another clean off her stool, falling backwards and smacking her head on a step behind her. I went up and politely told her she was leaving. She gets up and goes towards the door when up pops, as much as she can do, 5' nothing of skinny angry friend/girlfriend. She tries to block me, hold me back and shouts at me. Another one for the exit and a quick radio call, to come, goes out. One of the others on the team emerges and this doorman escorts the initial one calmly out the front door. I attempt to guide the little one the same way.

We haven't made it 20' of the 100' feet to the door when she backs into me and tries to wriggle past me back to her table. I block her and wrap her arms infront of her. She kicks, screams and tries to struggle free. I don't have a clue what set her off as her friend was clamly walking to the door in front of her having been politely treated by both myself and the other doorman.

Anywho, instead of a wander out the main door, past other punters, it was straight to the nearest fire exit. Most folk just stop struggling at this point and get the message in the harsh strip lighting and white washed walls. This skinny little thing just kept cranking it up.

She was small enough I had to bend half over to grab her wrists. Once I had gotten hold of them however they went behind her back like bending a pipe cleaner. She didn't give up, kicking and stamping all the way to the exit door. On depositing her politely just off the exit steps, she turns back round and tries to throw another punch.

Not a good move lass. I'm big, fast and when you're 5' f*ck all and down a step on me, the last thing to be trying is to land one on my oversize, metal plated jaw. As she turned and swung with her fist already tightly wound I just had to push her away. Given the height difference and weight difference, I must have been easily twice her body weight if not thrice it, she splatted onto the floor in a most graceless lump.

I'd have thought that'd be enough but oh, no. Leaving her with the front door team I headed back inside to straighten my tie and get back to the dull part of the job. Five minutes later there's an all persons call to the front door where she, the original friend and another of their party were swinging at the two front door men. Cue a quick call to the blue light taxi service and after the inevitable delay found on a heavy drinking night one of them gets bed and breakfast courtesy of the government and hopefully a fine or two for her stupidity.

Very few lads, whatetever their state of mind think I'm worth trying to punch. Why this one small, light, weak and technically inept lass thought I was worth a punch is just totally beyond me. I always hope for a bit of verbal abuse that I've not heard before or that makes me laugh. Gay men have proven brilliant in this respect in the past, I just wish the gay ladies would follow suit.
Or at least get better technique.


Dr Dan H. said...

I reckon you found some lass who had gotten used to male chivalry, and/or being able to push blokes (an elder brother, maybe) about by pulling the "poor little female" and/or "ultra-feminist" routine, and had gotten away with it that much it sort of got stuck in her head.

Add in a few pints of Old Sheepshagger or whatever strangely named concoction of industrial ethanol, colours and flavouring she was on, and hey presto, she thinks she can take on absolutely ANYTHING male and get away with it.

So, she sees her friend getting the bum's rush, and kicks off. Drunks kick off for the silliest things; and the worst are the ones who use aggression normally to try o get their own way.

That about sums it up; I reckon most psychology is bunk, personally; you can explain a lot more with stupidity and habit, and alcohol just makes the stupidity worse. You found a fuckwit, sir, an aggressive fuckwit and she's probably well lucky she found you, since quite a few blokes will respond to a good slapping by giving one back, and if you're five feet nothing and built like a shrimp, you ain't going to come out of a punch-up from a drunk in one piece.

Squadron Leader said...

One of the reasons the 'Blue Light Taxi' might take some time to arrive is that we're attending yet another 999 call from someone that can't function on a social level with other people.

In my opinion, drunken punter's are one of the biggest drains on Police resources, followed up closely by social inadequates and their domestic-based arguments.

Meanwhile, Billy Burgler is having a whale of a time as we chase our tails around town playing nanny to the public.

I want to be able to spend my patrol deterring, or (fingers crossed) catching the thieving scum red-handed.

What real justice would be, is when some pillock gets a cell for the night after kicking off in a pub and srapping with door security staff and us. Then, after getting sent home with an £80 D&D ticket, finds his house ransacked of all his possessions.

Even better, when we have to inform him there are no patrols available for a few hours, as they are dealing with the influx of drunken prisoners from the night before.

Only then might it sink home what a waste on resources their actions are, and how much better our time could be spent.