When a tiny drunken, mentally special chav meets a cold, bored, tired me.
After a while too long standing in the freezing sleety drizzle I can loose some of my legendary patience. I normally don't let this mood creep past my professionalism. When faced with diminutive, socially bankrupt, intoxicated and aggressive chav what more can I do but have some fun and alleviate my mood.
'Good evening' as he approaches. He's thinking he's gonna walk straight on in.
'Kushty'
'No sir, not tonight.'
'You what?'
'Not tonight, try somewhere else.' He's still kinda lodged half in the door beside me so I took myself a handful of horizontally striped sweater and returned him fully to the pavement.
'Walk away now sir, we're done'
'Who the fuck are you?'
My normal patient silence
'You fucking dare touch me'
More patient silence and he takes this as fear and steps right into my chest. It would be getting in my face but really he's not that tall.
I wheel out my last chance gambit with a 'Go away now. Just Piss off!'
A little bit of swearing just lets a muppet know you're ready to shift up gears and it could be getting personal.
A little stunned step back and a moment to shake some booze out of his undersized brain then he looks me directly in the eyes and I begin to chuckle. His adrenaline is making him shake. In a moment I'm shaking trying to hold my laughter in. He then does the most offensive thing I've ever encountered and flips me the bird. One whole raised finger.
I am still keeping eye contact and swat his hand down. He tries with the other hand and I think about bending the finger back. Before I get the chance his adrenaline loses the battle with his fear and he steps back to blow some more hot air.
'You don't know any real men in Mytown, do you?'
Not gonna rise to this one
'Who the fuck do you know?'
Probably more real men than you will ever in Mytown and beyond its apparently rather stagnant gene-pool.
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'
5 comments:
The type you describe is the kind that tends to carry a penis substitute knife to make himself feel big, hard and tough. Not that he'd dare to try to use it from the front, of course (unless he had half a dozen mates egging him on).
Be careful...
...but then, I suppose you are.
John
Hope you had a good Mad Friday, and casualties were at a minimum. Got through the night here pretty peacefully. Good luck for the New Year.
John, they may carry a blade but they'd be bloody foolish to pull one on the heavily camera'd front door with at least two witnesses. They have and they've lost front teeth before they got it clear of their pocket.
Didn't have a busy Mad-Friday at all, think the economic impact on the self employed in the building and associated trades has kept alot of them saving for Chardonnai and Leeam's chrimbo presents.
Our friday was diabolical. Our team was shattered, battered, and bruised. Just another night on the door....
That type doesn't even have the brain to think about the cameras or the witnesses.
You just carry on being careful.
John
Post a Comment