My arse

My arse is mine. My partner likes it. I'm not averse to it. I do enough hard cardio work to keep it tight. Running up and down stairs with or without scrotes under my arms keeps it in shape.
It's mine, it's not there for drunk girls, ladies and things that I'm not sure should be seen out in public to grab. Walking past me as I stand in fixed place anything female after a few drinks thinks it's fine to grab a handful. It's not. Once, I'll let it slide, twice I'll have a word. Not a nice word. Anything more, you'll be leaving fast, even if I have to radio a female member of staff to take you out.
If I did it to customers, I'd be fired. If a man did it to a female doorstaff or barstaff they'd be out double quick. I'll give you a warning but then it's my butt, and it stops now.

Schmoooth

I saw a truly wonderful thing this week and it gave me some hope for the males of the species. The gentleman came in on a typically quiet weeknight. I can't imagine he'll have had work the next day as he was doing quite well for himself when he rolled through our doors. He seemed to have come straight from work or maybe he just dressed like that to impress the ladies, shirt, tie, suit-type trousers and proper shoes. He found himself a space at the bar and that was the last I saw of him for a few hours.

A little while later I get a call to meet with a member of the barstaff outside the ladies. I don't like going into the ladies but this one warranted it. I knock loudly on the cubicle I was directed to and let them know in my "I'm sure you can hear me" voice to get the door open and come out. No noise, no shuffling, and a pair of gent's heels suggesting he was standing with his back to the door. Out comes the magic door opening device and with a little application of my bulk, the door opened. To my surprise this smart gent has left his post at the bar obviously having had success and was now trousers open being fellated apparently oblivious to my presence. That was until the door moving sent him tumbling forward, almost cracking his head off the cistern. The girl providing the entertainment regained her dignity swiftly, pulled her hair straight and then scrambling to her feet, legged it. Straight down the stairs and through the front door according to the radio calls.

He however regained his balance, tucked himself away, straightened his tie and unsurprised at being invited to leave, walked to the sink, washed his hands, slicked his hair and walked calmly and pleasantly to the door. It wasn't the patience and acceptance of his departure or the attention to hygiene and presentation. No it was the patch of colourful vomit down the front of his trousers that he seemed oblivious to that wins him the schmoooth accolade.

Old Friends

This I'm sure has led to the long term damage to my hearing more than the hours of crap dance music has. When two girls see each other across a bar room, they both take a moment to recognise each other then. Tilting back to manage a slow run across the bar floor in very high heels, with arms held in tight to keep the bag with them they head towards each other. They begin the high pitched scream. If you happen to be in the middle, this scream both warns you to move and in it's rising stereo shriek can act to stun the unprepared. The two banshees then collide and merge into a ball of over-excited, alcohol fuelled jumping, screaming noise. This event from start to giggling, both talking too fast over each other overly energetic mess is is known as the dolphin hello.

I'm sure the beachings of vast numbers of cetaceans can be attributed to these noise events happening too near open water. It's when you witness the 4th or 5th of these in a night, you are thankful you're a sober emotionally retarded male. A handshake, a manly hug even and you won't be heard above the football commentary.