Slow

Not in a politically correct Jeremy Clarkson apology way, there really are a lot of very special people out there. Some are made special by consuming alcohol, others by consuming drugs. Some however are just normally missing a few cards in their pack. They all provide the business with custom, their money is the same as everyone else's, their problems also seem to be everyone else's.
As doorstaff we have to communicate with the punters, sometimes in a hurry, sometimes with all the time and patience in the world. More often than you would credit it takes all the time and patience we have. The concept that access to a venue is not a right. Simple premise, it's not yours, you don't own it, it's not a public institution, there is no "rights" issue with being rejected.
The simple ones seem to struggle with this concept. The idea should be common to just about anybody whose lived in the world. The special folk don't get it, even when explained in words of one syllable, very slowly. This can infuriate some staff, my response is generally to laugh, whether it's with the other doorstaff on by myself. I care about humanity, if I let the mentally deficient get me down I'd really struggle to keep meeting them every night.

Boo Hoo

Are you upset at me?
I've been sworn at, swung at, spat at, lied about and threatened. I get paid to stand on a door to a place that advertises itself as luxurious, sexual, laden with promise and a state to be desired. I get to tell people that this is not for them, by dint of life's many varied journeys, their personal journey doesn't include the inside of the venue. I get to see the disappointment and the many alternative reactions to this. Most reactions are negative, some of them get directed at me. Some of it fairly so.
I don't play fair, I don't give folk a fair chance. I don't treat each individual on their potential. I make broad judgements, I discriminate. I get to define a select set of excluded folk, I don't care that it's not fair. I get paid by the management, I get paid to make decisions good for the business. That's why I make the decisions I do, at least that's what I like to think.
I don't dislike people in general, just the specific ones in front of me.

SIA goodbye

It seems the doormans bane the SIA, the Security Industry Authority, is on the big list of QUANGO's listed for a "phased transition into a new regulatory regime".
Will this mean higher efficiency?
Will this mean higher data security, not un-vetted un-documented migrants doing data entry and handling ID, credit card & bank details?
Will it mean higher quality of service, not process times so long cheques sent have expired and applications drift for months once they have been made 'priority'?
Will it mean better value for money, not £200+ for a shiny card, a partial CRB check and a poorly maintained database entry?
Will it mean accountable assessments of cases affecting livelihoods and families, or will it be summary judgements made by anonymous individuals with no visibility of evidence or opportunity for rebuttal?
Will it mean membership relates to repr?esentation in a positive meaningful way, or will it just be us paying in to keep annonymous unelected committees sitting and their tea trays full
All I can say is I wait and see. I can only say doing a noticeably worse job would surely have to be an act of deliberate collective failure.

Not up to it

Some nights you're full of cold, carrying a niggling muscle injury or sprain, not had enough of the right sleep or otherwise off colour. Doing my job, there are not a lot of options for ducking out of a shift and when you're there and signed in there really shouldn't be any way to shirk off the heavy stuff. You can't sit around when a fights kicked off, people are being restrained and emotions are running high. You can hang about the door and direct traffic, hold up the incoming, hold out the ejected, speed out the departing and try not to get too wound up.
On the whole you just have to get through it. You ask for an early night, you opt for the roles with a lower likelihood of being first on scene, and hope you don't end up running around every night. What you do is feel like shit all night and hope you can get your head down and get some proper rest. Other than that, I just try and be my normal cheerful, forgiving, open-minded, charitable self. Sorry, that should have read be my normal surly, judgemental, opinioned and harsh minded self.

Spanked

I was working one night in a dirty little chav hole of a venue. It was midweek and we only had a limited number of customers hanging on into the end of the night. There were a few stragglers from a girlie birthday party, mini skirts, hair badly extended, hoop earrings and tits, midriff, arse and legs out. One group they interacted with was 3 dodgy looking lads in horizontal stripes and variously shaved heads, looking like they'd been out celebrating either a prison release or a no-win no fee payout. These three gents went over and struck up a rapport with the girls. After a round of drinks, the girls decided to put on a bit of a show. The lads were sat 'round a table and the girls got onto the edge of the dancefloor and started gyrating against the railings. This show caught a few peoples attentions and the girls lapped it up. The glorious finale was when one of them shoved her arse towards one of the gents and he provided an open handed slap to the cheek which nearly took her feet off the floor. I was expecting her to get irate, maybe get a bit sheepish, no, she giggled, gyrated up and down a few more times then asked him for more before bending over for another smack.
I left them to this only to find her complaining as the lights went up and I began to shuffle everyone out. She bitched to me that he'd slapped her. I said, I'd seen it but that giggling and asking for more wasn't a very mixed signal. She left it there an staggered on into the night with one cheek with a full purple handprint over the nearly completely uncovered buttock. It didn't seem to bother her too much as she kept warm on the way out with his hand over her not throbbing hot buttock.