There are people who show that they like you, and there are people who show that they don't like you. My father taught me at an early age that you can't get everyone to like you. In fact, Oscar Wilde said that if everyone agrees with you, you are saying something wrong. I quite agree. It is to those that live in between that I speak of here. The douchebags. Note to reader: I will be using this term quite often in this blog. Why you ask? Because Nightlife is 97% douchebag and the rest is split between gals flattering themselves, athletes working to raise some scratch because other jobs aren't cool enough for their Facebook image, or what I like to call, 'the exceptions.' I fall into the later (in case you were wondering.) Why do I bring this up now? (Stop asking so many questions, and please allow me to finish.) Here's why. I left the nightlife scene three months ago. Honestly, it feels like 3 years ago, and occasionally, 3 minutes ago. As Wednesday comes around, I still get calls, text messages, Facebook messages, and emails late in the morning or late at night. No message of concern or inquiring as to my health or my mysterious departure from the scene. Instead, my phone vibrates...bbm: "Hey bro." Like I’m going to respond. Moments later, "How you doin' bro?" -Great, I respond. Waiting for the reason, waiting, waiting.... hey man, can you put me on guestlist at Club Gross. Boring. I don't respond anymore. Or sometimes I do, but don't call it in as a social experiment. I'm allowed. I've earned it. Of course I do respond to some, and less and less to others. Promoters scratch and claw and lie their way to securing numbers and names and clients and reservations. People always came to me. My phone is still flooded with calls. Why? Because I was always true to my word; when I said it would be done, it would be done. How many of you have called, reserved, and the douchebag at the door ignored you, or refused you. I was one of those douchebags, except I wasn't a douchebag. I was the exception. I still am the exception; hence the phone calls three months later.
"Bro! Where are you working now???" Notice the sense of panic in that message. Another: "We're celebrating tonight bro, it's R. Just wanted to know if u could hook me up at Club Barf tonight just me n a friend." or "Hey Rob, it's H! How are you? Still working at K on Fridays?" I respond, "I'm well thanks. No, I’m not there anymore." No response. lol. Such care. lol. A call will be made on his behalf, but to refuse entry. Another social experiment. Enough about douchebags for now.
Working for over a decade in the nightlife scene makes you immune to violence and social oddities when you are working, and makes you hypersensitive and uncomfortable in normal and average milieus. The irony. Odd really. I've seen it all; I’ve smelled it all. Shootings, stabbings, assaults, thefts, 21 ways to spew, defecations, urinations, blood spatter, normal sex, odd sex, violent sex, sex inside, sex outside, sex in garbage bins, overdoses, sex while overdosing, the rise of gangsters, the fall of gangsters, the death of gangsters, loss of limbs, broken parts, drowning in toilets, celebrities, billionaires, minors, retirees, jumpers, douchebags, people with stories and anything you can pull out of your DVD collection, less the science fiction, although I have seen a vampire once, but this wasn't during All Hallow's eve. More later...it's Wednesday, and my phone is buzzing...
