Last night was fucked. I don't know if it was a full moon or what, but if you resisted my invitation to visit Job #1, that was a really smart idea.

Last night was fucked. It was my boss's last official night at work. There was kind of a weird vibe in the air. I personally had an entire group of frat boys thrown out before midnight. The whole staff was on edge all night.

Last night was fucked. About a quarter to one, I'm sitting at the front door chatting with Bouncer #1, and all of a sudden, shit hits the fan. The bouncer is calmly trying to remove two guys that customers have been complaining about, and I am slowly backing away because I have a bad, bad feeling. It was one of the guys' twenty first birthday and he kept yelling, "How can you throw me out when I'm a paying customer? I pay your wages, bitch!" I walk down the bar to grab one of the bartenders to make sure she's got the phone in her hand just in case, and as I turn back around, one of the guys is attacking my bouncer and the other is attacking my boss and all I hear are muffled cries of "CALL THE COPS!"

Last night was fucked. The brawl spilled out into the street as Bouncer #2 joined the fight. The customers crowded the door, and the rest of the staff abandoned their positions to watch what was going on. I couldn't handle it, so I walked away for awhile. When I returned to the scene, the cops were shoving Mr. 21 into the back of the "paddywagon" to a full chorus of customers singing "Happy Birthday."

Last night was fucked. Ten minutes later, Bouncer #2 is pulling someone off the stage, hollering for Bouncer #1, who comes running in and slips in a puddle of Amber Bock that I had spilled fifteen seconds earlier.

Last night was fucked. Five minutes later, my boss and Bouncer #2 are throwing another person out. I walk to the front bar to see the familiar lights of the cop cars reflecting across the street.

Last night was fucked. I walked back to the back bar, and there were five people there. It was one thirty. Last call was still a full half-hour away.


I don't know why this affected me this much. The cops come through at least once a month, if not more often. This particular fight, the one with Mr. 21, really unnerved me. Maybe it was because I saw the entire thing happen firsthand, or maybe it was because I had been talking to the bouncer fifteen seconds before he had to turn into Rey Mysterio. The rest of the employees shook their heads and told my boss she went out with a bang and mentioned it being awhile since this happened.


Apparently this really got to me, and I don't want to experience this again any time soon. Belligerent drunks, stay the fuck away from my bar.