I never liked night clubs, even though my friends and I went to them in our 20s. I’ve never met a decent girl at one, nor have I taken one home at the end of the night. This was mostly because I’m soft spoken, clubs are loud, and I don’t mix well with most girls who go there. If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, then I was crazy back then.
The only time I met a nice girl from a club I hung out with was when I worked at one 20 years ago. She was short, dark-haired, and gothic. She was kind and feisty but perpetually sad. I lost touch with her a long time ago and sometimes wonder what happened to her. But that’s for another story.
***
About 12 years ago my buddy Fred and I regularly visited a local country bar. While I have mixed feelings about country music this place was alright. The staff were professional, the vibe was relaxed, and the customers were generally pleasant.
I mostly went there because a girl I knew from the industry frequented it, and while she had a boyfriend we flirted often. I never understood their relationship as he let her dance with me and didn’t care when she kept putting her army around me. It doesn’t matter, nothing ever happened between us and deep down we both knew we just liked each others’ attention.
Anyway, Fred and I were there on a typical Saturday night. As I recall there was nothing out of the ordinary or any big event going on. One bright spot was that Mason, a buddy from my previous job, was bartending. He was in the army, ironically hated waiting tables, but chose to bartend at a loud, dark night club.
Mason was easygoing and had always been friendly and understood me more than others at my previous job. It was likely due to our similar demeanours and bonding over military history. Being a blood brother bartender of the industry he would occasionally slip us free drinks and shots, and in return he would receive a generous $20 bill. Fred almost ruined this arrangement by sometimes failing to live up to his end of the bargain, but after enough chastising he coughed up $20 to save the 50 we’d have to pay otherwise.
Soon after 1 a.m. a brawl erupted in the club. It’s around this part of the night that young men, drunk and angry at being rejected by women, tend to start shit. Usually it doesn’t escalate as most guys pretend to be tough but are scared to fight. However, there are exceptions (alcohol doesn’t help), and physical altercations can break out. Usually, a smart bouncing team will see the signs of trouble and either de-escalate the situation, or take down whoever starts a fight within seconds.
But young men can be stupid, get angry within seconds, and start brawls without any warning. These unexpected fights can be infectious, like mob mentality, and that’s when all hell breaks loose. And that’s exactly what happened at the country bar as Mason and I were downing a few shots. In fact, the fight started just two meters next to us…
***
I’ve done alot of dumb things in my bartending career and experienced a lot of unpleasant nonsense. But I never got into a bar fight, had to break one up, or been punched out. Given that I used to be a hothead who suffered few fools, and could shoot my mouth off my, people find that surprising. The worst I’ve had to do was get between some customers before they came to blows, or raise my voice occasionally to preempt potential violence.
I’d like to think I won the “not getting punched in the face lottery” few long-serving bartenders win because I’m tall, stern, and showed no fear when it counted. But much of it was due to the fine art of diplomacy and the occasional bribe (which works well on angry drunks). Or maybe I was just lucky… fortunate to avoid the violence all bartenders assume will eventually come down on their heads.
A fight once broke out two chairs down from me at a bartop in a questionable lounge I used to go to. This occurred while I was writing an essay on my laptop. I remember hearing the commotion, turning my head to the right, and seeing two drunken fools shoving each other. Rather than intervene or flee I merely returned my gaze back to my laptop and started writing again. Hell, it wasn’t my bar, I knew the staff would jump in, and as far as I was considered it was a minor inconvenience. That’s what the industry does to bartenders, desensitizes them to conflict.
***
The area around Mason’s bar erupted into violence. I remember a tall cowboy being taken by surprise and struggling to fend off the blows of a 19 year old punk. The bouncers saw the commotion but were still seven seconds away from descending upon the scene. Mason, for his part, jumped over the bar, grabbed a guy a foot taller than him by the collar, and pushed him towards the entrance. “Damn” I thought, “he really got something out of basic training after all.”
A lot can happen in seven seconds, including black eyes, bloody noses, ruptured kidneys, even broken ribs. But if you think I jumped into the fray to hold the line for the bouncers, or had to defend myself against legions of angry, young men, you’d be mistaken.
I picked up my beer from the table next to me, slowly walked behind the bar, nodded to the horrified bartenders, and watched the unfolding chaos in a cold, detached manner. “What a damned annoyance,” I’m sure I thought. I also cursed the drunken brawlers, as bar violence tends to drive off female customers, which made it even more unlikely I’d be able to get one of their numbers.
Once the bouncers intervened the fight ended within 25 seconds. That seems like a short time but for those uninitiated to the bar scene it can seem like an eternity. It took another minute for the bouncers to pick the offenders off the floor, shuffle them to the exit, and unceremoniously toss them outside.
At this point, I left my safe space behind the bar, ordered two shots, downed them in five seconds, and returned to the table. Fred, who had luckily been taking a whiz while the “incident” occurred, emerged and asked what the hell happened. I described it in an emotionless, matter-of-factly tone, as if we were discussing the weather. Unsatisfied by my account, he sought out other patrons to receive a more colourful version of events.
***
I don’t remember the rest of the night as the place had mostly emptied out and we left soon after. Because while bar fights seem fun on TV they’re just stupid, pointless, and cost clubs customers and money. People who start fights at bars are just losers. Selfish, small, insecure men (because it’s usually men) who drive up insurance costs and ruin the atmosphere and experience for everyone.