Some vignettes from a Saturday night that drained me of energy and enthusiasm for the entire nightclub industry and the 'collateral damage' to the surrounding area it causes:
1. I'm stood guarding an exit door at the club and see an incredibly overt drug deal occur, by which a young man we shall describe as 'ecstatic' passed three little tabs to a 'nearly ecstatic' man in exchange for about $50. Presumably these tabs were to help the second guy transced to not-quite-religious ecstacy. It occurred in full of view of about 10 other people including myself.
Since I'm still in 'police mode' at times, my first instinct was to jump on the dealer, cuff him and turn him over to the boys in blue. However the 'done' thing is to have a quiet word with the dealer, advise them to deal off-premises, and leave it at that.
This doesn't stand in my book - as far as I'm concerned it's condoning the behaviour, whether it occurs on-premises of off-premises. Still, I tried having a word with the dealer, and this was the result:
"Dude, it's like... cool, ok? I'm friends with the boys here so it's all good"
I should hasten to point out that for some wannabes, 'the boys' refers to whoever is listed on the licence plaque at the top of the main entry to the premises as the manager, and whichever security staff the person in question is able to see the names of on their security tags. In what passes for their minds, remembering a couple of names associated with the venue is tantamount to 'knowing' or being 'friends' with said people. Unfortunately everybody name drops everybody else, so the entire concept loses value and any argument centred around name dropping becomes vacuous by default. But, in their world, where it counts (to them), they are entitled to unlimited perks, drink discounts and preferential treatment by security. I pointed out this folly in slightly more abrupt terms and was advised to 'chill out, it's all good'. I refrained from throwing him through the nearest window, but it was challenging.
2. A pilled up female insisting I dance with her and not taking no for an answer. Not wishing to hurt her feelings, I challenged her to stay quiet and still for 60 full seconds, then I would dance with her. Owing to the substance she was on, and the chemical imbalance this was creating in her brain, this was physically impossible for her. Somehow she got the message and stumbled off.
3. Finishing my shift, I walked along a street to get a taxi home (easier said than done). One group of three males were sat on the sidewalk street drinking. An unmarked police car pulled up, and in a vain attempt to conceal the crime they were caught red-handed committing - that of street drinking - one of them launched the bottle behind them, where it smashed into a wall and beer spilt onto the pavement. Boy Genius earnt himself two fines - one for street drinking and the second for criminal damage, since it would cost the council money to clean the pavement.
4. On the same street, about 50 metres up, were three incredibly attractive, stunning and intelligent females lying spreadeagled on the pavement. I do, of course, pepper the previous sentence with light sprinklings of sarcasm. Or coat it, depending on your point of view.
A taxi pulled up because a male unconnected with their party had flagged it down. One of the girls, exhibiting motor skills far beyond her level of intoxication, got up and staggered over to the taxi. She demanded that she and her three equally lovely friends be given a lift to wherever they wanted to go. When the taxi driver pointed out the obvious - that they were drunk and lying on the pavement, thus shooting to the top of the 'Cabbie's List Of Likely Problem Passengers', she shot back with:
"You're leaving three girls on the side of the street. That's disgusting. You're a fucking arsehole."
In my younger days, my blood would have boiled and I'd have given her a piece of my mind. Now, I've been overexposed to such drunken displays of egotism, deluded logic and utter lack of personal responsibility that I am used to it and am emotionally numb. Instead, the cabbie's new fare answered for me:
"If you didn't get yourselves so drunk, act like silly bitches and weren't so rude you'd probably be home by now. The problem comes back to you 'cos you can't handle your piss. Seeya!"
What he said.