jeremyejones

This is all very unfinished, but I wanted to get it out before I lost the feeling.

As many of you already know, I was a bouncer for quite a long time. Over four years, in fact. This may not necessarily seem like a long period of time, but you have to understand that in such a profession, longevity is never typical, and its not the type of position that attracts people looking for long-term employment, either. Its more the realm of the playboy, the hot-tempered tough guy, the slacker. Not the degree-holding, passive, artist type.

I got into the job through my high school friend Greg McWhirter. Greg was a big fucker, easily 67 or more, weighing in at somewhere around 300 pounds. I had been working at a record store (with an adjoined tanning salon and porn shop) and after being fired there was a Big Boys waiter, until such a time that I quit. Because I hated it. But I needed work, and in my 18-year old desire to prove myself a a badass, I took Greg up on his offer to join him and Kyle as security at World Mardi Gras, the largest club in the entire Midwest. (Those not from the Midwest are not permitted to laugh at this, besides, Ive still never seen a bigger one yet on either coast)

Admittedly, I sucked at it. I was the smallest bouncer ever. Well, aside from Kyle, who was something like 55, but he was a furious little ball of spite and hatred. I lacked any capability to tell any belligerent drunkard what to do and where to go. Oftentimes Id spend half an hour trying to accomplish what Greg was able to walk over and do with his mere presence. But then something happened.

Greg eventually was fired. Kyle, too. Same for almost every one of the other bouncers present when Id started. But I was still there, and no longer was I just the lackey watching the back hallway, or carting trash cans to the dumpster. Now I was being told, Protect the girls and the bartenders at all costs, remove the threats, watch the room, walk the girls to their cars after hours It may sound ridiculous, but I found a nobility in my profession. I found something Id always wanted: to be needed, to be heroic, in some small way, to have people depend on me and trust me.

I never fit in well with the other bouncers who came and went. I never once got a number, or went home with someone. I didnt join in the post-work drinks, or the pre-work drinks, or the during-work drinks. I didnt share in the raunchy sex stories. I didnt throw punches at guys who spit on me, or slam guys who hit me with bottles to the ground. I never had the heart to strike someone, not once in all those years. I was the one who dodged, ducked, and calmed. I was the one who stood silently and watched the room while the other guys danced with patrons. I was the one who tried to make everyone smile in the ID-check line. Most of all, I took my job as protector to heart. I cared very much about all of my coworkers, and had come to develop unspoken but strong bonds to all of them. We were family. And I felt the same compassion towards our customers.

I never let the actions of the people upset me. When some drunk guy, or just an angry guy, got in my face or shoved me around, I didnt lash out with retaliation. I was empathetic; I knew that whether it was alcohol or anger clouding their mind, they werent in control of themselves. I did my best to resolve disputes and fights with words and non-violent removal. I grabbed people and took them to the hall, talked to them, reasoned with them that maybe theyd best go home and come back next week.

And when something bad went down, I was the one whod throw myself into it to save some stranger. If one person was assaulted by two, Id pull them into me and take the blows directed at them, remove them from the scene. This was the best way to resolve such situations. It was impossible to grab and hold back every attacker when someone was jumped, but you could easily remove their singular target.

I finally quit the job shortly before I began my teaching position at DePauw. The pay was good, the hours were easy. You could work Friday and Saturday night and be a full-time employee. You got paid to hang out with all the fun people, the hot girls and the cool guys, listen to the bands. You got paid to sit around and watch the parties that other people paid sometimes $100+ per ticket to attend. But I couldnt handle it anymore, I couldnt handle the things I saw so regularly. I was losing my optimism about life, my faith in the intrinsic good.

It was hard to walk away from the job, but not for the reasons that kept some of the guys there. It wasnt the women, or the parties, or the celebrity guests, or the money. For me it was that Id grown to care so much about the people I worked with, and even some of the patrons Id been seeing regularly for so many years now. But also it was hard to not be a hero anymore.

Sometimes after Id left Id go back to visit, and a fight would break out and I felt compelled to action, but already some new guy had tackled it. I remember once in downtown Indianapolis, around 4 am, I saw two young girls standing on the sidewalk, waiting for something. I think they were waiting for their friends to come out from inside. A group of bikers was harassing them, and getting more and more ambitious about it. They were a lot of them, maybe 7 or 8 if I remember correctly. But I went over there, and interrupted the leader to speak to the girls. I told them I was security from down the street, and that Id wait with them. So I did. After theyd gone I remember the lead biker, a cocky young guy, made some snide remarks at me. He was trying to instigate something. I went over to him, to the whole group, in what was potentially a very dumb move, and I just shook his hand. I asked him about his life, his name, what they were all up to tonight. I made small talk, and little by little the conflict disappeared. No one really wants violence, but they also dont wanna be the one who backs down, so usually if you give them an open to do so without losing face, theyll take it.

I got sidetracked with that last little story, but the point Ive been leading up to was that I never let go of that protective instinct. Not just for the ones being attacked or harassed, but for the attackers, too. I always protected each side in both a physical and an emotional way. Even to the extent of self-sacrifice.

Now Im in San Francisco. Ben and I were walking down Market Street, standing at the corner of Sixth. I had my map out, falling apart at the folds. We were trying to find our way to a photo lab, to develop some film, and then to a video store, to get some games for the night. It was about 7:30 pm. Then there was a commotion only ten feet or so behind us. I turned to see an older woman grab a young girl, certainly only a teenager of maybe 14 or 15 years at the most. She grabbed the girl by her arms from behind and pulled her aside, and the girls face was calm and without reaction. It seemed almost as though the older woman were pulling her out of some kind of danger. But then another woman flew in from the side of the scene before me and slammed her knee hard into the girls face. Soon she was on the ground. I remember I looked away for a moment, and then looked back again. It was happening so fast that I couldnt entirely assess the situation and only in memory is it so clear.

The teenage girl was on the ground now, and there were a number of women and girls of varying ages and sizes all beating on her. In their midst was the teenage girls friend, screaming for them to stop. One of the attackers yelled something as they all fled and the teenage girl was left there, convulsing on the sidewalk, her eyes wide and empty. Her body shook violently but with dead limbs, her mouth hung open. Ben pointed out that this may not be the place we want to be right now, and we took a turn down Sixth and walked toward Mission. I couldnt stop thinking about the girl, though, lying there like that. Further down the road someone gave us directions that required us to return the way wed come, and I expected to find a scene at the corner when we got back to it. But there were no officers, no ambulance. There was just the girl, now still, but her eyes still open, and her friend bent down over her crying. What seemed to be two store security officers stood still around the scene. We crossed the street when we could.

I kept going over what I shouldve done in my mind. I should have thrown myself on top of the girl, taken the blows for her, and carried her away. I should have at the least tried to stop the attack. A few years back I wouldve done it on instinct and reflex alone. What stopped me now? Fear of legal retaliation from some hood rat whod try to get me for assault because I pulled her off the girl? I know it wasnt fear for my own corporeal health. Was it just my inability to assess and react soon enough? No, because Id realized the situation and willfully turned my eyes. I feel ashamed, honorless. That girl may be dead now. I have no clue. I do know we heard an ambulance speeding through the streets a short time later, but it couldve been going anywhere. They always are around here.

Hesitation has been at the root of my every failure. The old saying goes that the only thing necessary for the world to fall into its self-destruction is for good men to do nothing. I wish I could put it some other way because I dont think Im a good man, not really. Not anymore.