Orginally published in the Tyee’s Weekend Edition.
Hi, I’m your bouncer.
Hard to predict what brings a person to do this job. They might be working to pay for nursing school. Might be a recent immigrant, or a female kickboxer. Might be an insomniac writer looking for some blue-collar cred.
Regardless, I will be the person tonight who interrupts your stairwell blow job. Sorry. I will take your backpack full of liquor when you sneak in the back door, and I will confiscate your sword. When you try to jump off the roof, I or one of my colleagues will hopefully be there to tackle you. (The saga of LSD girl and the softest cops in East Van, farther down.)
I know, I’m no fun. I’m the sober guy at the party, trying to stop you from throwing smaller people into the ceiling. I’m like a hockey linesman crossed with a pool lifeguard. Always ruining good fistfights and trying to stop asphyxiations.
I admit you make me curious, Vancouver club-goer. I’ve been studying you, and I have a question I can’t answer. Why do you believe you’re special?