In January I had been working at the bar for about 6 months. For the previous 2 to 3 months we'd been having a lot of trouble with the same dirt bags refusing to obey our dress code. This was at a time when we had to really crack down on what punks were wearing because the owner just really didn't want them in there. This one particular individual was your typical tiny, skinny, wigger boy, wanna-be tough guy with Napoleon Syndrome. You all know the type. He was about 120 pounds with a 350 pound attitude and we all hated him. He would always wear long shirts, that hung down past his knees, and a big ghetto necklace. We would tell him at the door to tuck in his shirt and chain and 5 minutes later he would untuck the shirt and take his chain out. Now if it's one thing we hate it's when we tell a guy to do something and he totally blows us off and does the opposite. Well, we got tired of telling him over and over again to fix himself while he gave us big time attitude and back talk, so we started throwing him out. 3 weeks in a row we had a confrontation with him and ended up getting into a shouting match which concluded in us either throwing him out or chasing him out. Finally I had enough. He came in and did his usual routine and before he could even smart mouth me I grabbed him, picked him up and drilled him into a wall. Then I opened the doors with his head and threw him in the parking lot and told him to never come back. He yelled back some lame threat and I took one step at him and he ran away like a girl...very funny sight!
Well now the fireworks start. His girlfriend, who was a very hot blonde, approached me 2 minutes later when she heard what happened. She got in my face, literally like 3 inches from my face, while I was sitting by the door. She began yelling, "Who the hell are you to throw my boyfriend out? We've been coming to this bar for 3 years and now you come along and think you can make the rules. Who the fuck are you?" I replied calmly, "I'm the guy that's making the rules." "You're nothing but a rookie. You can't keep my boyfriend from coming in here like you own the place", she said. "Yes I can, and I just did." She yelled back, "I want a fucking reason why. Tell me a reason why. Come on Rookie, give me a reason. You're just a fucking Rookie. Tell me why." I started laughing and replied, "I don't have to tell you a fucking thing you skank. I don't answer to you. So get out of my face you dumb bitch." She didn't take that too well and reached back to slap me but instead another bouncer grabbed her and she hit him instead. He picked her up and tossed her outside as well and the two have never been back again. Now keep in mind the entire time this scene played out, everyone was watching and standing around me. So while I thought a chick screaming at me was funny, my fellow bouncers and bartenders were captivated by her Rookie nickname for me. And instead of coming to my defense or praising me for the way I handled it, they just took the opportunity to brand me with a new nickname that followed me around for the next 4 months. "The Rookie" was born....dumb whore!
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