Bouncers, Drunks, and Cover Charge - Oh, My!

Bars, clubs and lounges comprise an area of great importance to those of us who “like to party”, ala the Vengaboys.  But the entrance process is the one thing that can really put a damper on your fun buzz (other than long bathroom lines and flat hair, right ladies?! Hayyy!).   Between the bouncers, the covers, and the douche bags, the whole ordeal of entering a venue can be often ridiculous and frustrating.  

The “My Job Is More Important Than Anything You Can Ever Imagine” Bouncer:  You know this guy and you know him well – he stands, arms crossed, large tree legs steadily balancing his large frame, eyes narrowed as you approach.  There’s no smile, no joy, no sense of irony regarding the work that is being performed.  He acts as though my friends and I – all feminine ladies, mostly under 5’7”, certainly in high heels that render us incapable of flight or even motility – are a legitimate threat to the safety and well being of the other party goers.   These guys want to be taken so seriously that they treat people as though they’re in custody or completing a line up.  I’m confused as to what they are trying to prove.  If they’d like people to know that they are a force with which to be reckoned, I’d say it’s pretty much a safe bet that their 6’10”, 290 pound behemoth bodies accomplish that goal sufficiently without the offensive attitude and delusions of grandeur. 

The Sexual Discrimination Bouncer – I think this works both ways, but clearly men face discrimination far more frequently than women.  Adam and I went to a club a couple of weeks ago and while there was no cover for me, they wanted Adam to pay $20!  That seems so wrong considering the men are also the ones who buy the bottles and the beverages for us ladies (that’s in my experience at least…sorry ‘bout that to all you uglies buyin your own drinks.)  This is a recession; I think they should probably be happy that people are going to their lame club without penalizing half the population for having male genitalia and earning more for doing the same job.  

 The “Hot Biatch” bouncer – I'm always rather perplexed when there is a woman working the door because I really don’t fully grasp her function. She stands there, thinking she is hotter than Gisele, holding her list like it’s the entrance to Eden.  She is often tall and skinny.  I often hate her.  

The “Sidewalk Santa Cover Charge” -  This is named after clubs and bars that charge a  mysterious fee at the door, the proceeds of which go to a “worthwhile” source (the owner).   I call it the Sidewalk Santa fee because I am convinced that people dress up as Santas randomly and get drunk to gather funds.  That’s actually not a bad idea.  I should try that.

The “My Friend Knows the DJ” – I absolutely love when a random guy comes to the city (since this situation is usually exclusive to B&T or foreigners, ie from Cleveland), brings an entourage of 10 dudes with him, decides he wants to go to the hottest club and thinks that he can drop a line like this to get past the door.  The guy confidently says “my friend Dan is boys with John K from college” or something equally vague and stupid.  This confrontation concludes with the guys being forced to buy 5 bottles, and then claiming that it was their “mad hook up” that got them in. 

The “Sauced Rationalizer” –  When someone is trying to get into a bar or club and met with unnecessary resistance, the Sauced Rationalizer takes over, thinking that her drunk mumblings are going to get the group in with no problems.  The arguments frequently include things like “its my birthday”, “my coat is inside”, and “you’re sexy”.  These encounters frequently have poor endings.  A memorable situation was when my friend engaged in  “Sauced Rationalizing” and subsequently walked defiantly into the club, pushing past the doormen, dragging the red velvet ropes around her ankles.  So, I guess this one works.  Try it out, if you think you have the class!

The Drunk Punisher – This is what I call the bouncer who at around 1pm has his job switched around on him; instead of guarding the door to determine who gets in, he goes inside and determines who has to go out.  Drink stealing, spitting, bitch slapping, and the like all invite such interference from the Drunk Punisher.  I imagine the Drunk Punisher having a superhero voice in his head, confirming all the good he is doing by ridding the club of the uncouth masses: “Level V needs a hero with a face.  Someone to clean up the vomiting, the pot smoking, the belligerent.  I am the hope, I am the DRUNK PUNISHER.”  And then he directs a transsexual to the bathroom and has an Apple-tini spilled on his shoes by a 19 year old (now cue heroic music).   

Party People in the House say "Ay Oh!"

I had the privilege of attending two house parties this weekend, one of them all the way in Connecticut (shout-out to my new friends in Westport… wherever on the map that is)! Even though the parties consisted primarily of people unknown to me, the similarities among certain people has led me to believe that at many parties there will be characters – those who are consistent among groups of friends and who find themselves fulfilling similar roles at every gathering. Below, I describe.
(Note: These descriptions are not of specific people from this weekend’s parties, just a compilation of my general party-going experiences). Throw your hands up in the air like you just don't care, and here we go...

The Star – this is the person who lives for Saturday night. This party gives him or her the chance to be the center of attention without seeming like a total a-hole. When people are drunk and in need of entertainment this person delivers, but in a way that makes you say to your friend “wow, the vodka makes him seem really talented!” You know that when the Star throws a party for his best friend, parents, or significant other, the real motivator was that he or she developed a new dance move, learned the words to the new Britney, or figured out how to incorporate juggling into the routine. This person is often secretly somewhat douche-y but hides it well – that is, until Saturday night rolls around.

The Compensator – this is the guy who has something to prove. He is the really short one among a group of tall guys, the unattractive one in a group of hot guys, or the chubby one in a group of fit guys. (Note: If you can’t see the differentiating factor, then you know what he’s compensating for.) As a result of his insecurity, this guy does “crazy” things at the party – he pees into the garbage can, takes off his shirt and rolls around in mud, or starts a snowball fight and brings it indoors where he causes destruction. Major traits of a compensator are that he is extraordinarily loud, makes raunchy/racist/sexist jokes that only totally hammered guys find funny, and often causes serious property damage. This is all in hopes that a girl will hook up with him. This rarely works.

The Muncher – this is the girl who parks herself by the snacks and remains there for the duration of the party, only to take quick breaks to dance and ensure that someone takes a picture of her dancing so no one remembers she spent 85% of the night with her hands in the Cheetos. The Muncher hits up the Chex mix first, picking out all the peanuts. The Muncher dips Cheez-Doodles in the Con Queso with reckless abandon (note: yes, I know con queso means “with cheese” but among my friends it is a proper noun describing a stomach blocking, neon yellow bowl of fun). This girl judges the goodness of the party by whether or not she leaves with her hands completely orange.

The Hoovers – this is the couple that comes to a party, seemingly for the sole purpose of sucking face all night (hence, the name Hoovers – how clever am I?). Why do you come to a party to do something you could do in your bedroom at home? No one knows, but what they do know is that the Hoovers stop by and what you see of them all night is a rolling tumbleweed of tongues and butt-grabbing. The Hoovers usually think they are a very “hot” couple and perhaps this is why they think people want to see them make out all night. We don’t. You’re gross. Go home.

The Uncle Herbert – this is the oddly old person who somehow always gets wind of parties and shows up. No one knows how he became part of the group, who knew him originally, or why he continues to show up now that everyone is well past the age of needing help buying beer. This guy gets belligerently drunk and tries to get everyone to have a fun nickname for him ala “Frank the Tank”, but sadly everyone just calls him “Weird Old Guy” or “Gene”.

The Girl Clan – we all know what this is, and I admit I’ve been guilty of being a part of it. This is the crew of girls who cannot be separated, as though their remaining intact is critical to the survival of mankind. Nothing can separate this dedicated group – from powerhour, to dancing, to late night vomiting, the only thing that can tear these girls apart is when the party ends. Or when a hot guy talks to one of them. Or when the new case of Keystone Lite comes around. Or when the Muncher has her Cheetos taken away, prompting a kitchen rampage.

The Groper – this is the guy who is blackout drunk within what seems like 10 minutes of his arrival and from there on out, feels up anything breathing. He gets inappropriately close to guys, whispering in their ears and leaving a drool train. He hugs everyone, even when someone is leaving to go to the bathroom. He goes up to a group of girls and somehow has touched every breast in the group by the time he moves on. This is the guy who tells you he knows where the “secret bathroom” is – and tries to accompany you. He’s a total creeper and should be avoided at all times. Unless, you know, you like that sort of thing.

The Facebook Cover Girl – this is a guy or girl whose sole goal at the party is to be in as many pictures, doing as many “fun” things as possible, so that the whole Facebook world knows how cool and popular and good looking he or she is. The female FCG often has a pose – the peace sign, the suck-in cheeks kissy face, the wide-eyed “I look so inadvertently hot” look, and she uses it with alarming frequency. The male FCG waits until the camera comes by and puts on the male FCG moves: chugging straight from a bottle of Smirnoff, pretending to punch a guy in the face, or making the “Look how many girls I have around me, I’m a pimp!” pose. The FCGs love the camera, love tags, and love attention. You’ll know a FCG when he or she has 1,000+ Facebook tags (girl) or 300+ tags (guy).

Please feel free to add more "types" that I may have overlooked. I was so overwhelmed this weekend that I might have missed out on some less obvious, yet equally amusing party characters.

Lindsay