Did you see me? Did you see me?! My frist This is Wonderland appearance was last night. Total screen time: 2.5 seconds. Body parts seen: a hand, a head (looking down). I am amazed how much screen time I got for a nine hour shoot. I need a new agent.
Okay kids…life is cyclic. Or circular. Life behaves like an Aikido master flipping insolent students. Or like a hoolahoop with a nail in it. Whiiiiirrrrrl. Poke. Whiiiiiiiirrrrl. Poke. Im on the set of QaF and I strike up a conversation with the extra next to me, who looks thin, haggard and ill. I mention the set we’re on doesnt look anything like the bars on Church, not even Woodys. Somehow we mention the Eagle. My conversationalist friend snorts the kind of nasty snort that makes you want to wipe yourself physically and mentally. Wait…Im getting ahead of myself.
Its winter 1998. Its my first week as doorman at the Eagle and things so far have been quiet until someone comes from the back bar to tell me there are two guys in the back picking fights. I go back and find two guys drunk (and possibly stoned) out of their minds. They’re insulting everyone who will listen. They look me up and down and say something along the lines of “You’re the doorman?” and laugh. Both have pool cues clutched in their intoxicated hands. I take the pacifist route and tell the night manager to go call the cops. They aren’t waving the cues around, mind you but they wont let them go. They refuse to leave and I tell them “You’re leaving either on your own or you will be escorted by cops…your choice”. Drunk twits think the cops getting involved in their little foggy logic trap would be a good idea and wait (“We’re drunk, we want to stay and keep drinking, and we hate you all”). Meanwhile they’re saying things like they will have the bar’s license, have my job, they make more money than god, they know politicians, etc…the basic stupid-assed drunk guy shit.
Suddenly, a guy who was sitting by the pool table watching this whole thing jumps up and grabs the pool cue out of the taller of the Two Twits and shoves him out the emergency exit. Woop! BANG. Twit #1 falls hard on the ice and flips over, successfully breaking his arm. Twit #2 is grabbing at the back of the Samaritan’s jacket the best a drunk twit can. When Twit #1 is out and down, the Samaritan turns on Twit #2 and shoves him out the door too. Twit #2 is about 90lbs wet so his ejection was fast. The whole time this is taking place my jaw is on the floor while I stood there frozen, never having been in a barroom altercation ever. The Samaritan turns to me after pushing Twit #2 onto Twit #1 with a wet thud and says “That’s what you should have done,” and leaves. Me=stunned. Cops come and get an ambulance. They take a statement from me and interview witnesses. Twit #1 sufferers a broken arm and minor scrapes from falling on the ice. Both are taken to the hospital to dry out and get bandaged up. Later on they tried to sue the bar but it was dropped as that no staff was directly involved.
Still with me? Flash forward to last week, the set of QaF…yadda yadda. The slight skinny extra starts badmouthing the Eagle. “Why?” I ask. “Because I broke my ribs there,” he says. You guessed it, he’s Twit #2 and he starts to tell his side of the story, failing to mention that he was intoxicated, high and was belligerent. His story is that they were mercilessly attacked by the pool table when they mental-sparred with a customer. The kicker is that Tiwt #2 didnt recognize me as the bouncer that night, which is no surprise. “We couldnt sue the bar because the one who did the shoving was not an employee of the bar and the guy was never found,” says Twit #2. And never will be, I think to myself. Twit #2 tells me that he and his friend got compensation of sorts, but never elaborated on who this “free money for being an idiot” was from because scene started and we had to shut up. Its sad, really. Why get so tanked that you get yourself into an incident with cops and ambulances just because you hate your life and you need to take it out on others? He went on for a while and I thought of saying something but he looked like he was in a bad way anyway. To quote “Will and Grace”: his life looked like such a terrible disaster, the Red Cross wouldnt serve him coffee.
I remember for days after the Twits Vs. Samaritan incident I dogged myself mentally on how I could have averted the whole thing. I reviewed that night in my head unitl it wore out the chemicals in my brain until it ceased to spark the memory in my neurons correctly. I still have never had to raise my hand to any drunk person in that bar. For the most part, drunks just want to tell you a story and if you spend 5 minutes pretending to listen (try reviewing your bills outstanding in your head) then they become pussycats and leave nicey nice.
I expect the next cyclic thing to happen to me will be I get a fantastic creative job, because its been a while since my last one…right? Right? RIGHT?!?!
