What I’ve Noticed From Being A Bouncer At An American Club
Despite having two college degrees, I somehow always end up returning to a weekend bouncer gig, which I have had on and off for about a decade now, at a number of different places. I have found that, like every job, it is mixed, with a variety of pros and cons.
First, the good stuff.
You get to make money on those nights when, more than any other, people are out spending it. Each month, I make enough on the weekend to pay most of my bills (though it is important here that my expenses are small), freeing me up to work for myself during the week. And if you’re at the right place—for example, a bumping house club in New York City—there’s solid money to be made on the side by extorting people for smoking, for doing drugs in the bathroom or VIP room, for fucking in the same, for being let in to a place from which they’ve been banned, for violating the dress code, and on and on and on. Managers are commonly shady, so they will either let you just get away this—especially if they aren’t paying you much—or require that you break them off. Of course, they never really know just how much you are getting from ripping people off, so you can generally get away with not giving them much.
Another benefit, and a very obvious one, is access to a steady supply of hot pussy. Most women like big muscular guys, and your position at the bar or club has a certain power and authority that is a huge turn on thanks to the deep slave instinct in women (the same instinct, by the way, that accounts for their universal love of rough sex). It is similar with police and military men. Unfortunately, though, smart phones, which provide women with an overwhelming supply of men via dating sites, apps and social media, have turned most hot chicks into flakes, and I have noticed that in recent years my closing percentages have decreased accordingly.
However that may be, I have had some success over the years pulling girls with a few cheesy openers. “Staying out of trouble?” or “here comes trouble” can be followed by “I wouldn’t want to have to put you in line, you know.” Coming from a physically impressive symbol of male authority, this can be quite a turn on, with the second line—which you must say very directly, looking her in the eye, and with a low voice—as the clincher. “Let me know if any of these knuckleheads in here bother you” also works well, conveying both your power and authority and your cocky belief in your superiority over the other men in the place.
No matter your technique, working at a bar or club weekend after weekend is just like going to one many times over many years; unless you are utterly obtuse, your game will improve as you learn a lot about what works with women and what doesn’t. The simple act of being able to talk to so many over time should do a lot for your confident and direct game—which, of course, is about the only game worth running in America. It is not the case, for example, that most women here will appreciate your subtle wit or culture. Nor do you want to seem “weird” or “creepy.”
Most bouncers are working-class guys, so if you work in construction, carpentry, moving, or whatever, it’s also a good job for networking with other blue-collar types.
The personal benefits
If you are a bouncer, you are necessarily a big strong tough motherfucker. And in order to keep the job and avoid the embarrassment of getting your ass kicked, you will be motivated to stay in shape, to lift weights, or box, do MMA, and so on. It is fun, and often exhilarating, to put people in line and to break up fights and engage in the inevitable fight yourself. This provides an adrenalin rush which few men will ever know, especially in our age of half-men.
When it comes to physical toughness and pulling pussy, the confidence you take to this job should be increased by doing the job itself, and that should carry over to other areas of your life. Wherever you are, you should see yourself as a guy who is no joke and who knows how to get women in the sack and to do them right in it. Those muscles you use to carry knuckleheads out the club are also well-employed by tossing women around in bed.
You get to be yourself, which is to say, A REAL MAN. Bouncers are not yuppies, chumps, or stiff corporate types. We can knock people the fuck out, and as with other blue collar jobs, we don’t bother playing the PC game, kissing ass, or acting like some oh-so-nice cat when, like everyone, we are just out to get paid. In our soulless and emasculate corporate time, it is refreshing not to be a “good team member.”
You are stuck working on the best nights for going out (so much for Saturday night dates at 10), and though you may be down to party when your shift is over, you’ll often find that by then everyone else is wiped. Exceptions: cities which never shut down—NYC, Vegas, Miami, New Orleans.
You can get shot, stabbed, jumped, etc. This can often happen after work on your way to your car. You threw someone out—maybe you beat his ass and therefore embarrassed him—and now he wants revenge. Given this possibility, many bouncers quite sensibly carry a firearm, knife or other weapon.
You will learn to despise most women, though arguably this is a good thing—a kind of edifying necessity in the Anglo world today. Weekend after weekend, you will witness the most disgusting displays of female narcissism, entitlement, and vapidity. For attractive women, being out is in itself a very big deal, an event requiring photo after photo, which is to be put on Instagram, Facebook, and all the rest. I see groups of women taking photos of themselves all night long—like their entitlement, their vanity is inexhaustible. Looking at how quickly and frequently they strike their “group pose,” all contented smiles like the “stars” at the Oscars, you might think they were professional actresses who spend all day training for the night’s upcoming duck face shots: “Meow.”
Even worse, almost every hottie you see will exude a stupid haughty attitude, as though she were so special simply for being highly bangable (for about a decade, that is), even though her conversation is painful, she is deeply ignorant of life and the world, and good for nothing but a few bangs before she flakes out or you can no longer endure her wretched personality. As the poet Charles Baudelaire put it: “Woman, a slave and yet vainglorious,/stupid and unashamed in her self-love.” The sense of entitlement in particular is remarkable; you would not believe how often women ask me to hold their drink, as if I were a personal assistant, or give me a bratty attitude out of nowhere, as if I were some rich Daddy.
You will be saddened to see just how clueless most of your fellow men are when it comes to gaming women. So many guys in bars and clubs spend the night standing around looking bored, talking to each other, and yet it’s the desire to get laid that brought them out. It either doesn’t occur to them that their failure to approach women makes the night a complete waste of time, or they know but go out anyway, finding it better than another night at home playing Madden.
You will see firsthand what pussies most American men have become. What looks like it could be a “fight” is usually only laughable posturing by cowardly betas. I will commonly go up to a group of “aggressive men,” by myself and without the help of my fellow bouncers, and tell them to knock it off. They are usually as compliant as the male feminist when informed of his “micro-aggressions.” Granted, I can be a fearsome motherfucker in both appearance and manner, but still, we are talking about one man dealing with an entire group here.
You know that trite, irksome song which you immediately switch off whenever it comes on the radio? Well, at most places you will hear nothing but it and others like it all night along. This, of course, is no surprise; like many of the cons, it results from the general tastelessness of the American mass.
Finally, lawsuits. We live in an absurdly litigious society driven by unscrupulous lawyers and shameless moneygrubbers generally. Don’t think that being a bouncer gives you the right to beat ass. Like a cop, you are there to protect the public, so save the Tyson-like hooks for self-defense. Neither should you be a bully. A real man is self-assured; he has nothing to prove.
Bouncing has given me contempt
Continuing with this theme of sadness and contempt, you will, provided you are at least somewhat intelligent, develop a general disdain for American night life, or rather, for the participants in it. In the ways they dress, dance, talk and behave, most Americans are generic idiots. Put a blindfold on and you’d be unable to distinguish them from one another; they all think the same, and so all sound the same. During the week they endure some paltry job or other, then try to justify that bland tedium through crass indulgence on the weekend. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with wildly enjoying life, and I myself have had many a crazy night out, but it’s not the indulgence itself but the nature of the people that merits contempt.
In spite of all the drawbacks, I like bouncing because I am able to make money while still being “out,” and on the nights when I would otherwise be spending it. It is easy enough to meet lots of girls over time, some of them high quality bangs who don’t require a lot of work. I can be myself—there’s no need to play the phony PC game that characterizes white collar jobs. And having to put people in line, like the desire to avoid getting an ass kicking, motivates me to stay strong and fit.