The Doorman’s Diary: 4.15-16.11

The rain-soaked black streets were near empty last night. Occasional smear of red taillights added color to the black and white film noir setting that was just outside the jazz club’s door. Occasional sheets of rain tried, but could not wash away a sense of desperation that hung in the air. But for a few, the jazz habitué stayed home. Several couples, a trio of women, and an unsavory lone wolf were the only ones to brave the twilight-zone night. The demiworld character paid the cover and had a drink at the bar. He smelled as foul as a slaughterhouse in summer. Apparently, his b.o. is minor compared to other habits that make him unwanted in our establishment. Fortunately, he left after his drink, saying he’ll be right back.  The club owner and bartender descended on me as soon as he left and said “don’t let him back in!” To which, I responded: “Do I look like a bouncer?” We discussed various strategies (lies) for keeping him out—weighing pros and cons of each. It was becoming tedious and absurd so I said, “I am not a bouncer, but I AM The Doorman… I’ll take care of it.” The solution is so simple and powerful that I regretted wasting the eight minutes of discussion we had. He never returned but I was prepared to tap into the base level of universal human doubt. All humans are riddled with self-doubt. I planned to tell him: “You and I know you’re not wanted here. I don’t need to say the reasons out loud. You know what they are. So, to be fair to you…here’s your five-dollar cover back. And I think it’s very honorable of you to not make a big deal about this. Thank you.”