The Doorman's Diary 1.18.13

I arrive. Man my post at the door. People come. I could end my entry right here. It is uneventful, except I am flummoxed twice. A young couple comes and I ID them, more as a show for the bartender who fights off demons all the time. There’s the what-if-the-cops-come-and demand-to-know-if-we-checked-IDs demon and the if-I-get-caught-serving-the-underage demon and there’s probably a mamma-wouldn’t-approve-if-I-get-caught-breaking-the-law demon. The young man shows me his driver’s license, while the woman shows me her passport. The passport throws me for a loop. The photo doesn’t match her in real life—hair length and hair color are different, but those are variables that 20-something females change. I wave them in. The second flumox is when two couples crowd the entrance. One gentleman offers to pay but only has $15 in cash and while we’re doing the what-do-you-mean-you-don’t-have-an-ATM dance, the other guy wips out a $50 bill. I’m confused at first and think I was just handed a $20, then learn I’m mistaken. The simple arithmetic of 50 mnus 20 elludes me. I punt to the bartender, who often struggles with simple math. He handles the transaction like the captain of the grade school math team. He looks at me like I’m an idiot, which I am at that moment. I said, “Sorry, they were changing out dfferent demoninations on me so I needed to break the flow so I wouldn’t be victim to a shell game scam.” He shakes his head and I think, “Good, keep the bartender wondering, which is fine since I am the mystery known as The Doorman