Zach Hates You

There is one thing I can say about people, they never fail to upset me.

Last week while at the nightclub it was going pretty smooth for a Saturday night as crowded as it was.  No brawls, no one being drunk enough to be an issue, looked like it was going to be a chill night overall.  Thankfully, I see the ugly lights go up and the music is coming to an end.  The other members of security start to push the people towards the exits and out of the club.  Being the wonderful patrons that they are with nowhere better to be, they take their sweet effin’ time.

As I’m BEING VERY POLITE because that’s what I do, I notice one of the patrons spit on the floor.  I paused.  There isn’t much expectation out of any of these idiots to be courteous, but spitting on the floor is where I draw the line.  Walking over to the fuckstick, he looks as if he got hit with a stupid stick.  A lot.  When asked “Why the fuck would you spit on a floor indoors?” he responds by pointing to a bottle on the ground.  I tell him to get moving out the door and the hell out of my sight.

He points to a group of friends behind him.

I take another second for a breath before I slap him in the mouth.  I start to talk to him about being a big kid and how we have this thing called “speech” that sets us aside from things lower on the food chain when there is a call over the radio.  “There’s a fight at the door.  We need everyone upstairs.”  Knowing that anything out of my mouth is a waste of time with Mr. Talksalot, I hop up over a VIP section, bolt up the stairs, shoot out the other door and come around the front to see my co-workers on top of a guy in handcuffs and a few others pushing the crowd back.

Seeing little for me to do but crowd control, I pull my pepper spray and start to yell at people to go away.  A group of patrons trying to get to their friend on the ground is pushing at the security.  One of them was more calm to then the other so I pull him aside and tell him he needs to take care of his more pushy friend before he too is put into cuffs.  What normally happens is that the calm friend grabs his friend, they take a couple of steps away, and then the aggressive one is back with a bit more space to throw a punch.  Shockingly, that’s not the case this time.  The guy grabs his buddy and talks to him in a reasonable manner and then begins to question me.  Turns out, the guys girlfriend got punched so he went after the guy who hit his baby’s momma.

I already know how it’s going to go because it’s a “normal” thing here: Guy walked up to girl who looks nothing more then a bit pudgy, hits on her, gets rejected so he has words, she hits him, he hits her, boyfriend hits dude.

Congratulations, you’re all fucking morons!

Instead of dealing with that, I throw one of my nearby co-workers under the bus with “This guy will tell you why,” and walk to the club owner.

The owner grabs my handcuffs off my belt and tries to hand me another can of spray into my hand that’s holding my can.  “I would be happy to double fist if you want me to,” I tell him.  He gives me a jittery laugh and tells me to get people the hell out of there.  I’ve been getting shit about being “nicer” so I yell at people, but I’m not being asshole about it.

I really like yelling.  In fact, I don’t think it’s going too far out on a limb to say it’s one of my skills that I picked up in the Army that I use very well in civilian life.

Yelling Zach is yelling, shooing people back to their cars and off the side walk in fron of the club.  Not knowing who else is going to be dumb and start a fight, I’m shaking my pepper spray up to hose down any shitstick that wants to be aggressive.

“It’s going to be getting hard to breath here folks, so go somewhere else,” I say to a group of five or so.  “Don’t go threatnin’ me motherfucker,” I get back.  “I’m not threatening anyone man, I’m just looking out for everyone.” He starts to turn around and open his mouth when he sees who I am and that I’m not waving at him, but shaking up a can of spray.  “You don’t have to be a dick about it,” I politely say to him, but nice Zach is done being nice.  “If you want to be a dick, then I suggest sticking around where you are.  It’s hard to have an argument when you’re having difficulty seeing and breathing.”

Point: Zach.  They move on.

Walking back to the side walk I already cleared there is a group of three people leaning against the building maybe 15 feet away from where I JUST got done talking to the above mentioned assholes.  A guy, and two chicks.  The guy has one of the decent looking ladies in his arms with her back against the wall.  “Hey guys, I need to go somewhere else.”  “I heard you before and I ain’t moving,” the dude says back cooperatively.  Splendid.  “Maybe you missed the can of pepper spray in my hand that I have been given permission to spray at anyone that doesn’t leave quickly,” I lie.  “It would behoove (one of my favorite phrases I learned in the Army) to move somewhere that I don’t have to see you.”  The girl decides to shoot a quip back about me being bossy.  Well no shit, Princess.  I get a little upset when I tell people to do something and for some stupid reason don’t listen.

I don’t see my request unresonable.  They’re leaning on a wall that gets pissed on by all the local hobos, pepper sprayed by us, and is just a nasty Pioneer Square wall.  My suggestion works and they get to moving, but what comes out of the mans mouth is a mite upsetting.  “Fine.  Me and the bitches are going to go somewhere else.  Just don’t shove the bitches.”

Huh…well done.  Way to be a misogynist without even putting up much effort, I’m impressed.  This guys a pimp, yo.  I considered hosing him in pepper spray for that one, but the chicks were listening to him anyway.  Fuck ‘em.

Just a suggestion for you folks out there.  If someone has pepper spray, why don’t you just politely mosey away.  Not the most tough thing in the world and it’ll be better for everyone.  Just an idea though.