Hullo, my fellow landwhales, today I shall regale you with sordid tales that only a doorman at a night club can tell. I give you:
Savage vs. The WarPig
Dramatis Personae:
Maybe be me, Savage: 5'7" of chimpanzee-armed, refrigerator shaped bouncer. I'm stocky and troll-like with numerous facial scars from a life of animal attacks, bare-knuckle fist fights, and general clumsiness. Also still painfully awkward around pretty girls, but apparently I attract fat drunken ones. Basically I'm a former kickboxer gone to seed.
Be Viking: My 6'2" boss and head of security. Looks like a silverback gorilla had a bastard love child with Lief Ericson. All around cool dude, gave me the job on the off chance that I could handle myself in a fight. Attracts women (this is occasionally a bad thing) like flies to honey. Spent most of this story laughing at me.
Be Stretch: Other bouncer, 6'3" and ultra lanky, plays bass and does instrument repair on the side. Also a pretty chill guy, and also spent most of this story laughing at me. Much like Viking he provided no backup.
DEFINITELY don't be WarPig: 5'2" no guess on weight. The kind of fat where she has skinny little chicken legs, but all of her chub chub concentrated in her tits and rapidly expanding gut. Would actually have a cute face if it weren't for the numerous acne scars and caked on layers of poorly done makeup.
Into the breech, my wildebeest brethren:
It's a typical slow Thursday night at the nightclub I work at. On nights like this, the title "bouncer" usually means glorified busboy as most of our time is spent clearing beer glasses and checking the occasional ID. We also get to spend a fair amount of time people watching and giving a running narrative to each other about what we think the respective patrons are up to. Pretty normal crowd for most of the night, until it walks in trailed by three friends. It being WarPig.
The three friends consist of: Pixie, 5'1" and super cute, little blonde thing with a bubble ass crammed into way too tight jeans and sporting a pixie cut. Hence the nickname
Ape, 6'4" and roided out to the gills, clearly Pixie's boyfriend
Lastly, Shmuck. 5'11" wearing box framed glasses and dressed to the nines. Also looking very subdued/embarrassed. Clearly WarPig's blind date, as she is hanging all over him trying to act sexy.
The four take their table and start doing their damnest to kick all of our high gravity taps. WarPig because she's disgusting and Shmuck because he's in public with WarPig. Pixie and Ape because they're likely going to have drunk sexytimes after they leave. While we're watching this go down we start feeling really bad for Shmuck since WarPig will not leave him be, and he's not receptive in the least to her hammy advances.
After watching this go down for a good twenty minutes I decide to mill around and snag empty beer glasses since I'm bored to tears. After making a couple rounds I post up by the door with Viking again when he nudges me.
Look out.
He's chuckling.
I look up from the front desk, thinking our manager is coming over,
Wha-?
Before I can finish my sentence WarPig is in my face rubbing my biceps. She smells like stale beer and cheap cigarettes, and she's close enough for me to play connect-the-dots with her acne scars.
I noticed your muscles from over there...
she says this in her best come hither voice. I'm trying not to gag. (Note: I'm not that muscular. My arms are just misproportionately large compared to the rest of me, because genes.)
Um, thanks, I think?
Now she's way too close, face by my ear and running her greasy ass, smelly hands through my hair. The BO is so thick it's palpable.
So I noticed you guys have t-shirts for sale...
She's now looking at the shelf full of tees and hoodies we have at the desk.
None in your fucking size
What do I have to do to get one?
I pause, trying to decipher what she's getting at when it hits me.
She's trying to dump her tits out for a free shirt. Fuck.
Viking is now trying very hard not to lose his shit, Stretch is up by the bar, he sees the whole thing going down and is laughing his ass off.
Well?
I give her a death stare
Give me $15
She pauses again, now with her hands wandering around what I think used to be her waistline
No, you want me to pay for one, I want to know what I have to do to get one
Hands have now lifted her shirt part way, revealing her gut. There are stretch marks. I gag.
T-shirts are 15 bucks, If I give you one, for whatever reason, it comes out of my paycheck. You want a shirt, give me 15 bucks.
She looks visibly frustrated that I didn't want to see the bags of skin and cellulite she calls tits and switches gears.
How about we swap phone numbers then?
Fuck, fuck, FUCK
Fine
So long as this heifer stops talking to me, I don't care
She writes her number down, and I (stupidly) write my real number down, knowing she's going to call me as soon as the bar closes. She then clumsily tries to plant a drunken kiss on my cheek, I sidestep, she stumbles in to the hostess' desk.
It is at this moment that Pixie walks over (Ape and Shmuck are outside having a smoke) and ALSO starts rubbing my biceps.
Well hey there cutie, who are you?
God damnit, why didn't you come over first?
Savage
She proceeds to ALSO run her hands through my hair
I'm Pix-
There is a loud bellow, WarPig is pissed I'm starting to flirt with her hot friend.
PIXIE, WE ARE LEAVING!!!
Pixie is then dragged out the door by WarPig, who smiles seductively at me over her shoulder. Viking loses his shit and starts guffawing.
Dude, dude! She was gonna dump em out right in front of you!! HAHAHAHAHA she was actually gonna do that shit for a t-shirt!!!
I'm fumbling for my cigarettes, looking at the floor.
Thanks for the backup, dickhead... Jesus Christ... He's laughing so hard he's crying now
At least her friend was hot. I can't believe you actually gave her your fucking number!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!
I scurry away for a cigarette.
Folks, I had expected something like this when I took the job. Women hit on bouncers all the time in hopes of getting free drinks etc.
But for some reason, it's never good looking women that hit on me, it's always ham planets. I don't know why, but I'm like a magnet for them.
Go figure, two o'clock rolls around, we're having our shift drinks, and who calls but fucking WarPig.... More on that later.
TL;DR Ham Planet tries to show me her funbags for a free t-shirt, I'm not having it, buddies sit back and laugh while I get sexually assaulted by her stank-nasty sausage fingers.
Submitted April 07, 2015 at 12:55PM by TR_Savage_Words http://ift.tt/1Pesgs8 fatpeoplestories
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