Bouncer: (n) a person employed by a nightclub or similar establishment to prevent troublemakers from entering
That really was his name.
I know it sounds kind of silly, but if you’re going to be a bouncer in a club, your tag should have a certain amount of intimidation. In other words, if the owner was dealing with a problem, asking “Lawrence” to come and help would not be nearly as frightening.
I got to know Big Mike a little bit. He was a nice guy. I suppose he might even fall into the category of “sensitive.”
But whenever the proprietor of the institution called his name, Mike suddenly turned into an attack dog. It was almost like watching the transformation of the Incredible Hulk (except he never tore his shirt.) His face became stern, furrowing his eyebrows. He lost all the joy in his eyes as he rapped his knuckles on the table and stomped off to deal with some ne’er-do-well.
At first I found it funny. Then I realized Mike was playing a dangerous game.
Because the truth is, a prize fighter can’t go into a bar without all the drunken patrons thinking they can take him on. And Big Mike was going to eventually run across someone who felt it was his duty to clean his clock–leaving him unable to tell time.
It gave me pause.
How often am I tempted to muster a nasty disposition to warn people of my superiority and prowess, setting myself up to be brought down by the thunder of a greater storm?
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PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant