Ladies and Gentlemen of the SDMB, I present you with a (very) short story I wrote today. It’s sort of semi-autobiographical in the sense that although I used to be able to get in (all the clubs in my area employed lazy bouncers) I remember feeling pretty nervous about getting turned away. I think something like this has happened to nearly everyone at least once. Hope you like it and please leave a comment, good, bad, whatever. Thanks.
Running the Gauntlet.
It was safe to say that Alan was nervous, standing in line in his cheap suit with faint pinstripes, his hot breath condensing, the steam blowing back, misting up his slim framed, but thick glasses. He almost felt sick with nervous tension, the butterflies in his stomach having long since morphed into writhing snakes. He knew that he shouldn’t really be nervous, after all he wasn’t attempting some astonishing feat of bravado, he was just trying to get into The Miami Bar, the most fashionable club of the moment, exclusively over 18’s. It wasn’t as though his life was on the line or anything ‘No’ he thought, ‘Just my reputation’. The fact that Alan didn’t actually have a reputation of any worth didn’t occur to him, nor would it have bothered him if it had. He was too preoccupied worrying about whether or not he would get in.
He couldn’t yet see the door but the line was shuffling forward slowly, inexorably, and Alan knew it was just a matter of time. A casual (and telepathic) observer may have been curious as to why getting into the club was so important to Alan but it just was. All his friends could get in without even arousing a suspicious glance from the bouncer but all his friends were taller than Alan, more confident than Alan, better looking too with stronger ego’s which could stand up to the prospect of being turned away. It struck Alan as ironic that all his friends got in whilst he stood a realistic chance of being turned away even though, whilst they were all one (in some cases two) years under age, he was actually the eldest of all of them. It would be humiliating, no, more than humiliating more like soul destroying, for him if he got turned away. He no longer wanted entry but needed it, demanded it on a more base, primitive physical level as the snakes in his gut spewed more of their venom making him shake with nerves. He knew it was laughable to be this worried about something which was ultimately so inconsequential but that didn’t stop him shivering inside his cheap suit. Fortunately it was an icy cold night so he could blame it on that if anyone asked. Another violent shudder jarred his bones and made his innards wobble.
The line moved forward, constant, unstoppable, unvarying from it’s final destination.
Alan took three or four deep breaths and stepped forward with the herd. Stopped. Breathed again. Stepped forward. Stopped. Breathed again. Shuffled forward; ‘Oh Christ’ an inner voice screamed at him ‘I can see the bouncer, he’s fucking huge!’. Another mammoth breath sucked oxygen deep into his lungs, into the myriad of microscopic caverns and passages which resided therein. Another step forward. ‘Can’t be more than 10 steps away’ he thought. He watched the bouncer intently, he seemed to be pretty liberal, he wasn’t asking anyone for I.D. so far so good…but wait, he’s asking two girls for proof… they haven’t got it. They’re walking away dejected… they were obviously under age though. ‘So are you’ the inner voice reminds him. ‘But not as much as them’ he retorts, inwardly of course.
Another step, and another.
Alan stared at the bouncer who seemed to grow six inches with Alan’s every forward step.
‘Jesus, he’s bigger than I thought, he must weigh 300 pounds! And look at all those fucking tattoos, he looks like a Circus freak or something!!’
A few more steps forward and now there are only two people between him and the bouncer. These two were obviously under age and Alan thought that if the bouncer let them in then he couldn’t possibly find fault with him. The two kids walked up to the bouncer, gave him a nod of acknowledgement and sauntered in. ‘Alright’ thought Alan ‘Crunch time, moment of truth, make or break. Get in there!!’.
He sauntered casually up to the door and nodded to the bouncer in the same way as the two kids before him had. His heart was leaping and the snakes were squirming and contorting in an infinity of agonies but he didn’t even notice, he didn’t care, he was cruising, the bouncer barely looked at him, he was there….
‘Excuse me, mate’. A hand which weighed about a stone and a half in itself plonked down on his shoulder and grasped him firmly. Alan stopped dead and turned. ‘Yes mate’ he replied, barely able to keep his voice straight.
‘Got any I.D.’?
’ Err, I don’t know, I…err…I didn’t need any last week’.
‘Well you need some tonight, got any or what?’
Alan searched his pockets looking for I.D. that wasn’t there, trying desperately to appear nonchalant, as though this was a minor inconvenience which would be sorted out in a few seconds.
After a little bit of futile rummaging he looked up at the bouncer and said ‘No’ as though it didn’t matter.
’ Sorry mate, can’t let you in without I.D.’
’ Come on, I come here all the time I…’
‘I aint never seen you before. Go on you’re holding up the line’.
‘But I…’
‘Just fuck off mate.’
The bouncer turned away and carried on letting in fourteen year olds with dodgy unlamented drivers license’s as though Alan wasn’t even there. Alan stood and stared at his massive back for a few seconds, envisioned himself forcing a pickaxe into it, and then turned, slowly as he trudged away he thought briefly about the wasted time getting ready and queuing and worrying and taking deep breaths. There was nothing keeping him out so he decided to just go home and get there as quickly as possible. However, he decided against a taxi, he wanted to walk off his disappointment.
‘Told you, you wouldn’t get in’ the inner bastard whispered insidiously in his ear.
He ignored it. And kept walking slowly through the biting night air. After a couple of minutes though he didn’t feel all that bad. The snakes had returned to their slumber and his heart rate had stabilised. There were always other clubs and no shortage of Friday nights. He would have to take some jibes from his friends but the prospect of it didn’t bother him as much as it had a few minutes ago. ‘It’s just a matter of time and perseverance’ he rationalised as his pace quickened and he smiled hopefully, looking forward to the next weekend.
So whaddaya think of it? Should I carry on writing or return to my IT studies? Let me know what your opinions are. Thanks a lot.
