A Few Good Doorman"
...You can't handle the truth! Son, we live in a world that has bars, and those bars have to be protected by men with black shirts. Who's gonna do it? You? Your drunk friends? I have a greater responsibility than you can possibly fathom. You weep for your drunk friend who got kicked out and you curse the doorstaff. You have that luxury. You have the luxury of not knowing what I know- that your buddy getting tossed, while tragic, probly saves lives. And my existence, while grotesque to you, probly saves lives. You don't want the truth because deep down in places you don't talk about at parties, you want me at that door, you need me at that door. We use words like float, identification, stamp. We use these words as a backbone of a lifetime spent watching a bar. You use them as a punch line. I have neither the time nor inclination to explain myself to a person who gets loaded under the blanket of Security in which I provide, and then questions the manner in which I provide it. I would rather you just said good night, and called yourself a cab. Otherwise I suggest you grab a black shirt, and stand at a door. Either way, I don't give a damn what you think your entitled to...
