Well, the Antipope called for some hellacious experiences. I may have posted this before, but it's easier to recount an episode of stupidity than one of heartbreak. This one comes from a pretty strange period about a year and a half ago, just around Valentine's day, 1995. It was a Saturday night at the Huddle Club, and business was slow, mostly because of the weather. I didn't have a basketball game to referee that night, so I showed up about 8:00. No doorman. "Hunh? Where's Ron?" I asked, as I came in and shook off the snow. "Don't know," answered Wayne, the manager. "He ought to get in by 9." Well, nine comes and goes, and Ron hasn't shown. I'm sitting at the corner of the bar, so Wayne asks, "Can you watch the door tonight?" Now the Huddle is notorious for lack of bouncers, but to ask me, rather than some young testosterone laden type, seemed to be somewhat foolhardy. My friend Danny comes in with Allison, so that she can sell some of her outfits. She's giving up dancing, mostly to hang with Danny (and the wedding was this last weekend). They give me some pepper spray-- "Just in case" and take off. Really just a boring evening, spent most of it talking with SUNDOWN and JULIE. Finally, it's near closing time, last call has been made, and lights are turned up. Suddenly, JULIE yells, "They're fighting." Sure enough--two guys are after each other, presumably over a dancer. JULIE grabs a trashcan and empties it on them, then dives in. What to do? Well, protect the dancers first. I grab JULIE and drag her off the pile, and look in. One guy has a broken beer bottle held to the other's neck, and there's a lot of blood. I put an arm bar on the guy holding the bottle, but it didn't seem like I was doing much good. A third body comes flying in, and then back out when he sees all the blood. This is some friend of the boy whose neck is starting to resemble Italian sausage. "KA-BLAM!" Whaaat? That was a .38 being fired. I duck, but realize it is Wayne, the manager, standing in the middle of the club. He just put a round into the ceiling. The two fighters unlock, one to medical attention from SUNDOWN, the other I hustle out the door (although if he hadn't wanted to go, I don't think I could have done squat to force him as he was an ex-Ranger, still in the Reserve). When outside, he goes to his pickup, and grabs a shotgun from the gunrack. Everybody in the club scatters. I crawl behind the bar, expecting to hear a blast through the door at any time. None comes and soon there are sirens outside, and the EMTs arrive. One approaches me. "No, I'm OK, man." "You don't look it. You're covered with blood." Guess I was. It cost me one of my favorite shirts, a great pair of faded levis, and left stains in my python boots that still haven't come all the way out. Oh, yeah, I got paid for my work that night. Forty dollars, and a free pass. I look in my pocket, and there's the pepper spray. I never even thought about using it--and it was the perfect tool. Rarely have I felt so, so, inadequate, I guess was the feeling. So, where are they now? Well, Ron got fired as doorman (duh!). He's now dating BRANDI, the dancer who lived on my couch for a week. JULIE got fed up with driving up from DC for peanuts, and quit soon after this episode. SUNDOWN, well, she is still the most level-headed dancer I know. The ex-Ranger got 30 days for assault. I have no idea what happened to the other guy or the dancer this all started over. Me, well, I went on to become the famous DrD of ASSC fame. The Huddle Club got remodeled, and the dancers there now can sometimes make in a night what they made in a week back then. Is there a moral to this story? Maybe. It all depends on your point of view. Maybe next time we'll talk about love in this strange world of sex/tease, but if we do, don't expect great coherency. DrD I've got respect for bouncers, but I sure as hell don't want to be one.