I always tell people: doing security at the places I work is 90 percent helping people, 5 percent telling people that they can’t do something, and 5 percent ‘tough guy shit’. This blog is going to focus on the 90 percent that is helping people out. The part of the job that I love the most.
My boss at one of the music venues where I work security always says, “You don’t need us until you need us. Then we’re the most important staff there.” It’s true. You often think security people aren’t doing anything, and look bored. That’s why they give us other duties to fulfill throughout the shift. But when something goes down and some situation needs to be dealt with quickly, security staff become the most valued personnel there. Nobody really wants the difficult jobs of breaking up a fight, denying entry to a visibly intoxicated person, denying entry for an expired ID, intervening with sexual harassment, confiscating a fake ID, physically hauling someone outside, 86ing someone from the establishment, detaining someone while the police are called, calling an ambulance for a medical emergency, etc. That all falls on us.
When we’re not doing that ‘tough guy shit’, we are usually given other jobs to pass the time. I more often feel like a host, greeter, or concierge. I answer all of the questions, even the ridiculously stupid ones. It usually feels more like hospitality, rather than ‘bouncing’. We check everyone’s ID in accordance with the O.L.C.C. (Oregon Liquor Control Commission) regulations. Sometimes we check bags, or even pat down or wand people for weapons depending on the venue and the event. Often I end up bussing tables simply because I like to keep moving and help customers. That’s technically a barback and bartender duty. Some venues put us in charge of scanning and processing concert tickets, and assisting at box office. We usually are the ones who change the marquee sign. We answer the telephone. We monitor alcohol use. We guard the venue stage and/or green room. We act as tour guides to out-of-town guests (which I love, since I’ve lived here since 1996 I do know where lots of cool spots are). We help the bands load out their heavy touring gear into their tour bus and trailers. We lock the place down and set the alarm at the end of the night. There are numerous additional duties we take on to help the team and make the night run smoothly. We’re the first and last people you see when you are here, so we must make a good impression.
But, like I said, the most rewarding part is helping people out. That’s what I’ve primarily done for every job I’ve ever worked at since I was 19, if you distill the jobs down to their base function.
Nothing makes me happier than people making comments to me like, “You’re the nicest security guard I’ve ever met.” I hear that every couple of weeks. Or, “You win the award for nicest bouncer ever.” Another memorable one was a woman who said, “You have the most sincere smile of anybody in here.” My philosophy is that if you win people over coming through the door, you’ve got them on your side for the rest of the night. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve ended up having to ask a patron to leave, but since they remembered me “being cool” to them earlier, they do what I’m asking them without any hassle. And no punches. Some people even shake my hand as I’m having them leave. It’s a trip.
One particular night I was working the venue and a very sweet older African-American woman was there with her family to watch her daughter perform that night. I’m always appreciative when I see older people/parents attend concerts. My parents have been coming out to see my various bands perform since I was about 19. I appreciate when the bouncers take extra care with them and help them find seats away from any mayhem or danger. Door guys have offered to walk my parents to a good table, offered them earplugs, and even waived the cover charge.
So on this night, this very kind woman was asking me the usual questions about where she should sit, where would the best view be, what time her daughter’s band was starting and finishing, etc. I helped situate her and her family members at a bench along the side of the room that had great view of the singer. She asked if she could leave to go to her car and get some pillows, since the bench was just hard wood and not that comfortable for long periods of sitting. She did that and returned to her area. I was stationed by the curtain leading back to the green room and backstage area, so I continued to check on her and her family throughout the evening.
She came up to me and asked if there were any other tables in the venue so that she and her family could have somewhere to set their drinks. Some nights there are just a couple of tables, other nights there are zero tables, and some nights there are 10 tables set out with candles on them. I told her that I would see what I could do. I could’ve just told her that I didn’t know where any additional tables were, but that didn’t seem right. I left my post for a minute to look around backstage. No tables. I went outside the venue and looked in the indoor parking garage. Sure enough, there were a few tables out there. The tables are moderately heavy, but I picked one up and walked with it across the parking garage and back into the venue. Through two doors, down some stairs, and through the curtain.
If you’ve seen the 1990 Martin Scorsese mafia movie GOODFELLAS, you remember the nightclub scene. Ray Liotta is trying to impress his new lady, so he takes her to the club that he has partial ownership of. He walks her around the VIP line and through the basement of the building, walking through the kitchen and tipping everybody he sees. They enter the club and a famous comedian is performing. There is nowhere to sit at all, but since he is who he is, the staff brings out a small table and puts it down right in front of the performers. They throw on a tablecloth and silverware and a candle, and set them up in the best spot there is. His girlfriend is duly impressed. And it’s all done in one long continuous shot. I felt like I was bringing in the table for this woman in similar fashion. In I come with a table just for her and her crew. I put the table down right in front of her and held up my finger in the gesture that means, “Hold on a minute.” I then went and got a candle and put it down on the table for her. She clasped her hands together like she was praying and smiled a huge smile at me. Her face was aglow with gratitude.
Later I was out near the front doors saying goodnight to people and this woman found me and thanked me profusely for the special treatment. She gave me a side-hug and put a 5 dollar bill in my shirt pocket. I was so touched. That wasn’t the biggest tip I’ve ever received there, but it may have been the most heartfelt one.
One night we had a blind man with a guide dog come in for the concert. I walked them into the venue and found a logical place for them to enjoy the show where the dog could lay down and not be underfoot. That dog was so chill. I’ve worked with dozens, if not hundreds, of dogs in my life. I used to run a non-profit dog rescue so I’m quite familiar. Most dogs I’ve ever had were agitated by loud noises, in particular fireworks and gunshots and thunder. But a loud rock concert could certainly be included in that group of relatively unpleasant experience for a canine ‘fan’. This dog was right at home watching all the people walk around him and ignoring the raucous rock music. This little guy didn’t even have earplugs.
Later on in the evening a female friend of the blind man asked me to come over. The man was hoping to step outside and get some fresh air and take a break from the concert. We left the dog under the charge of the woman and exited the venue. This man grabbed my shoulder and let me lead him through the crowd and out to the sidewalk. He told me about how he traveled here from Eugene for this show and how much he loves this band and Portland in general. We, of course, talked about how great his service dog was to be so calm in a noisy rock concert. We walked the block several times, with him still gripping my shoulder as I steered him around obstacles and homeless people. Observers would probably think that this man was my Dad.
It’s these little connections that make my job so unique. I spent a good 20 minutes with this man, and I’ll never see him again. But he trusted me completely and we talked and bonded on music and animals and life in general. Later I helped him call a cab and watched him and his service dog hop in the car to go back to their hotel. Everybody knows when you lose one sense, the other ones get stronger. Being a blind man, I guarantee he heard that concert more acutely than I’ve ever heard a concert. I’m actually a bit envious of how he experienced and heard this show. And I really wish I could talk to his dog and ask him what he thought of it.