Like a lot of men, I’m not particularly skilled at knowing when a woman is flirting with me. I just write it off to the woman being talkative, or full of questions, or inebriated. I’ve honestly never considered myself that attractive. So throw in a pinch of insecurity and you end up with a guy that needs to be hit over the head with flirtation for it to sink in.
Except now that I work as a bouncer, the flirtations are crystal clear to me. This piece is about the silly flirtatious behavior that I can easily identify, meaningless as it is.
First off, I don’t want this to sound at all like I’m bragging. I’m not. I just find the extent of these drunken flirtatious anecdotes quite amusing. I am literally twice the age of some of the women in here. I know full well that these situations only occur because I am there at a venue or bar in a position of authority. And people are drinking and doing drugs while they are here. Therefore, their boundaries get blurry and their confidence spikes. What a great combination. I don’t consider myself a magnet for anything except talkative drunk people.
But now that I’m a bouncer/door guy at various music venues, things are slightly different. Lord above, things are different. All kinds of extra happy people just love to talk to me, ask me all the questions, and say ridiculous things. Being the bouncer, I’m the first person people interact with and the last person they see at the end of the night. Depending on the set up, people may have just those two interactions, or 10 more little conversations each time they pass me. Or they might come to where I am just to bend my ear and grab my elbow a dozen times while talking about the band playing there. I might end up calling them a cab, or catching them in my arms as they lose the battle with their high heels and vodka tonic. I do give out a lot of hugs.
The number one comment I get is some variation of “I love your dreads!” “Beautiful dreads!” Dudes will say, “Sick dreads, man.” One woman walked up to me and said, “I am obsessed with your dreads.’ I replied, “Obsessed? That’s….quite a word.” She back pedaled and said, “Well, ok obsessed sounds weird. But I just really love them.” I thanked her and smiled. I hear at least one comment about my dreads from a patron every night, and sometimes many more. Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered. And it usually starts a small conversation. But it’s also the most basic thing you can talk about. It’s the first thing you notice, and the first trait you would use to describe me. I’m a white guy with dreads in Portland, but I’m not a 21-year-old hippie stoner. Many times a patron will reach out to touch them or ask if they can touch my dreads. I’ve gotten used to pulling away and telling people firmly, “You shouldn’t touch people’s hair without asking.”
One dread-locked woman in her 30’s came in and I checked her ID. We had the typical mini-bonding session about dreads where we complimented each other and asked how long the other person has been growing them out. Then she said, “Can I Avatar you?” Luckily I knew what she meant. We each grabbed one of our own dreads and held them out towards each other. Then we touched the tips of our dreads to each other. She smiled and walked away into the venue. Each time we saw each other for the rest of the night we did this little ritual. And this has now happened several times with different people with dreads. (For those of you not in the know, this is from the 2009 James Cameron blockbuster film called AVATAR. The Na’vi have these fiber-optic tendrils that they hold up to each other. The tips of them connect and lock together with little blinky-light tentacles. Then they essentially mind-meld like in Star Trek, making a neural connection and sharing thoughts. The Na’vi connect their queues during mating to create a strong, emotional, and lifelong bond.) I really do appreciate the nerdy sci-fi reference when people do this. My coworkers usually stifle a chuckle when a dread-locked woman asks if she can Avatar me. And I don’t blame them. I laugh too.
Sometimes it’s just the usual drunken flirty comments like, “Are you single?” To which I smile and reply, “Nope. But I appreciate you asking.” Or a woman puts her arm around me in a very intimate way and says something nice like, “This handsome bouncer right here will make sure that we’re safe all night.” Again, I just smile and say, “Yep.” A woman walking by me outside asked, “Oooooh, what is that cologne you’re wearing?” (It was probably a mixture of sweat and spilled beer, honestly.) One regular patron liked to call me Thor. I’ve been told that I look like the wrestler Diamond Dallas Page. And one rocker dude asked me if I was the lead singer of Morbid Angel, the Florida death metal band. One woman made a b-line to me from across the bar and said with dramatic pause, “What is your name? You……….are just………beautiful.”
Of course I smiled and thanked her. She asked my name and we chatted for a minute. She had enjoyed a few drinks, of course. And she was there with her fella.
That’s another consideration. Some people are trying to make the person that they are there with jealous by flirting with the bouncers. Some women like to see guys fight over them. Some people are just trying to make the big mean bouncers break a smile. Maybe even a bet was involved. “If I can make that bouncer smile in under 30 seconds you buy my next drink.” Some just honestly like teasing bouncers, or are showing off for their friends. I’ve had some people come in and say that their friends advised them that it’s always a good idea to befriend the bouncer on your way into the establishment. And that’s true. If you were nice to me coming in, and you come to me later about a disagreement, or that someone was rude to you, it is likely that I’ll side with you. Human nature. We are there to keep you safe, and kick out anybody that isn’t being safe.
I was outside the front doors on break and a woman who I already carded came back outside to talk to me. It was still daylight, and she had seen the Gonzo tattoo on my forearm from inside the bar. I am a huge fan of the author Hunter S. Thompson, and I have his symbol tattooed on my right arm. The one with the knife blade and the fist clutching a mushroom cap with his nickname “GONZO” as the hilt of the knife. It turns out that she has the same tattoo and wanted to show me, which was on her lower back right above her butt. Some folks call this the ‘tramp stamp’ area. So she turns around and bends over slightly to expose her tattoo. She was in the classic pin-up girl pose, where you bend over from your hips and look behind you. I’m bent over looking at her tattoo, which is indeed the same as mine. Then three coworkers walked outside and saw this strange sight. It probably looked like she was blatantly flirting by wagging her ass at me, with me bent over checking it out, close enough to grab it. They all smirked and quietly laughed at the scene. The woman and I went on to innocently talk about Hunter and which of his books were our favorites. My coworkers were skeptical when I told them that she and I had the same tattoo. Literature, people!
It’s the more specific and unusual compliments that I always remember and appreciate more. I’ve heard variations of this one a lot, “You’re the nicest bouncer here.” One guy said that I won the “Nicest bouncer ever” award. I loved it when a woman told me, “You have the most sincere smile of anybody in here.” I suppose a lot of bouncers don’t smile. I like to smile at people and attempt some sort of connection with everybody coming through that wants to connect. A particularly awesome compliment came from a red-haired woman wearing a willowy green and white dress. We chatted a few times throughout the night when she would pass through my area. I got the distinct feeling that she was Wiccan, or at least into magic and Goddess energy. At the end of the night she asked my name and said, “You have the kindest eyes.” I thanked her and chatted about the concert that just ended. I wished her a good night and she sort of spun circles out the door making her dress flare and said, “If the fates wish us to meet again then we will meet again.” Yes indeed, witchy woman, this is true. I was tempted to say, “Blessed be,” but I held back.
After working in security in music venues for about a year and a half, I’d thought I’d heard it all. I was proven very wrong. A guy wearing tie-dye and John Lennon glasses walked past me and smiled and asked, “Have you ever done porn?” For once I was speechless. I started to laugh and he smiled. I said, “You got me with that one, buddy. That’s a first.” He walked into the music venue to see the show and I didn’t see him again. I did wonder exactly what he was asking though. Did I look like somebody he’d seen in a porn film? Or was he a porn director fishing for new talent? Was he wondering if I already was a porn actor, or if I would consider being a porn actor? Or was he just trying to embarrass me? I suppose I will never know. But he gave me the best laugh of the night.
One woman that I can confidently describe as buxom saw me walking down the stairs towards her and started talking about my hair. “Oh, your hair is longer than mine! I don’t normally like that.” She paused and just looked at me, hoping I would play along with her. At a loss for what to say to that, I just smiled at her. She continued, “And I would really hate it if your boobs were bigger than mine!” That got me to laugh and I said, “Oh I wouldn’t like that much either.” She laughed and I walked away before she could continue discussing our body parts.
At another location I was on dinner break and a woman walked up to me to start a conversation. It was the opening weekend of a brand new location and there were a ton of people there. She asked if I worked here and I admitted that I did. She thanked me profusely for all of the staff doing such a great job. She said they had a great time and the staff did a fantastic job of handling the huge and demanding crowds there. I told her I was glad that they had such a great time and thanked her. She then asked me if she could rub her tits in my face. Long pause as I just sat there and smiled at her. I finally responded, “Well I do appreciate that. But the management here would probably frown upon it.” That’s about as diplomatic of a response as I could muster after a long crazy shift. Honestly, I’m a lot more interested in rubbing my face in this cheesesteak sandwich than your tits right now. She wandered away with her friends and made a sad face. Classy. That will teach me never to try to eat dinner out on the floor where the public is.
Another valuable skill I’ve learned is dodging a kiss. People are just so happy, drunk, high, buzzed on seeing their favorite band, or all of the above that they want to kiss you. I have become adept at turning my body away from them, stabilizing them by holding their waist (side-hug), then moving my face away so they kiss my cheek instead of the intended mouth. I know other bouncers who don’t have this skill (or are single), and have been kissed full-on by a drunken patron. It’s a bit unprofessional as well. I was working a dance party one night and five women walked behind me to the exit. I felt a hand slip around my waist. It was the way you would grab your lover and only your lover, very intimate. This short young woman moved into kiss me and I turned so she only got my cheek. She smiled slyly and said, “I’m from Seattle.” I responded, “Welcome to Portland.” She followed her four friends out of the dance hall onto the next place.
Sometimes women flirt with me because they want something. Something like me overlooking an expired ID, letting them into a show without a ticket, or allowing them into the green room or backstage area without credentials. I can usually tell when it’s about to happen. The big exaggerated smile comes out, she sashays towards me, and pushes her breasts together with her arms. She might get really touchy and put her hands on my leg as she leans in super close to me. Often she pushes her breasts against me and asks me something like, “What would it take for you to let me backstage?” Having a steel will, a stubborn streak, and boundaries as clear as on world maps, I say, “A backstage pass laminate.” Seconds go by. Did she really think I was going to say, “Twenty bucks and a kiss?” Hoping that I might be the person who can issue those, she says, “So how do I get one of those laminates?” Like a teacher explaining how erosion works, I answer, “Well, the band members or tour personnel would have issued you a pass earlier today. It’s usually for family members and crew. You can’t purchase them.” She makes the sad pouty face and purses her lips and then slinks away. Lady, it isn’t 1982 at a Motley Crue concert. You don’t just get to go backstage because you’re hot.
One woman intentionally mashed her ample breasts into me while interrupting and asking me for some sort of favor. She didn’t pull away or act like it was an accident. She just kept them pushed against my chest and bicep awkwardly. My brain started playing The Police song “Don’t Stand so Close to Me.” She’s so close now. This girl is half his age.
I was busy talking to another person and checking their ID or scanning their concert ticket while she did this. I had already been dealing with rude people and putting out fires all night. So I said loudly, “Ma’am, could you please get your breasts off of me so I can do my job?” The other people within earshot made wide-eyed expressions and the breast-masher looked embarrassed and moved away.
At an outdoor event two women came up to me and asked about getting the entry wristband to the beer garden. I explained that it didn’t cost anything and they just had to show me their ID and I would get them their wristbands. After I attached the wristband to the first woman she said, “Wow, I feel like we just got married or something.” Apparently this reminded her enough of a man slipping on the wedding ring. This plastic bright pink wristband carries absolutely no weight or meaning, and I wasn’t wearing one, but I get your weak attempt at flirting. But the second woman took it to another level. After I affixed the wristband to her, she put both hands around my shoulders and pulled herself toward me. Her mouth was all the way open trying to kiss me. It was actually open too wide, as if she wanted to plant her mouth over a large portion of my face like a sucker fish. I was reminded of a video of a suckerfish cleaning the side of it’s fish tank. It sticks it’s huge mouth on the glass then proceeds to open and close it’s mouth rapidly with it’s body dangling down. I grabbed her elbows and prevented her from succeeding in her suck-face mission. I said, “No, no, no” and turned my head away from her. She gave up and both women sauntered away.
Most of these stories are relatively funny (I hope), but imagine if the gender roles were reversed. Imagine a man asking a woman in public if she has done porn? Picture a man making provocative but vague offers to a woman in return for a favor. Picture a man trying to kiss a woman without consent, or pushing his body parts against a woman intentionally. All of that would be creepy at the very least and sexual harassment or sexual assault at the worst. And if it happened like that I would intervene and physically bounce the guy out of the venue. It gives me pause, and gives me issues to think about during the occasional boring moments at work. Double standards. Male privilege. Becoming numb to people’s drunken behavior and violating my personal bubble. Considering people’s increased awareness and dialogue about respect and consent and sexual harassment, it’s interesting that I brush this off and shake my head for the most part when it happens to me. Perhaps I should be more angry when this happens. I don’t feel like I’m being sexually harassed at the time. But perhaps I am? I certainly have more work to do around this. We all evolve. I know that I would be pissed if a man touched any of my female friends in the ways that some of these women touch me and my co-workers. But as bouncers we sign on for a job in which we know we could be punched, spit on, kicked, attacked, or even stabbed or shot. So I guess we know that we are in harm’s way for violence, or sexual harassment. It’s not right though. It’s an intriguing facet of the job that I will be giving some more thought to.
But in the meantime, I’ll keep writing down the funny shit people say to me. And by the way, I’ve never been single while I’ve worked in security. I’ve happily been with the same woman since 2015, and we got married in early 2018. So all this silly flirting is for naught, these women are barking up the wrong tree.
But if you have dreads, come by and maybe we can Avatar each other.