Douche Bag
I’m really glad this pejorative has returned to our lexicon. As a bartender, it really sums up a certain type of customer. I even purchased business cards which are black on one side and read, “You are a douche!” on the other. I haven’t used them, yet. Today’s douche bag let’s call him Larry. He’s a former employee, who worked security next door. He claims to be a cop and was hired by the previous promoter to keep the peace; although, I know at times he caused more problems than he solved.
At the end of the night, Larry would go through the break, the night’s empty bottles, and pour any remnants into a glass and drink it. Later in the evening, he would come into my sacred space and beg for half a shot of jaegermeister. The thing is, this douche bag isn’t even a drinker. He’s just some dude who takes pride in being able to mooch a quarter of a gill of booze after hours. The problem with my place of employment is that too many things are accepted for reasons unbeknownst to anyone, not even the owners. Larry hanging around after hours is one of those issues. I got particularly annoyed on Friday when a few of us were enjoying a post-work beverage. We were talking about people who can cover songs better than originals. That’s when this douche bag chimed in with, “Weird Al Yankovic.” Silence befell our small party as one of the bouncers, a music aficionado, fell away in disgust. I didn’t know it at the time but I had enough.
Saturday night we finished work. As my colleagues were settling in for their happy hour, I was scrambling to get my car out of the lot so I could drive to Palm Springs for Father’s Day. After working for 10 hours dealing with douche bags, I’m not the most congenial person. So when Larry walked in and asked for a half a shot of Jaeger, I just felt like getting in his grill, I didn’t care that he’s odd and a bit unstable and carries a gun, “What are you doing here? You don’t work here. You’re some kind of cop, you say.” He replied, “You don’t believe I’m a cop?” He reached deep down into his pocket and pulled out his badge. He flipped it open and handed it to me. That’s when I read, “Los Angeles Unified School District Police Officer.” “You work for L.A. Unified?” “Yeah, I deal with gangs.” I believe during the years of the Little Rascals, they were called truant officers. I walked away. Fucking douche bag!
One in an occasional series.
