Vampire Hours
I've worked as a bouncer for over 9 years now, and it has proven to be my favorite job I've ever worked. The other day, the TV in my club was playing Scooby-Doo, and it struck me how blessed I am to earn a living by watching cartoons and hanging out with strippers all night. Teenage me would be pretty stoked to hear what right now me is up to. That said, the job does come with some danger attached; I always tell people it would be a boring job if it didn't get interesting once in a while. Obviously, that's a lie—remember what I said? Strippers and cartoons!
I've encountered some pretty memorable dangers over the years. I've had guns pointed at me, stepped up to a knife fight (which didn't happen when the other guy saw that mine was bigger), and been threatened with axes, hammers, and various other forms of weaponry. Every time I think I've seen it all, something new comes out of left field to throw me for the proverbial loop, like the time I saw a homeless guy shoot himself in the dick. How could I have ever predicted that I'd witness a real-life Cheddar Bob? A self-Robo Cop?
One such novel danger recently revealed itself to me while working the front door of Dixie Tavern on a Friday night. I observed a homeless man walking down the street carrying a large wooden stick that had been whittled down to a sharp point. Even after everything I've experienced on the job, I'll admit, I found that sight rather unsettling. When you've been a bouncer as long as I have, you learn that when the streets talk, you'd be wise to listen, and that night the streets were warning me of a new danger in town: vampires.
One look at Scruffy the vampire slayer strutting through Chinatown, ready to stand on motherfuckin’ business, and I made up my mind on the spot to follow his lead. Hell, because of the hours I work, I live the overwhelming majority of my life at night; I keep the same schedule as the filthy bloodsuckers that now posed a threat. Complicating matters, I had a hunch that any vampires roaming Old Town Portland might be a bit more difficult to spot than most; I didn't suspect they'd be roaming the neighborhood serving cunt like Louis and Lestat.
The next shift I worked, I set out implementing a series of anti-vampire security protocols, much to the annoyance of everyone around me. For starters, I began patrolling the block with a Super Soaker 50 filled with holy water, Lost Boys-style. From then on, while checking IDs at the front door, I took caution to never say “welcome in,” or any other phrase that could be construed as an invitation to enter.
The priest I snuck down to the basement to bless the ice machine didn't seem to understand my scheme to introduce holy water into every drink we served, by way of melting holy ice, and while he ultimately acquiesced, I could have done without the patronizing inflection of his blessing. I then began sneaking into the kitchen any time Devin, the cook, stepped out for a smoke, sneaking garlic into pretty much everything. It was an improvement for some menu items, but eventually people stopped ordering dessert altogether—small price to pay for fending off the undead.
I almost found myself in a spot of trouble while setting up crucifixes and wooden stake stations around the neighborhood. A couple of police officers from the entertainment detail approached me while I loaded stakes onto the shelves of the 3rd & Burnside stake station I'd set up, and informed me that I couldn't just go around handing out free weapons to the entire neighborhood. My eyes narrowed with suspicion as they spoke, and I raised my trusty Super Soaker, giving each of them a spritz of holy water to the face.
Once the officers removed the handcuffs, I began rubbing the circulation back into my hands, while they lectured me about the stupidity of my plans and told me that vampires aren't real. “Your funeral,” I muttered as they walked away, dumping the holy water from the tank of their new Super Soaker. Eventually, though, I began to suspect they were right. After a couple of months without even a single vampire attack, I gradually relaxed my undead security posture.
Eventually, vampires were replaced by another one of those new and unpredictable dangers I mentioned before; a different homeless guy snuck up behind me and bit my neck! Shit, man, I should have heeded Wu-Tang’s advice! At least I think he was homeless; he was gone by the time I turned around, but he was obviously missing some teeth, judging by the bite wound, which produced just two round puncture holes.
Luckily, my injuries were minor, and I was back on my feet in no time. Vampires were out, and hungry meth heads were in. I decided I wouldn't be needing my leftover stash of holy water, so I poured it all down the drain. Pro tip: holy water apparently expires at some point and converts into a strong acid—a lesson I learned when some of it splashed back onto my skin and burned the shit out of me.
I will admit, I haven't been feeling quite like myself since that dude bit me. For starters, I can't stomach Italian food anymore, which is a bummer, because I used to eat a lot of pizza. I'd hate to be holding stock in Little Caesar's next quarter! But seriously, it's so bad that I've started looking into adult-onset garlic allergies. I've also noticed my eyes developing an increased sensitivity to sunlight. My eyes are blue, so they've always been sensitive to the sun, but at this point, I can't even sleep without blackout curtains.
Perhaps the most noticeable change has been a rise in my level of irritability. When I'm around large groups of people, it's like I can hear their heartbeats pounding in my ears, like thunder, drowning out even the loud music playing in the club. And don't get me started on the assholes that like to linger inside after closing. Those people have always irked me, but now it's way worse. I mean, cut me some slack, people! Some of us have closing tasks to get done, so we can get home and into our coffins before the sun comes up! I think I'm going to start biting them.
Nate Hazen is a bouncer, writer, and stand-up comedian. You can find him at either Dixie Tavern or X Exotic Lounge six nights a week, so come feed him some of your delicious, delicious blood!
