Man. So many people want so much from me.

I can’t help them all… but they don’t know that.
And I can’t expect them to.
I guess that’s my burden.
All I can do is tell them to get back, without looking them in the eye.
Sometimes all they want is for me to look at them.
Sometimes I wonder, ‘if I just smiled at these people would that be enough for them?’
I think some of them would actually call it a night.
I guess I do have a lot of power.
And perfectly ripped upper pectoral muscles.
A lot of them just know my work. They’ve seen what I can do. They know I was meant to do it and they see it in my demeanor. Not everyone can do this job. You have to have a unique approach. You have to temper arrogance with anticipation and then season it with the illusion of flexibility. You try that. At a new bar every 4 and a half months. Sound easy?
Didn’t think so.

Some people actually think they’re the show; that the club is theirs to walk into and spend money at. They don’t know what it means to be the show… they don’t know how much work it takes to be the show. People want to come here because it’s cool. Cool people come in here because it’s free and because we make it look expensive by making people wait outside. Which is a process. People love to wait outside, but only if I’m there, reassuring them that even thought they might not be good enough, they’re in the right place.

“Who are you?”, I’ll ask for fun.
They can’t ever seem to answer that. And when they do, the weakness in their voice is nauseating. The real question is - who aren’t they. I know the answer. But only because I know what questions to ask.

1-‘Have you appeared in any of the hottest industry photo booklets in the last two months?’

2-‘What percentage of the people on any of tonights event promoters mailing lists have you done drugs with (buying drugs from them does not count)?’

3-‘Do you know what clubs will be hot one week from now?’

4-‘when can you go back to drinking at the club you used to genuinely enjoy, and not look not cool?’

answers: I don’t care.

Sometimes I wonder if these people even know what they want. Do they want booze? yes. Do they want friends? yes. Do they want to be here? Maybe. Do they want approval. Always.

And I happen to be the guy in charge of giving it to them.
I always seem to get chosen to do that. Not because I can’t make a cosmopolitan. Because I can, fuck that. My hands are just too big to do it quickly.

No… because I have an eye for desperation.

Do you know how hard this is?!! To approve of these people??! When they’re right in my face? Pleading… With that unapprovable look on their face?
Almost as if they’re saying, ‘Explain life to me’.
I don’t have the time.
I have a job to do.
I keep them waiting.
Wanting.
Confused.

It would be easier if they had self-respect. Then they would just admit that they came to drink and pay too much to do it. Then I could tell them that that wasn’t a good enough reason, and we wouldn’t have to go over, how much cooler what I represent is, than, who they are.
They wouldn’t need to know.
I mean, true, they wouldn’t hang around the after party and suck my dick to make things go more smoothly in a month and a half at my next job, but I’m willing to deal with that if that’s what it takes to make this whole process… I don’t know- less demanding.
Less pathetic.

I just want people who deserve to have a good time, to have a good time with the people who can pay for it.

In other words, I want hot bitches who lack the self-esteem necessary to refuse getting fucked in front of the kitchen staff; to party with guys rich enough to pay me to forgive their inferiority- or, guys who are so powerful that they help me forget to admit to myself that I just work the door at Rhino bar.
Because then I’m cool with it.
See, I’m addicted to all kinds of power.
Mine, other people’s, drug induced, whatever. Let’s party… I’m sorry can you wait over there.

01/12/2006
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