There are stories we tell to one-up each other, and then there is this blog. Read wondrous tales of strange creatures, explore the depths of human indecency, and hopefully laugh a little as we find out what could possibly make people do what they do.
Special bonus edition of Big Bad Jon's bouncer anthology because I didn't want to ramble on for 3,000 words on a Monday night.
A 53-year-old woman tried to bring her underage son into my bar She brought the wrong squad.
After tales of baldness, full moons, fun facts, perceived racism, muscle hamsters, excuses piled high, cascading carbs and a Sunday surprise, I present to you the first and only fake ID sonnet.
Two hours into my Sunday shift, a shift where I wasn't on the schedule and there was little reason for me to stay beyond 11 p.m., I went outside for some fresh, springtime air.
Big Bad Jon presents a Canecdote play in two acts.
It's always fun to be on the right side of history - no matter how trivial certain situations may seem in the long run.
After a record-setting Fake ID Friday where my race relations are put under the spotlight, one small yet determined ball of fury starts a mini-melee on the patio.
Armed with only light Wednesday and Thursday shifts to draw from, let's take a look back at what makes this job memorable.
Last week I swore that I wasn't a bouncer. Silly me. I should have known full moons possess mythical powers.
Working in or outside of a bar is a fun place to meet new people, hang out and have a drink. But don't lie to me. I really, really don't like it.
