Door Muscle is a series where we talk to bouncers and get the inside tips on getting inside so you can stay safe, keep the squad together, and dance your dick off. $10.00 at the door, no reentry.

Time: Friday, August 9th, 23:58

Location: St. Urbain Street, Montreal

Banter: We’ve come to *redacted*,  and we’ve managed to steal a few minutes of  *redacted*’s time to talk about about the standard ‘laying on the floor bounce,’ a function you performed just minutes ago. Some chick was absolutely sautéed on the dancefloor, she fell, and she did not get up. You then proceeded to pick her up and expel her from the premises.  Take us through your train of thought, boss.

Muscle: Well, I mean, the first thing you want to do is check to make sure the person is okay. Like, are they actually injured, or are they just too drunk to stand up? Way more people hurt themselves dancing than you’d think. You don’t want to be the asshole who just automatically assumes that they’re bombed or whatever when they actually fucked up their ankle. Usually it’s some girl who’s wearing high heels—she’s convinced that they won’t get in the way of dancing. She’s usually wrong.

Banter: In terms of music, is there a cue that prompts you to be more vigilant for floor dwellers?

Muscle: Reggaeton or, like, latin dancehall stuff. Usually it’s white women though who are trying to do the most crazy stuff when that comes on.

Banter: Makes sense. Okay, so what happens if they don’t get up? Is there a count you use? I’m sort of thinking, like, professional boxing style.

Muscle: *laughing* There’s no count. I guess you just kind of wait to see if they start crying or groaning. If it’s a cry, think injury. If it’s a groan, think wasted. Either way, you need to get them the fuck off of your floor so that people aren’t tripping over them. 

Banter: Yeah, okay, but I feel like lots of girls just cry at the bar because of other stuff. 

Muscle: Yeah, but that usually doesn’t happen on the floor.

Banter: Well you’re lucky then. It certainly does where I come from. But it also seems like a lot of the people at this place are adults.

Muscle: Yeah. It’s a bar. Everyone here is an adult.

Banter: No, but I mean they’re actual adults, the ones who can normally keep their legs under them, not teenagers.

Muscle: … What?

Banter: Okay, so they’re not getting off the floor, and it’s not an injury. Do you just like, pick them up?

Muscle: Yeah. Or, just, like, a limb. Like, you grab a limb and just sort of lead them out. I guess kind of like you would if you were herding deer? You don’t want to actually carry them, even though I think that’s sometimes what they want. I actually had some woman a few months ago who was, like, pretending that she couldn’t get up. So, yeah, I actually had to pick her up like I was carrying a big sack of potatoes.

Banter: I’m sure she’d find that analogy very flattering.

Muscle: No, but that’s literally what it was like, which is fine. I don’t care. But the fucked up thing is that she actually puked on me. Like, she puked all over my shirt as I was carrying her to the door. And this wasn’t even at the end of a shift either. I don’t even think it was midnight.

Banter: Yikes… That’s brutal. So what did you do for the rest of the shift?

Muscle: I just finished working? What do you mean?

Banter: I mean with the shirt. Presumably it was a cotton t-shirt like the one you’re wearing. Do you keep an extra here?

Muscle: Oh, no. I just watered it down in the bathroom.

Banter: You watered down a vomit covered cotton t-shirt and then finished your shift?

Muscle: Yeah. Dude, I didn’t like it, but I’m not going to just finish the shift without a shirt. 

Banter: Yeah, imagine how many women would need carrying out of the bar then. 

Muscle: What?

Banter: Okay. This was great! Thanks for your time!