Fact or Fiction? - 19

The story a couple of days ago, Here - was...

Absolutely FALSE! Made-up, fiction - lies.

Sorry, I completely took some of you in with that story.

I only made a few bike rides to the Hall and all were done during summer months. We never went inside the ruins, but I have been around them.

Pictures from Google - free to use - search

As some of you may know already, I’ve worked a few unusual jobs. One of the most unusual was that of Door Supervisor – more commonly known as ‘Bouncer’. That’s where I’m getting some of the inspiration for Zack’s story and I’ve also delved into my memory bank when writing Deadlier Than The Male and other stories. It seems that everyone likes to hear the tales from the Doors.

A few more tales may yet make it into Zack’s story and therefore, you may see something similar to this because it would be a shame to waste a good story… wouldn’t it?

Here’s another one… but this time, you have to decide whether this really did happen to me or if I’ve made it up… so…

Fact or Fiction?

The pub and club I worked at was suffering a bit of a lull in customers. Another club in town had started something I’d been suggesting for a time and their ‘Rock Night’ (with drinks promotions) was getting all our customers.

The door team were getting bored and that’s not good. Mostly the Bouncers on our door were great friends and knew each other well. That causes problems additional to all the others. Basically, they get bored quickly and they turn their minds to making mischief.

The number of customers had been dwindling – due to the other club’s promotions – and the night I’m writing of today saw not one customer. Not even the alcoholic couple who went to every pub on the way to the club, even though they were all on the same street – they couldn’t walk the length of the street without at least a few drinks from one end to the other.

It was going on 11pm without one paying customer and the manager was getting desperate. He had wages to pay, bar staff and glass-collectors were pared down to the bare minimum and the door team were next.

Ideas were thrown back and forth, but most of them were playing ‘catch-up’. Any attempts to ‘beat them at their own game’ would fail because we started too late. The management team had not kept their eye on the ball and the new promotions from the other club had a firm foothold.

Our club would have to spend some serious money to get the attention of the customers and draw them back – and the manager did not want to do that. He’d rather sell up than invest serious money into a dying club. ‘Throwing good money after bad’ was not good business sense.

He disappeared up the stairs to drown his sorrows as the only customer in the place and the door team started thinking.

Trust me, some of the guys should not have been allowed to even try that practice – it leads to trouble.

Think about it… A large group of teenage lads plotting and planning – does any good ever come of that kind of situation? No… well take those teenage lads and age them a little (not too much, you don’t want them getting all responsible and shit).

There you have it, a large group of big kids, all planning what they can do to make their jobs more secure.

The ideas ranged from someone standing around 100 yards away from the club, turning all their customers away, to actually blowing up the club.

And they actually tried to work out how they could blow up the club!

The next suggestion of going to the club with a lot of tins of paint and just 'chucking the paint' all inside the club was met with enthusiasm until someone (it may have been me) pointed out the customers were not likely to stay out drinking if they were covered in paint.

Eventually, Bo (not the sharpest tool in the box) said, “Just a minute!” and ran off out of the club.

He’d gone so fast that no one had chance to stop him and ask him what his idea was and whether it would work.

We found out later, his plan was to phone the police and inform them there had been a bomb planted under a seat in the rival club.

I was horrified when I found out his ‘plan’.

A few minutes after Bo had left, he came running back into the club and ran straight up the stairs to the bar.

He shouted, “I’ve been up here all night, right?” as he went.

Bemused expressions, everyone looking to each other for answers or explanations and not one of us had a clue what the problem was.

A few moments after Bo had run up the stairs, a police car came cruising past. It stopped outside the club doors and the policeman leaned out of the window.

A conversation with the Head Doorman took just a few minutes and the police car moved on.

The Head Doorman waited a little while and then shouted up the stairs for the cause of the concern.

“Bo!” he shouted. “Come down here, mate, I want a word.”

“Have the police gone?” he shouted back.

“Yeah, they’ve gone,” he shouted up. His voice sounded very calm to say he’d just been speaking with a very stern-looking policeman.

Bo came down stairs. He looked half-sheepish and half-pleased as punch.

“What happened?” the Head Doorman said.

Bo knew what he meant, right away. “I phoned in a bomb-scare. I told the police there was a bomb under a seat in the club.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then it got a bit iffy,” Bo said.

He didn’t offer any more information other than it had got ‘iffy’ and the Head Doorman had to prompt him. “Then what?” he said.

“Well, then they asked what kind of bomb and I didn’t know,” he said.

“Yeah? And?” the Head Doorman said. I could see he was losing his patience, his fists were clenching and unclenching and he had a vein in his temple that pulsed with his jaw muscles.

“Well, then they said, ‘Is that the phone box on Leeming Street? The one just opposite The Jockey?’ and I put the phone down and ran in here,” he said. “I think they traced my call.”

“No shit?” the Head Doorman said.

Bo nodded. “Do you think it worked?”

“Do I think it worked?” the Head Doorman said. “Do I think your plan to evacuate the other club, forcing all their customers out to come all the way across town to here? Do I think that worked? Is that what you’re asking me?”

“Yeah.”

“Just a sec,” the Head Doorman said and went outside to look up and down the street. He came back to an expectant Bo.

“No mate, I don’t think they believed you,” he said. “You fuckwit.”