Not Good Enough [Part 2]
The journalist showered, changed, and left his apartment. Walking to the bar only took a few minutes, so he lit a cigarette to organize his thoughts.
It's not even about the job...
I mean, I need the job to eat but that's not what I'm in this business for...
There are fucked up things happening in this world. Things beyond our knowledge...
The journalist straightened his back to the calling of his name. His friend had already arrived. But to their dismay, dozens of people were already waiting in line to enter the club. The two of them appended themselves to the back of the queue with an air of defeat.
“Of course. The one time I decide to go out with old friends there’s a line the size of Mount Kilimanjaro.”
“Getting poetic now, aren't you?”
“Only when I’m trying to pass the time.”
The journalist responded robotically.
He was distracted by a gray man in a suit, walking with a lavishly dressed woman rocking a scarlet silk dress.
“Look at her go with that shifty looking guy”.
Both men eyed the pair with what appeared to be a mixture of scorn and envy.
“That bastard cut in line like it’s nobody’s fucking business.”
“A well known benefit to being filthy rich.”
“I don’t like it. His sickly complexion makes it seem as though he has plenty to hide.”
The journalist had to admit to the peculiar energy that surrounded the stranger. Other pedestrians noticed too. Consciously or not, most people turned their heads along his path.
After ten minutes of impatient waiting, the journalist split from the line and head straight towards the bouncer. Eye contact unfaltering. One solid step after another. Finally he and the bulky half-bear stood in front of each other in strikingly thick silence.
The journalist slowly let an amiable smile creep along the height of his cheeks. Confidence is key, he reminded himself.
“Hi! My name is Patrick Ford and I’m looking to evaluate your club for the Nightlife magazine. Unfortunately I’m running late for the appointed procedure. So if you could be so kind as to let me and my colleague in to make this process smoother, we will all be the better for it.”
One of the bouncer’s eyebrows contorted into a shape resembling a worm experiencing lethal pain. Evidently he was not convinced. After a quick inquiry of name and a swift glance at the leather bound book, the bouncer concluded that special treatment does not suit guests who aren't on the VIP list.
Daft gorillas easily forget the dangers of negative publicity so he gestured them towards the end of the line.
The journalist turned his head to see the full length of the queue.
No way in hell…
Sigh. I guess there’s no way around it.
“Yeah I’m sorry but I’m going to have to speak with your supervisor.”
“Why?”
The pitch of the bouncer's voice was so deep it made the journalists chest buzz.
“To explain why the club's guest list will decrease as a result of a review detailing the conduct of a particularly rude bouncer.”
The Bear finally straightened his mind and understood what the journalist was getting at.
He definitely wasn’t pleased. But he turned aside, frowning gravely, and turned his shoulders to the journalist who was now beaming with a grin of self-importance.
Meanwhile Pablo looked like he just saw a Shaolin Monk throw a needle through a glass of water.
“Holy crap! That worked?”
“An old trick that my uncle showed when when he was supposed to take me bowling on my 16th Birthday”.
Pablo was stunned. But once they entered the club his thoughts were distracted by the flashing lights and sparkling neon rays highlighting the smoke in the room.
People were dancing and laughing to the electronic bass thundering down on everyone’s shoulders.
The journalist was pleased.
Plenty of expensive dresses and an abundance of tailored italian suits, he thought to himself.
This looks like the right place to be!
Will be continued...
Image via Special Collections Toronto Public Library
steemit: @martin-stuessy
other: Portfolio page
excellent story congratulations
Thank you very much :)