From Her Perspective

(Note: this article is a REAL NEWS article.  I have been accused of bad journalism before, and it’s time to make amends.  So no funny business.  This is a profile in courage.  A profile in seriousness.  Think Anchorman, except I have a thicker moustache. Okay, here goes… Time to think back to my newswriting class in 1999…)

Boston is a town of many bars.  It reeks of rich mahogany and hops.  Over the past few years, however, there has been a shift in the “feel” of Boston nightlife.  No longer is it easy to find a place that one can sit on one’s ass for twelve hours at a clip and quietly get bombed without a bunch of rotten kids coming in and puking all over you or the trendwhores turning up and turning everything into a martini strip bar.  What happened to the old days of pure, unadulterated alcoholism and Irish music?  You have to travel to the outskirts of town to experience anything like that anymore.

When did this happen?  And why?  I felt it was important to go straight to the source, to find one of the last vestiges of the old days; someone who was there for the glory and has muddled through its demise.  A doorman at one of the pre-eminent bars in town that has gone from being a place to relax to a place you watch underage girls be faux lesbians with one another.  A man who started at the bar scene six years ago, fresh out of college and looking for a place to get some extra pocket money and to get laid.  A source of the ultimate truth, if you will. 

The Doorman, as he requested to be called both in this article and in the bedroom, ladies, if you’re interested, immediately wanted to clear a few things up before we came to the crux of the interview.  People often think of doormen as being self-important assholes who think that because they work at a bar they are better than everyone else.  Okay, fine, maybe that’s just me.  The Doorman assured me that while many of the bouncers in the area do labor under these misconceptions, most are just sick of dealing with drunk people all the time and their bullshit tolerance hovers at nil about 99% of the time.  So if you are a dick to the bouncer, they’re going to not only be a dick back to you, but you’re going to bear the brunt of the rage they’ve been feeling at the world ever since they started their shift.  Remember, this is work for them, not a fun night out.  So don’t be an idiot.  Don’t get all mad when you hand over your grandfather’s ID and get denied.  Don’t try to talk your way out of the cover (especially if you’re a guy or an ugly girl with a bad personality or a hot girl who is a total bitch).  They’re just doing their job, respect that.

Now it was time to get down to business.  Did The Doorman have any real insight as to why things are so different now?  He chalks it up to keeping up with competition.  The opening of bars like McFadden’s and Ned Devine’s really changed the culture of the neighborhood.  People who hung out on Boylston now felt comfortable coming down to Faneuil Hall, willing to pay more than $2.50 for a beer.  In order for the older bars to keep up with that, they had to change, too, to accommodate this new customer base.  It was all so technical; I could hardly wrap my brain around it.  Did he think I was some sort of Economics major?  I pressed on.

“But it just seems like everything has changed.  It’s not like it was before.  Can you pinpoint an exact event that caused my once-favorite watering holes to be overrun by dumb kids who scream and yell and won’t let me sit nicely by myself at the bar and drink myself into oblivion in peace?”

The Doorman’s response was terse, to the point, and sage (I mean wise, not in the tradition of Sage Stallone) as his answers had been all day: “Yes.  You became old.”

It was like a knife through the heart.  Was he right?  Has the scene not changed, rather, had I changed?  Was he showing me, once and for all, that my youth has evaporated quicker than Britney’s career?  Must I finally admit defeat?  It was a question too difficult to answer at that point.  It would have to wait for another time, like when I was high or something.  After assuring him that any further information I needed I would just make up and paying our tab on my corporate Barstool card, he disappeared into the crowd.  I knew that a Major Life Moment had just happened, but couldn’t define what.  So I got drunk by myself and watched television. It was a fine day, indeed.