Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Creature Chameleons – The Venue Duty Manager

Imagine being a manager of sorts for your own household – ensuring everyone under your roof keeps things clean, does their respective jobs, takes time out to have a break every now and then, ensure everyone is fed and watered, ensure visitors don’t overstay their welcome and leave things exactly as they found them, that someone is always answering the phone, that no undesirables cross the threshold, and so on and so forth. Kind of like a Mum!

That in a nutshell is the job of a venue duty manager. Every job that exists within a venue comes under their rule, be it bar, security, band, promoter, cleaner or driver. Everyone who’s anyone who wants anything done, answered, undone or cleaned will be looking for the duty manager. Their powers reach far and wide and must be adhered to no matter who you are.

You can spot them almost instantly in any venue. They have a 2-way radio, a pen, a sharpie, a role of gaffa tape and a bottle opener always somewhere on their person, and they walk with a look of intense concentration and determination on their face. Concentrating on the 1 million things they have to do and determined not be asked yet another stupid question by some half wit staff member or band manager about rider, dishcloths, beer taps and the like.

Depending on the scale of the event this concentration and determination may be given then chance to wane mid-evening when the band is on stage, when the punters are sufficiently distracted and boozed up and staff are having their breaks. It is in this minuscule lull that the duty manager may possibly have the chance to rest one bum cheek on a chair, half-scratch and itch they’ve had all night and inhale one tenth of a cigarette. But once the band cease to play the excitement unfolds once again as punters lose belongings or fall down stairs, tour vans demand release from garages and bar tills count up wrong again and again and again.

But once the shows over that’s it right? The duty manager is off the hook? He can go home, can he not? Oh no my friends. For with great responsibility comes many keys. Many many keys. Keys to front doors and back doors, to pool tables, and more importantly, to liquor cabinets. And there’s nothing bar staff like more than an after work staffie or 12, especially when they don’t have to lock up.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Undergraduate University Students

Gone are the heady days of political protest, revolutionary rousing and experimental intoxicants in our universities. What was once a breeding ground for cutting edge ideas, social change and pioneer thinking has now been dulled to accommodate the breeding of tiresome uniformed fashion victims with a thirst for nothing but pop culture, being force fed tired old texts whilst digging themselves or Mummy and Daddy deeper into debt.

I speak totally out of turn here as I have never been to university myself. Having been in the music industry since the age of 18 it was more who-you-know than what-you-know, and I happened to fall into the right crowd. However I have been a door girl for all those years (10+ and counting – my, where does the time go…) and have been both shocked and appalled by the psyche of uni students today.

I know they’re coming before they’ve even entered the venue. It only takes one look at the sufficiently scruffy-but-styled, skinny-jeaned, lairy-shirt clad band to alert me that the undergrads are coming. And then they come full force, like an army of children dressed in old ladies clothes and 80’s knock-backs, donning fashion that screams ‘we don’t care!’ but parading around in it like a bunch of supermodels at a high-end houte-couture crack party.

Once they have been sufficiently seen and heard they make their way to me with a look of contempt and disgust.

‘Do we really have to pay?’

‘My boyfriend/brother/Mother/dog is in the band! I shouldn’t have to pay!’

‘Is there a student discount?’

‘Do we get a free drink?’

These the incessant questions of the post-pubescent waves of the future that haven’t tried to sneak their way past me without paying earning immediate expulsion from the show. Once informed there is no discount, no guests, they in fact do have to pay and it might be considered a nice thing to do to support a fellow student in their artistic endeavour, they then proceed to pay me in nothing more than silver coins and take ten years to do so. Once inside they buy one drink, sit on it for the night and ensure they there are again appropriately seen and heard, often taking no notice of the band whatsoever.

Though this demographical study is scathing and heartless at best, I admit that it is not all their fault. For years generation after generation of high school leavers have been forced into undecided and overpriced tertiary education which neither they nor their parents can afford. It’s not surprising that somewhere down the line they’ve all just given up, spat the dummy, stumbled their way through arts or communication degrees and thrown it back in our face.

Tales of an Australian Bar Maid: Creature Chameleons

THE DOOR BITCH

Of all the staff in all the venues all over the world there’s one person you don’t mess with, and that’s the Door Bitch. She has the power to turf you out at the drop of a hat, ticket or not, so you’d best be nice to her my friends!

Being the first point of contact upon entry all she has to do is take your ticket or your money and give you a stamp right? Wrong. Not only does she do that, but she deals with the lazy people who’ve yet to collect their tickets and then hold up the queue as they’ve forgotten their booking information, their ID, their credit card, their name and everything that proves they’re indeed who they say they are. And upon being told their word is simply not good enough they act astounded at the fact you don’t simply just trust them and let them in. All it takes is some basic manners and a little organisation on the punters part and you’re in the door, but you’d be surprised how hard those two things can be to some people.

And then of course there’s the VIP or guest list. A list of people so important they give anyone from the Dalai Lama to Barack Obama a run for their money. They can be musicians’ friends or relatives, fellow musos, record company goons, media moguls, cringeworthy critics or competition winners. But no matter who they are they’re all of the mind they are above it all as they are ‘on the list’. As many tickets as the nobodies like to put on themselves (excuse the pun), to a Door Bitch they’re the same as everyone else, if not all the more painful and way more fun to annoy.

And heaven forbid they’re not on the list! Organising and tour managing a show is a complete nightmare in itself without a bunch of tail-riding free loaders wanting to blag their way in gratis. And when a nobody who thinks they’re somebody is left off the list the fall out for the Door Bitch can be brutal, never mind the fact she has nothing to do with said list and is simply handed it at doors open on the night. They proceed to want to peruse the list themselves and if his names listed can become Stevie Wonder in the blink of an eye, despite the fact they’re white with ginger hair (denied). They drop a myriad of ‘names’ from a great height – none of which the Door Bitch has ever heard of – thinking it will part all seas (denied). They offer anything from dollars to drinks to invites to one of their most exclusive parties (denied). All to avoid actually paying and supporting their so-called ‘best friends’ artistic endeavours.

Besides all this there’s the steady flowing torrent of random questions the Door Bitch must answer repeatedly between all of the aforementioned: Where’s the loo? What time are they on? Who’s playing? Are there any tickets left? How much are drinks? What time does it finish? What’s the address here? Is Joe Blogg’s here? Why is the sky blue? What is the meaning of life??

So next time you enter a show spare a thought for the Door Bitch as in real life hours she’s not a bitch at all. But no matter how organised, on time and polite you may be there are ten people behind you who have no tickets, no money, no ID and absolutely no clue.

Tales of an Australian Bar Maid: Creature Chameleons

The main stayers as far as venue workers go are bartenders and security guards as you’re either running to them or away from them. But there are many other facets to working in a venue or nightclub, giving a Creature of the Night various faces. In Creature Chameleons we will explore these many faces.

THE CLOAKROOM MASTER

One of the less glamorous jobs in a venue some people like cloakroom as its not always busy and you can hide under a myriad of bags and coats when hung over. However the cloakroom can be, depending on the weather, either very boring or very busy, and is often used as a form of punishment if a staff member is always late, slow, annoying the manager, etc.

In the beginning the cloakroom is tolerable as punters filter in, receive their numbered tickets and entrust you with their belongings. The middle of the night then consists of pleasant visits from crowd and staff alike chatting and checking up on you as you may be about to die of boredom. This mid-show lull ensures you either bring a good book or are hopefully paired with someone interesting or it can turn out to be a very long night.

And then they come. The end of show advance of thousands of inebriated revellers all wanting their things and all wanting them now. Reinforcements are brought in, as the little room that was once so orderly now becomes a flurried mess of discarded coat hangers and coat check ticket http://sistersin-creaturesofthenight.blogspot.com/s. You become a machine, grabbing tickets in exchange for belongings. But take heed the poor souls that lose their tickets. Should they remember the ticket number and item they cloaked they escape a look that could kill and a good dressing down. But if they lose their ticket and can’t remember the number there’s a slight pang of sympathy as they’re told they must wait till the end of the flurry to recover their goods.

Once the queue is up and the ticket losers have pleaded for mercy and collected their lot the clean up of tickets and hangers begins, along with the cataloguing of items lost or left behind. This is always my favourite part of the cloakroom, as those things not collected within the month are then seized by staff, and I must thank the people of Sydney and London for some mighty fine wardrobe acquisitions over the years.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Metalheads

You can see the fear in the eyes of pedestrians and drivers alike when a metal or goth crowd descends on a venue. With their flowing black locks, metal studded clothes and jewellry, evil looking t-shirts and pasty white skin your average person tends to run for the hills. But as the old adage goes, never judge a book by its cover my friends.

Metal music is loud, aggressive, abusive and can sometimes depict violence, but in my experience their crowds do not follow suit. They may look the part, talk the talk and walk the walk, but Metalheads are usually those nerdy kids who never said boo in high school and usually got beaten up, or a down to earth tradesman that looks like the Hulk due to lugging materials all day long.

For starters they hardly drink. If you’re a bartender who doesn’t like metal working a metal show you’re out of luck as you ain’t going to be busy. At the risk of generalising here, Metal crowds are usually from the outskirts of town so they always drive. They may have a couple in the beginning but once the bands come on there only be time for head-banging and fist-pumping. The rest of their time is spent detangling hair from aforementioned studs, searching for lost clothing and shoes and smoking outside.

And as the music is so loud and aggressive they must get all that out themselves whilst head-banging as they can be the nicest people in the world. Always amped for the show, always in high spirits and always yelling ‘Yeeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhh!’. So next time you get caught in the pre or post-show throws of a metal gig don’t be scared. Unless its that band I saw from Europe once that had pigs heads impaled on their mic stands and animal blood all over them. Stay away from them, that shit was weird.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Kids

There’s much musical entertainment on offer for kids these days, which is great. From The Wiggles to rock bands to top name DJs there’s something for everyone whether it be toddlers, teens or in between.

A kids show such as Hi5 or The Wiggles can be nothing short of mayhem. Excitement and blood sugar levels are high and parents are panicked. After stowing their prams safely in the cloakroom with another 5000 prams the mission begins to get child to seat without losing or hurting them, and without spending your months wages on merchandise and sweets. Once in the seat just sit back and relax to the sound of 3000 happy little voices clapping and singing their hearts out. Until it’s time to go and they throw the tantrum of a lifetime because they didn’t get to physically meet Spongebob, Dorothy or whatever inanimate or extinct object has been animated that month.

All Ages or your older kids shows are a lot easier from a parents point of view as their job usually only consists of dropping off, picking up and being suitably silent and invisible as to avoid parental embarrassment of any form. However this is where a venue workers job gets hard. 3000 teens being let loose in a public space with sugary drinks and treats for sale is always asking for trouble – and that’s not even taking into account what they got into before the show or what they snuck inside.

Red Bull, Coke, lollies and red cordial shots become the order of the day. The rest of your time is spent developing an eventually life-long back spasm from leaning over the sink pouring out free tap waters. If it’s a rock show the kids pile into a sweaty moshy mess between schooners of coke and sneaky trips outside for cigarettes. If it’s a dance party they attach glow sticks to anything and everything on their person and chew gum and suck lollipops for all the right reasons.

Either way they’re fun to watch and often your best customers as they’re sober and polite. And if not you simply yell at them and they’re running scared. Good times.

Confessions of an Australian Bar Maid: Demographical Study – Ravers

One day a long time ago a computer nerd created a game called Pacman. Pacman ran around in circles to electronic music munching on tiny white pills and avoiding demons. Pacman may be long gone as far as computer games go, but nevertheless his actions live on in today’s dance music community.

Dance parties are a joy to work depending on the music. The only 2 dance parties I want stripped from my memory are Hard House Academy’s 9th Birthday and the Swedish House Mafia. The former consisted of a spattering of old ravers reliving their heyday by taking stimulants that made them eat their own faces, dancing to what sounded like a hammer repeatedly smashing a brick whilst wearing fluro clothing, fake dreads and furry leg warmers. The latter consisted of people from Essex donning their shiniest bling and fake tan, yelling, vomiting and stealing whilst dancing to not so bad music.

Apart from those 2 experiences dance party crowds usually provide a good night at work. Their euphoric state and loved-up attitude make them pleasant customers who love to chat, flatter and who drink considerably less than other crowds, making your job that much easier. If you can look past the sweating, chewing, stuttering and wandering eyes they’re a joy to serve, especially when they’re so wasted they tip in excess or just leave their change behind altogether.

And if it’s a gay dance party you’re working your ship has come in. Double income, no kids, money to splash and the most designer of drugs ensure your night is full of flattery, fun, tips and extra special treats such as lollies, ice creams and loads more.

Theres much stigma around dance parties usually pertaining to the underlying drug culture which exists within them. While there are indeed heightened dangers and risks dance party crowds are noticeably happier, nicer, less confrontational and fun. The only people they are hurting in the end are themselves, however the bulk of them take intoxicants recreationally and responsibly. And so long as they’re happy, I’m happy.