As clubs got increasingly smaller and only needed to let ten people in every hour, the role of the doorperson dramatically changed. The door guy went from someone who was constantly stressed and permanently outside maniacally waving a clipboard to someone who has relatively nothing to do.

If your club’s capacity is eighty, meaning the doorperson will probably only let in around ninety people in the six hour span of an evening, that makes for a night’s work equivalent in boredom to manning the late shift at an off-road gas station in Kansas. Outside a club, everyone wants in and therefore perpetually harasses the doorperson with pleas of ‘I know so and so,’ and ‘I’m with girls!’ regardless of the fact that the door guy has neither the ability to make the locale any larger nor the authority to make the ostentatious door policy any less strict.

It therefore comes as no great surprise that in an effort to avoid boredom and persistent pestering, the doorman will take refuge inside the club. Often for chunks as large as twenty to thirty minutes at a time.

Does no one else find this absurd? Continue