I worked the door at a bar for a few years as a part time gig. I fucking hate drunks. Drunks under 5'8" always think they can beat you up, they can't and it was pointless to try. People who can beat you up can mostly control themselves and are rarely a problem.
The best night to work in Christmas eve. The after work holiday crowd is gone by 8pm and what is left is misery. The last Christmas eve I ever worked at a bar, A drunk downer was whining to anyone who would listen and making the crowd mad. He stood up and loudly yelled. "If there was a bridge nearby I'd fucking jump off it!!!" The crowd screamed back, "Two blocks down, take a fucking right and walk to the middle, die already!!!"
I was touched by the holiday spirit of our patrons. Even a bad job has bright moments.
In 1984 and 85 I was working security at night clubs. From dance clubs to topless bars. My boss, who was also a local sheriff loaned me one of his nice pieces since I had a Texas state commission to carry a firearm on duty (I had to requalify every so often, last test was 145 pounts out of 150.) It was a Smith and Wesson Model 19 K-frame .357 Magnum with nickel plating and ivory oversized grips. Just shy of 3 pounds but shot like a dream. (Sure it was easy to pose with it and say, "I know what you are thinking. Did he shoot six or was it only five? Well, in all the excitement, I kind of lost count myself. Being that this is (in that movie) a forty-four magnum, the most powerful handgun in the whole world and could blow your head clean off, you have to be asking yourself one question.
Do I feel lucky? Well, do you, punk?")
At the topless bars, a few bikers would go outside and beat a guy into the hospital just because it was Thursday night. At one of the dance clubs, I had a few fights. One with a guy who was on some other substance besides booze. During the struggle, he got my gun off my sam browne because it was a snap-on holster. So, I picked him up off the ground and bounced his head on the carpeted ramp like it was a basketball.
That stunned him enough to get handcuffs on him and wait for the cops. I could imagine he woke up the next morning with some stitches and a headache and asking what happened. And a cop could say, well, you took on a guy twice your size, that's what happened. (I was 6' 6" 235 lbs of several different types of hand to hand combat. Now, many decades later, life has worn me down to a puny 6' 4".)
Another "encounter" was with a drunken bum looking for a night in a warm jail (it was 20 F in February.) So, he lunged for my left hip, which is where I carry a handgun.) I deftly waltzed out of the way and he bounced headlong into the decorative brick facade of the club and knocked himself silly and a club employee called the police and they took him to the drunk tank. Easy money.
But that club was one of the times in my life I was shot at. And another time, I was keeping a trouble maker out and he was backing his car toward the club and about to run me over. So, I pulled that flashy S&W and he decided it was better to call it an evening and leave, which was fine with me.
I know this all sounds incredible and we see so many people talking a big game. But it really did happen.
Heck, I even applied as a police officer for Richardson, Texas and got past the physical agility test just fine. Then, I realized, being clean as a whistle, I could actually become a cop. You have to want it bad enough and I did not want that job that bad, as good as it was.