Losing years off my life

I am a well rounded slacker. I have travelled the world and studied both Psychology and the Culinary Arts; as a matter of fact I was an executive chef for a very short period at the age of 22. After my girlfriend that I had been with through Culinary school left me, I decided to give up cooking and look towards a new career. I spent a year as a restaurant server and an alcoholic musician until my bartender friend hooked me up with an Office Manager position at a large, nearly bankrupt theme restaurant. Due to the financial situation of the restaurant, and under the third General Manager, we decided to turn the space into a dance club on weekend nights. This is how I became a nightclub manager. I was the only manger at the enterance and top floor of the club. We had many wild nights – fights, drug overdoses, and the typical chaos that accompanies such a lifestyle, yet even after we switched from the relatively dosile House and Trance crowd to the ever troublesome Hip Hop format, things managed to work themselves out (I like to think with my help). I was also the facility manger for the promoter hired security. We had 12 massive guys, mainly black and samoan, except for one Italian guy, an ex-army ranger. On one occasian he had dropped a hand gun down our spiral stairway after we had closed. This normally would result in termination of employment as firearms are not allowed in liquor establishments, but noone wanted to be the one to fire such an intimidating individual. I talked at length with my employee one night only to hear stories of cocaine abuse and shooting medical supplies of adrenaline while on special duties in Saudi Arabia. I decided that I would rather be friends than enemies with such an individual and asked him nicely to refrain from bringing his handgun back to work. One night about a half hour after opening the doors, my friend came running through the 500 person line, late for his shift and carrying a duffle bag under his arm. Somehow I knew that something wasn’t quite right so I followed him down the stairs, through the 200-250 people already partying, and into the employee locker room. I simply asked him what was going on before he launched into a surrealistic tale of how asian gang members had a death warrant on him and how he had to do his job although people were trying to kill him. It was at this point that he pulled me into the men’s restroom and locked the door. He proceed to take out of his duffle bag a shotgun, armor piercing shells, a fully automatic machine gun, and tear gas grenades. Although in a full state of shock and disbelief, I manged to calm him down and convinced him to take his guns off of the property. Seeing that he had been dropped off by a friend and had no way to leave the building safely, I watched him put the duffel bag in the service stairway of the parking garage and let him go back to work. Really, what was I supposed to do? I then made my way upstairs and stood white as a ghost and shaking, wondering what on earth to do, not being able to speak a word to anyone. It was aproximately 45 minutes that the doorman approached me with a similar look of dread in his eyes. It seems that he was aware of the death warrant situation but not of the guns. He had come to let me know that the gang members that were out to kill my security guard friend were now in line to enter the club. Now in a crowd of 600+ people, I was the only one that knew that there was an amped up ex-army ranger downstairs in reach of a destructive arsenal, and on the street outside were the people who wanted to kill him. This was the closest I have ever been to being able to actual feel myself losing years off my life. Do you want to hear what happened? Can you feel the stress? Imagine how I felt….

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