The secret life of…

The secret life of a bouncer: you can be facing violence one minute and dealing with a crying drunk person the next

Copy link
twitter
facebook
whatsapp
email
Copy link
twitter
facebook
whatsapp
email
This is part of a series called ‘The secret life of…’, pulling back the curtain on professions you’ve always wanted to know more about. If you want to anonymously reveal all about your job, email [email protected]
My parents separated when I was 12, which pushed me to crave order and routine. I started martial arts around the age of 11, which helped a lot. I was heading for the military, and to toughen myself up, I started working for security at the cinema just before my 18th birthday. Six months later, I started working on the doors.
There’s a scene in the original Roadhouse film where Dalton (played by Patrick Swayze) talks about the resolution of conflict – he says not to take things personally, remember it’s just a job and ultimately, be nice. That sums up what it’s all about.
If you worked in nightclubs before the 1990s, you were likely a boxer, because you dealt with drunk people by knocking them unconscious. Back then, all you needed was a licence from the local council.
Later on, alcohol licences started to be revoked because of violence and calls to police, so there was a push to call us “door supervisors” rather than “bouncers”.
Qualifications were required and everyone had to have an enhanced DBS [criminal record] check. Anyone with a criminal history was not allowed to hold a security licence. This filtered out a lot of the old “heavy handed” doormen.
I used to finish at 2:30am, watch telly for an hour, get up at 11am the next day, have breakfast, go to the gym, practise martial arts in the evening, go back home and be at the club from 7pm. I’d be on for six hours, six nights a week.
The pay used to be £10 an hour, which in the 1990s was considered well-paid. However, the wages didn’t change for nearly three decades because staff realised they’d make money if they started their own businesses and would offer cheaper services, meaning everyone gets paid less.
On top of this, groups would dominate local areas, using intimidatory tactics to take on new venues. As a result, the job is still minimum wage in a lot of places.
There were times in my 20s when I referred to the people I had to deal with as “the detritus of humanity”, the people I had to get physical with to remove.
At 32, I came off the door. I was no longer getting the adrenaline rush when dealing with a fight. This scared me because I was working six nights a week, dealing with violence every night, going to the gym every day to prepare for more violence. It made me question it: is this what I want to be doing?
I remember my first Judas punch – the one you don’t see coming. There was an 18th birthday party group trying to get into the nightclub. A fellow doorman asked me to deal with some disruption because they weren’t getting anywhere.
Ten guys were looking to come into the club. Some were without ID, so we couldn’t let them in. We refused entry and the conflict escalated immediately.
I got hit three times. It was fast but not hard, and I was able to grab the guy who hit me. It was the first time I’d been hit and not seen it coming – a stark reminder to make sure you protect your blind spots. The team descended on their group, the situation was neutralised and we continued with the night, because you have to move on.
You can be in a fight situation one minute and dealing with a crying drunk person the next. We’d always discuss and debrief together at the end of night, but in the moment you shake it off.
The perception of doormen has completely changed since I started. In my time, we were respected because we had to have a physical capability.
The London 2012 Olympics changed the industry – the Government couldn’t get enough security, so they took people from job centres, thrust them into the security industry, driving down the price point companies could charge. There was a downturn in respect for security. At the very least, security needs a physical presence – a vibe not to be messed with.
I also worked in entertainment close protection for many years, where I met a lot of famous people. The last person I looked after was Simon Cowell, but I’ve worked with people like David Beckham, Jourdan Dunn and Salma Hayek.
The first famous person I worked with was actually a royal – Princess Anne at the ExCel Centre. The police diplomatic protection team turned up with only three operators and they needed four, so I was asked to fill in and complete the box formation around her. Because that went well, in the same week I was part of the group working with Prince Andrew.
Recommended
The Kardashians came over in 2012, working closely with Topshop and Sir Philip Green. They stayed at the Dorchester hotel and we picked them up from the airport VIP terminal.
We were told that Kanye West [then Kim Kardashian’s partner] was not allowed to walk around on his own, but one day I was standing on the front door and he asked me where Oxford Street was. I told him and he went on his way. I respected that he did what he wanted when he wanted.
In 2014, I looked after the hotel where the Victoria’s Secret models were staying in Earl’s Court. On show night, I went to the venue, bumping into Ed Sheeran who was performing at the event.
I now employ a team of eight full time, and I make £65,000 a year as managing director. My guys work in venues, as they allow for better pay – anywhere between £13 and £18 an hour. Plus, there’s more hassle with door work at nightclubs. If you pay peanuts you get monkeys, and in a volatile environment that could lead to a lot of problems.
I get a thrill out of doing something that other people can’t do. It takes a level of humility – you have to be focussed on somebody else. These days, people are more self-focussed.
I am also a boat skipper as well as a doorman, which taught me that you have to be adaptable in a protective role in a tricky environment. Last week, when I was crossing the Channel, I didn’t feel well, but that wasn’t my focus. I had to fulfil my duties as boat skipper and when I am eventually let off, I crash.
I had to learn to be able to switch off, so that when I get home, I can get the adrenaline out, bring my heart rate down and sleep.
I would like my kids to become police officers or nurses or go into the military, to be exposed to all sides of life. To experience camaraderie. A close-knit family dynamic is very beneficial for human beings. That sense of brotherhood.
Although my team is not my blood, they are my brothers. They have stood by me when my family didn’t. That’s my biggest takeaway from this industry – camaraderie. When it really counts in my personal life, they never doubt me for a second.
My life has been a series of traumas, and I consider them to be blessings that have informed the person I have become. It’s not the traumas themselves but the fortitude, discipline and focus on recovering from them that have steered me towards the next chapter of my life: mindset coaching.
I also want to become a philanthropist. Had I not experienced working with the peripheries of society, I wouldn’t be as informed on how to deal with those situations as I am now.
The security industry has been a vehicle for that. How I view the world is very different because of my exposure to violence, but I see it as a positive thing.
Copy link
twitter
facebook
whatsapp
email