Being the proprietor of a bar that is somewhat on the level I have seen a lot of aspects of this industry. I didn’t always own the bar. In fact, when I was a young scamp I worked various jobs in bars and seedy places in general. In the hierarchy of things the best position on the low rungs of a bar is to be an Alley Guy.

Let me explain:

I worked for this Moldovan fellow. He was big in the truest sense of the word. Wide and tall and imposing to say the least. In the several years I worked for him I saw him stand only a handful of times and most of those were confined to the first week I was employed by him. He was surprisingly kind in a direct sort of way. He would ask about my life and how I was doing. Once I told him of a love lost and at the end of my shift he sent me home with a 500 credit bottle of whisky.

This was all contrary to his reputation of course. When I first started working for him I was a front door frisker. What that meant was I had to pat down the patrons that made it into the private section of the bar. I must have done something the Moldovan liked because after a week he sent me out to the Alley.

The Alley is the best place to work. Firstly, when the dancers need a break they go out there to smoke. Now I am not a smoker, but I took to keeping a number of packs and a lighter in my jacket whenever I was out there. It is incredible how many times all it takes is quiet words over a cigarette.

Before I explain the best part it is important to understand the role of a man in the Alley. You see, sometimes in certain establishments, you need a place to deal with delicate situations without the prying eyes of patrons, security cams, or even the other employees. As well, an Alley holds all the accouterments that are required to deal with delicate situations. Perhaps, an individual has been caught red handed in theft that relates to the Moldovan, well that individual comes outside and sees me. I put his hands on a trash-compactor(with assistance, of course) and repeatedly bring the lid down on his hands until every bone from the forearm down has been shattered.

In another instance, a fella got brought back to the Alley and I was given the hint that, while he had done something that required punishment, he was in favour with the Moldovan and so it should have a psychological impact and less physical. So, I put my arm around him and invited him to examine some of my favourite architectural facets of the Alley. Most of these are found at the top of a fire escape ladder some 5 levels up. Once I had shown and described in detail the fascinating aspects of pre-permacrete construction I pushed him off the platform we were on. The drop is about 50 meters and depending on the day, quite fatal. Lucky for my new friend it was a Wednesday, which meant garbage had not been collected. He walked away with broken ribs and a new appreciation for architecture.

That’s what I liked about the Alley. There was always something there to help you solve your problem. However, the best part of the Alley was that you could leave.

One night, I was in the Alley and I was talking to Z over a cigarette. She was a lovely dancer from South Africa, but that’s a story for another time. As I go to light up her umpteenth cigarette there comes loud thumps from inside. Loud, like an anvil falling on the floor above you. I looked at Z and we simply nodded at one another and left.

Turns out that fella that I was trying to teach an architecture lesson to came back a year later and he shot and killed nearly everyone in the building before one of the dancers got him with a shotgun.

I always wonder if the Moldovan gave me that position because he knew it was the safest place. But, if I wonder too much about that I start to think about luck, and then the cosmic reason I was spared. Not worth thinking about. However, it allows me to pass on this information: If you can, when you sign on to work in a seedy establishment try and get the Alley job.