An Interlude With Smug Face

If I have one piece of advice for anyone in Sydney, don’t visit The Orient. It’s a delightful establishment on the Rocks, a tourist trap if ever there was one. But if you are sipping your first drink in the vicinity of security there is a grave danger that you are a threat to those around you.

To quote security from this evening:

SECURITY: Please put down your drink, I think it’s time you leave.

ME: What?

SECURITY: Don’t make me get physical.

I chose not to make him get physical. Instead I was marched out of the pub by FOUR security guards, while being photographed by Jim (my paparazzi of choice).



I requested an exact explanation of the cause of my expulsion, and the bouncer, high on the career path that was his life, replied he would explain all at the exit. Instead, he smugly directed me to a forlorn looking policeman once we reached the perimeter of the establishment. Thank you Smug Face. Your smugness is duly noted. I hope life offers you all the satisfaction that being a bouncer can offer. Revel in it.

This continues my grand history of being expelled from bars while relatively sober. It is something I have long associated with my apparent Drunk Look, but when it come to The Orient, it seems to have more to do with the bizarre whim of the people they label ‘security’. Now, I know when I have had too much to drink (often it results in me telling ageing professionals that “I prefer to bump” at family events), but this was not one of those occasions (as evidenced by the fact that I have come directly home, and written this straight away while my fury is fresh).

I usually try to sympathize with the plight of the security guard, they are the lone beacon of light in the monstrous hell that is the alcoholic haze. That’s a tough beat against a rising tide in Sydney, where the battle against self-assured, under-aged inebriates is a daily grind. But occasionally (and in the case of The Orient, often) they get waylaid/drunk/inebriated on their own sense of power. On this Saturday night I experienced one such encounter, and it led to an early exit by me and my two loyal housemates.

Usually I chuckle this off ruefully, as yet another example of the physical manifestation of my constant state of sarcasm. Bouncers are naturally offended by the sarcasm I exude as a natural feature. But this time I was particularly sober, and this time my opportunity to spend time with a friend who is only briefly in the country was cut short.

Dear Orient: So long, and thanks for all the fish. Also… go fuck yourself.


Painefull Out