The Ant of Copenhagen

   The front entrance at the Drone Bar in Copenhagen doesn’t stand out. It’s located in Copenhagen’s ethnic/ bohemian neighbourhood of Noroborro nestled between discount mobile phone shops run by haggling middle eastern men with bad teeth; dingy Turkish grocers that somehow slash their prices for vegetables to half what you pay at the supermarket; kebab shops – with varying levels of grease, and the colourful, lively street art that decorates Noroborro’s alleys and buildings. Friday night Drone has a buzz, it’s a hipster haven and a good night out.

    

   For any party goers looking for drinks, laughs and a good time there was just one small hurdle to clear – getting past the Drone’s door man.

********************************************************************

Scenes from Drone 1:

          Standing beside the bar downstairs in the Drone was a tall Canadian with brown purposely messy hair, black plastic frame glasses, and a black corduroy jacket. After a night out in the city, he’d decided to stop in for one last chance to talk to some girls on his way home. A tall thirty something guy wearing an H&M blazer and fake italian leather shoes was beside him talking to a much younger, pretty girl.

    Considering himself a writer and a people watcher the Canadian kept vantage. His first impression was that this guy was trying way to hard. Her body language was definitely saying no. Instead of walking away and trying elsewhere try hard, as the Canadian came to think of him, would not relent. It was fairly obvious that he didn’t like the taste of defeat and he was going to let her know about it.

    To her startled reaction he grabbed her shoulder to hammer in his point.

      

 ******************************************************************  

The Ant 2 

    Hipsters queued up with their slightly ironic haircuts, skinny jeans, and varying degrees of facial hair each waiting tentatively to see if they would get the nod that signified entry.  Even pretty Danish girls in their black miniskirts and leggings didn’t walk straight past the doorman. Anybody could have him say: "Du er desværre for stiv til at komme ind.” which meant you are not coming in here. Each person needed to survive his stare down; a field sobriety test far more effective in his view than any breathalyzer. Occasionally guys would protest and he would rise off his stool showing that he only stood about 5 feet and 3 inches. (160 cm) . He stood there defending the door with his diminutive size like a warrior ant.

********************************************************************

Scenes from a bar 2:

     They were speaking English. The Canadian still couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. He sat back watching. Danish girls when incensed were not afraid to really stand their ground. She was a foot shorter than try hard, but she was not intimidated and seemed to be revelling in her obvious conviction that this guy was a douche. 


    Just as a crowd was starting to gather the little cock sure bouncer the Canadian noticed, and had thought looked like an ant, when he arrived grabbed try hard from behind by the collar. The bouncer seemed to materialize from nowhere as he so effortlessly mingled into the crowd.

    Try hard turned around to face nothing... that is until he looked down a foot below him.  

********************************************************************

The Ant 3:

   Being short could have made the ant two ways: quivering and invisible or larger than life. He choose the latter and acted as if his real height was the shadow he might cast upon the wall. His eyes were big and leering and like the Mona Lisa always seemed to be looking at you. Though his height forced upon him the reality of looking up he never seemed to look down or away either. He had lily white skin that looked like it would burn on a cloudy day. His hair was short, almost in buzz cut, and styled conservatively. He tried to fill his voice with masculinity, but was held away from this aim in a near mockish ways by the limitations of his vocal apparatus. 

********************************************************************

Scenes from Drone Bar 3:

   The Canadian used the anonymity of this disturbance to lean a little closer to watch.      

    The bouncer spoke Danish first, but quickly ascertained from the glazed look on try hards’ face he didn’t understand. Changing to English he continued: “I don’t like this. You will leave now!”

    Try hard, drunkenly resisted his face visibly showing disdain. “Hey, I’m just having fun. She ain’t as hot as she thinks she is. She’s just a c&*t!”  

     Hearing that, and now backed up by the bouncer, the girl started yelling even more vehemently than before.

  The bouncers hand had not left try hard’s collar. With a feverish look in his eye he reasserted: “you will leave now!”

“Fuck you, no I won’t.” Try hard replied.

     

    Having been a youth in the 1980’s the Canadian had been privy to the craze of ninja movies from that time. He knew from the resolute stare on the bouncer’s face that was not the right thing to say. He might look small, but there was no way he could be this confident without some secret ninja skills at his disposal. This was going to be some David versus Golliath shit... he thought.

    With lightening speed and startling force the ant punched try hard in the stomach then grasped his arm in some kind Ji-Jistsu hold. Immediately the smug arrogance on his face melted away being replaced with childlike deference. Withinn seconds he was pacified.The Ant escorted him across the bar as hipsters looked on quietly, but attentively. 

    The Canadian took another leisurely sip of his pint of Tuborg. From his view what had transpired had looked like a son forcefully taking his dad to his room – not vice versa.  He thought in boozed soaked candour maybe I’ll write about that tiny little bouncer someday. I'll probably forget though... ...