Back when I was floating around Australia I had a lot of jobs and one I had a lot of fun with was working as a bouncer on a few different bar and club doors throughout the country. I met many people with some pretty interesting stories on how they ended up there, but no one like Russia.
Russia wasn’t his real name of course, but he was Russian and massive so we called him Russia and his real name I don’t think he would be happy you knowing, since he was living illegally in Australia after getting out of the army back home.
Russia was actually quite a soft guy, he used to hug all the other staff when he arrived for his shifts and no matter what was going on, whether it was someone getting stabbed or running behind the bar to steal drinks or anything in between, he always made time for his friends. He never ever got mad or lost his cool no matter how heavy things got in the seedy suburb he worked in and he never ever raised his voice. Being only eighteen myself he really took me under his huge wing. Very huge wing actually, Russia in fact was so big that he hardly fit behind the wheel of his beat up old range rover. Easily 6 ft 7 and one hundred and forty kilos, he was as big as a Guy Sebastian hard on at the footy. After years of whatever the fuck they go through in the army in Russia, he was also as mad as a cut snake and would really enjoy it when things kicked off. He would stand behind the other bouncers, letting them talk down patrons before things got out of hand but whenever a drunken lout thought it a good idea to get violent, Russia would be first involved with a smile on his face.
All the staff shared the same carpark to the side of the club and often people would find it amusing to smash our windows or run a key down the side of our cars. Didn’t bother me much since I only had an old bomb that cost me $300 at the time. But it gave some of the others the shits. After having his car vandalized one too many times Russia decided he too would buy a little old bomb just to drive to work in. “Hey young brother, come and see my new car.” He was proud of his new shitbox, a small green Toyota Celica very much like mine and he took everyone outside to show us the first night he bought it in. Being old and rusty we had a laugh with him about it for a minute but that was as far as it went and we all got back to work.
The very next night Russia arrived and came up to put his arm around me, he pulled me in close, “My young brother, I want to show you something!” Russia insisted as he led me outside. “You seen my car?” he pointed at it. “Yeah I’ve seen Woah! What the fuck happened?” His car was covered in bullet holes! All down the side, about twenty small piercing’s that from shooting my dad’s 22 (rifle) at tin cans growing up I instantly recognized as bullet holes. He wrapped his arm around my shoulder again and said in his think Russian accent “Last night young brother, nobody looked at my car…Now tonight, everybody look at me car!!! Ha Ha Ha”
It turns out that when Russia’s only family, us that worked at the club, hadn’t shown enough interest in his car, he was a little incensed and decided the best way to fix that was by shooting holes in his ride!!!
As I said, I met many many interesting people on the doors of clubs, but none like Russia!
Twisted Agave ~ Car Sympathizer