Neon Jungle: A Bouncer’s True Tales of Lessons, Laughs and Lacerations is an intimate, intense, humorous and painfully honest collection of short stories from the viewpoint of the author. Joe Saunders spent nearly a decade as a bouncer in some of the busiest and most violent nightclubs in Brisbane, Australia. In these memoirs, Joe provides a peak behind the rope, with the violence, the brutality, the debauchery and the raw human relationships on full display. Those who have worked in the world of the doorman will smile knowingly, those who haven’t will spend equal time laughing as cringing.
A compelling and entertaining read, essential for anyone who has ever wondered about the type of person who protects us while we party.
Joe Saunders is internationally known as the host of the Managing Violence Podcast, the internet’s leading podcast on the realities of violent confrontation. This is how it all began.
Note: This listing is for signed copies of Neon Jungle: A Bouncer’s True Tales of Lessons, Laughs and Lacerations. For unsigned copies, it is quicker and cheaper to order the book from your country’s Amazon listing. You can find it here: https://geni.us/neonjungle
Excerpts from the text:
I watched in a daze as blood poured from my head and face, making a rapidly growing puddle on the grimy floorboards in front of me. It was bright red. Brighter than you expect your blood to be. It was mixing with the sweat of my brow as it ran from the open wound on top of my head, and with snot and saliva as it cascaded from my nose and mouth. I didn’t feel any pain, just dull thuds and the sudden jerk of my head being shifted with the impact of each kick and stomp.
I didn’t even get a chance to finish the transmission. He took three paces forward and punted his beautiful girlfriend right in the face. She hadn’t even looked up from her phone. The blow destroyed her pretty, unaware face, and sent her head rocketing backwards.
“ROAMING GUARD LOWER BAR NOW!” I screamed into my microphone.
I was on him before her limp body had hit the floor. I grabbed the back of his collar and slammed him into the bar, then snaked my arms around his to create a figure-four or hammerlock position, his arm pinned behind his back and me steering him through the crowd.
I was working the front door at the bottom of a flight of stairs when I turn and see Steve standing on the landing, a patron positioned on his chest in a front-rack position. Before I could say whatthefuckareyoudoing, Steve military pressed the guy into the air and sent old mate sailing down the flight of stairs, about a twelve foot drop onto the bottom couple of steps.
The guy landed in a crumpled heap, limbs twisted in places limbs shouldn’t be found. One shoe missing, presumably lost by the airline during his flight. Time stood still as I processed witnessing my first murder. Then the bloody cabbage picked himself up, re-assembled his IKEA-limbs and walked away calm as you like. This specimen was so drunk he didn’t realise he was dead. I looked up at Steve to find he’d already returned to his position. I don’t think he’d even stuck around to see the landing.