Some choads are merely annoying, while others legitimately drive people to homicidal thoughts. Today, I’m dedicating my attention to a breed of choad that falls smack in the middle of that scale for most people, but in my world, they’re in the Top 5 most useless and provoking creatures on the planet. They serve no purpose past impeding a person’s good time and occasionally unhooking a few velvet ropes, but they stand in doorways everywhere with their arms crossed and their chests puffed up, scowling in no particular direction, ignoring the offered smiles and handshakes from anxious people trying to get into the party. There may be more offensive and more pervasive brands of choads, but none are so specifically dedicated to standing between the everyman and his fortune as the Choad Door Guy.

Before I begin my dissection of these mouth-breathers, I’ll toss out a few disclaimers. First, I recognize there is a need for Door Guys. I don’t begrudge them their jobs, only their handling of the position. Second, not all Door Guys are Choad Door Guys. I’ve come across many a gatekeeper who didn’t look at me as though I were a bug to be crushed, but smiled and joked with me as he checked my ID and waved me through the door. But as is the case with many professions, a few bad apples give the rest of the group a bad reputation, and because of the role they play, Door Guys are perfectly positioned to be the perfect CHOAD.

Let’s start with their appearance. Is the all-black look what management demands, or is the grim reaper costume part of their intimidation tactics? And how much gel and pomade does it take to get that super high-gloss sheen onto that carefully tousled mop? Is there some store that only bouncers and Mafiosos know about that sells those chrome looking suits they love sporting?

But I’m just nitpicking here. Here’s my real beef. They don’t smile. They don’t look you in they eye. They seem exasperated when you walk up to them. They critically look you up and down to make sure you’re attractive enough to be seen in their establishment. And in spite of the fact that half of these meatheads can’t read their own names, they’re placed in charge of VIP lists every night. Maybe it isn’t that they deliberately want to keep a long line in front of their building for appearances sake… maybe they just can’t find the words “John Smith +3” on a sheet of paper in under 20 minutes.

You know that old adage about kids that got beat up in school going on to be cops later on so they can strike back at the people who once tormented them? Wanna take a stab at what those school bullies grew up to be? That’s right, you guessed it. If they’d been smart, they’d have figured out how to sling booze behind the bar, since bartenders make far more money, get far more booty, and are far more well-liked than door guys. But that requires both a willingness to learn a skill and a better than room temperature IQ, and since that eliminates a lot of beefcake immediately, they move onto a position better suited to their size and intellect.

When they’re not donning their headsets and polyester and keeping the unworthy from their cocktails, they’re at the gym feverishly maintaining the bulky physique that gives them their authority. It’s the abuse of that authority that gets them sent to the Choad Hall of Fame as a cartel. This isn’t the first time people with power have exploited that power. It isn’t even the first time a bunch of ‘roided up dullards have been recruited to serve a mastermind’s nefarious purpose. And they’ll always be there, blocking the path of the righteous toward their Holy Land, believing themselves to be ultimate authority on “who’s who” and “what’s cool.”

Next time the Door Guy lets you into a crowded club ahead of the line, grease his palm and offer to buy him a drink. If the line is long and he’s up there working fast, smiling at people, shaking hands, let it slide if it takes a few minutes to get inside and consider yourself lucky that for once, the man standing between you and night club Mecca isn’t a choad.