Students begin piling into People’s Bar & Grill at 8 o’clock, ready to celebrate one of the last “Thirsty Thursdays” of the semester and drink away the oncoming threat of final exams.

Among the throngs of incoming people, one student enters the bar alone. He sticks out in the crowd, standing 6-foot-5 with more than 200 pounds of muscle. The student looks carefree, but he’s not here to party because this student, Onye Ikwuakor, has an eight-hour shift ahead of him.

Onye, senior in journalism and mass communication, has worked the night shift at People’s, 2428 Lincoln Way, as a doorman for nearly eight months. He watches the front door four nights a week.

Onye is part of a small ISU population that works the graveyard shift and carries a full class load. On good nights, such as this one, he can get out at 2:30 a.m. but on busier nights he won’t leave until 4.

“I got this job because when I returned from my internship in Portland [Ore.] this fall, I needed a night shift to coordinate with my late classes,” he said.

Every five minutes a group of people comes in the door. Sometimes bar-goers enter as frequently as one per minute. He takes the $3 cover charge and asks for an ID from each person. The students come to see the jam band Hyde Park. On busier nights they have two door guys, but tonight Onye flies solo.

From appearances, Onye looks like he can handle himself. He stands a foot taller than most of the people whose cards he checks.

Onye has no problem getting physical — he walked onto the football team the second semester of his freshman year. He weighed only 200 pounds when he began, then bulked up to 240 pounds after a few intense months of lifting weights and eating protein.

“It was a great time, but I quit because if I’m putting 40 hours a week into something, I’d like to get paid for it,” he said.

Seeing Onye with some shoe polish underneath his eyes, crouched in a three-point stance ready to tackle a quarterback — or a rowdy drunk customer — isn’t too hard to imagine. He sits in the area between the outside and People’s, his arms crossed, his massive legs stretched out while he tries to uncomfortably adjust on the barstool that’s made for a shorter person than himself.

Although he’s still physically fit, the numerous late nights have taken their toll on his health. He pops Sudafed tablets between incoming customers and talks about how hard it is to maintain his composure.

“I’ve been sick for a few days and I feel like crap,” he said. “I’m going to Student Health tomorrow and I hope they can hook me up with some drugs. However, compared to yesterday I feel great. Last night I had to sit on two stools leaning up against the wall. I thought I was going to die.”

Dealing with his sinus infection only gets harder when Hyde Park breaks into a cover of Beck’s “Deborah,” sung in a piercing falsetto voice. It’s enough to force Onye outside to seek refuge. Campustown and its share of loud noises isn’t music to a sick man’s ears, but then again, neither is “Deborah.”

Adjusting

A typical day for Onye is typical by nearly no one else’s’ standards. He wakes up at 8 o’clock, the same time he woke up before he worked at People’s, despite going to bed only four or five hours earlier. The rest of his day is filled with homework, hourlong naps and time with his friends and girlfriend. At 8 p.m., it’s back to work.

Few people can understand his situation, but People’s manager Jon Phelps once stood in his shoes. Before he graduated from Iowa State in 1998, Phelps also juggled school and the graveyard shift.

“When you’re a student it’s as hard as hell [to work at a bar] because you can drink all you want for free,” Phelps said. “That sounds like paradise to most people, but it really takes a lot of discipline and self control.”

Phelps said the hardest part of working at a bar and also being a student is dealing with the people when you have things going on in the back of your head.

“Onye also has 8 o’clock classes, a girlfriend and graduation to worry about,” he said. “This gets harder when people are rude to the doorman because they expect everything for free. They don’t understand that we charge covers because we have a band to pay.”

Onye experiences Phelps’ description firsthand when a drunk customer hassles him about getting a half-priced discount on the cover price. Onye merely reaffirms the $3 cover charge and plays off the incident with a laugh. He’s managed to adjust to customers’ strange behavior, and he’s also adjusted his life to his strange job.

“Even though I have an odd schedule, I don’t feel like I’m missing out on things,” Onye said. “Sure, I’m out of the loop when it comes to social stuff, but I live with my friends so I get to see them all the time. My girl doesn’t trip about how much I work and my boys don’t get upset when I can’t hang with them.”

While its hard to see anyone outside of work, he said the greatest advantage of working at a bar is that people come to him.

Onye has achieved near-celebrity status in Campustown. During his two hours sitting on a stool near the door, dozens of people walking on the streets wave to him. Some people see him through the door, stop dead in their tracks and enthusiastically greet him. Many girls run up to hug him. Guys who see him give him the masculine handshake/pat on the back/hug maneuver.

During a typical shift, at least 20 people will come up to him and offer to buy him a shot, he said.

Onye appreciates all the recognition he receives, but many times he admits he has no clue who those people are.

“There are a few regulars who I recognize when they enter the bar, but there are other people [who] will know me at the door and I have no idea who they are,” Onye said. “Usually I get their names off the ID, mention their name and have a short, generic conversation with them.”

At 1 a.m. the crowd begins to thin out and the stream of incoming customers slows to a trickle. Some people are ready to sleep — or pass out — depending on how much they drank. Onye is tired, too, but he has at least two more hours on his shift.

He used to suffer through an eight-hour shift, but now the time flies by. Although he doesn’t spend much time in his apartment, Onye said he has found a niche at People’s.

“Sometimes when I come to work it’s like going home,” he said.

Home is where the heart is

Hyde Park wraps up their set at 1:30 in the morning and the lights come on.

The very next second Onye starts stacking stools on the tables. The other three workers take the cue and do the same, realizing the faster they clean up the faster they go home. They politely tell the customers to hurry up and leave.

Onye shouts across the bar, “It’s finals next week. Let’s go home and study.”

After the stools are stacked, the employees get mop buckets and attack the beer-soaked floor. As Onye mops, he talks with Phelps about the People’s softball team. They strategize their scheme for beating a rival team from Sips, 124 Welch Ave.

The best part about working at People’s is nearly all the employees are students, Onye said. “We understand each other’s situation.”

One of Onye’s co-workers, Erika Fitz, sophomore in journalism and mass communication, mops the floor and laments the troubles of students who work in bars.

“When people are getting ready to go to bed, I go to work,” she said. “Fortunately, my friends are in the same boat I’m in. If I didn’t know people who were in my situation, I’d go crazy. We’re sort of like a commune of late-nighters.”

Band members still linger 45 minutes after closing time talking to customers. The workers try to politely tell them to leave, but the politeness falls away as they begin to mop around and between the band members.

The employees are tired and antsy to leave. The manager gets out a megaphone, telling people to get out. Once the customers finally get the point, they’re out the door. As soon as customers are gone, the atmosphere changes. The staff unpacks its profane language and replaces a Dave Matthews Band CD with hardcore rap.

Once the mopping is complete, tables are put back into place. The scent of cleaning solution overpowers the smell of beer and cigarettes that dominated the room only an hour ago. At 2:45 a.m., the bar is completely clean and the lights go out. The room is illuminated by the glow of the Budweiser sign and the Golden Tee screen.

As he says goodbye to his co-workers, Onye lets out a sigh of relief, glad his shift is done. He’s tired and the only thing on his mind is finding something to eat and falling asleep. The battle has ended, but the war isn’t over.

“In 15 hours, I’ll be doing this all over again,” he said.