You feel yourself growing angry, as the hormones of a teenage male surge through your young body. Ignoring that the bouncer outweighs you by at least 100 pounds, you decide to get in his face.
"That's MY license, you can't take my license!" you shout, red faced, at the large man with a shaved head. He scowls further, folding his hand around the plastic card. His fingers are large, blunt, and scarred.
"Kid, you'd really be better off just walking away," he advises in a growl. There is motion on the other side of the bar's doorway, and it occurs to you that a bar this busy probably has more than one bouncer working...
...but you are too angry to care.
"FINE! Just give me my license and I'll go!" you demand, feeling a need to prove something. You ball up your fists in preparation for action.
"I told ya, kid, I can't do that..." cautions the bouncer, shifting on his small stool.
"Jay? You got a problem out there?" comes a male voice from inside. The bounce, apparently named "Jay", glances toward the voice.
"Maybe..." he begins.
Seeing your chance, you grab for your driver's license-- or, more accurately, the fist containing it. You pry at his fingers, and he turns his head.
...and stands up, towering over you.
"Call the cops," he growls at the voice inside, reaching down to grab your arm.
You throw a punch at his stomach. It is like hitting a brick wall through a thick pillow, and about as effective. He grabs your arms, pinning them to your sides, throws you to the ground, and, to your embarrassment, sits on you. Looking up, you see the friends you were supposedly to meet staring out at you, clearly not recognizing you, looking amused at the scene of a clearly underage kid being bested by a much bigger bouncer.
Swearing, you gradually begin to calm down, and consider your problems. Is there any way to get out of this predicament before the police arrive?