Sunday, April 22, 2012


I get humiliated every day. Whatever. It's part of the job and I get to turn it into comedic gold. But every once in awhile, I get to have a little moment of triumph, and when it happens, it's magical. This is one of them:

A taxi pulls up and 2 meatheads from L.A. get out. They were about as stereotypically Los Angeles as you can get- chisled, tan, big, bright-white teeth, and a lousy attitude. Both perfectly capable of carrying their own fucking bags. But come on, why carry your own bags when you're really, really, really, ridiculously good looking?

They had a lot of photography equipment and a gargantuan duffle bag. I tried to pick up the stupid thing and, misjudging how heavy it was, lost my balance and stumbled a bit. I was perfectly strong enough to carry it, I just forgot that some men pack like they're Katherine fucking Hepburn. Instead of helping me out, this asshole says "Ay, you gotta hit the gym, bro."

Fuck you, all I do is lift things all day. It's not my fault that you packed for a weekend in New York like a fucking starlet.

He wasn't done. I loaded all of his shit from the taxi to a luggage cart in the lobby to him following me, not lifting a finger, telling all the exercise routines that I should be doing.

Meathead- "You gotta do curls, squats, dead lifts..."

You get the idea. He was a prick.

They left me to the bags and I wheeled the cart up to reception, where they were next in line. The doorman doesn't bring the cart up to the room, the bellmen take it from there. So, in essence, a lot of the time I end up doing most of the work and the bellman who takes them upstairs and scores the tip. Reason #7,234 why being a doorman sucks ass.

I see that these creeps don't have any money out, and have no plans on doing so.

Me- "Ok, gentleman. Enjoy your stay."

I linger, like I always try to do. Sometimes people need a reminder.

Now, you can talk down to me, I don't give a fuck. These assholes have no affect on me. I'm perfectly happy with who I am and wouldn't give these cunts the satisfaction of seeing me get down from their shitty attitude. You can stiff me, whatever, there's plenty of tips out there to be had. But you're not gonna talk down to me and then not give me a tip. Fuck you, motherfucker, you don't get to do both.

I needed to wake these idiots up, but I can't flat-out ask for a tip in the middle of the lobby. Doing it outside or in a room is one thing, but if a manager sees you pining for a tip right at the reception desk, you're in trouble. But I didn't want to let them get away with this, so I said what is to date, the best thing I've ever said to an asshole guest-

Me- "Heh, shame I can't afford to go to the gym."

I walked away, without even having to look back. Sure enough, before I could even get back to the door, this asshole was right behind me-

Meathead- "Excuse me, sir. Here ya go-"

Three dollars.

Meathead- "Sorry about that."

For all the shit that I had to carry, that's a pretty mediocre tip. But come on, I got the guy to call me "sir". There's a small victory in there somewhere... I think.

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