Monday, July 16, 2012

The Lonely Road to Midnight

I've mentioned in a previous blog that I generally work 3pm-midnight, five days a week. It's a fucking nightmare schedule. You think 9-5 is bad? At least you have your evenings and weekends. My "evenings" are usually from 11am-2pm, when I do laundry, clean my apartment, and watch daytime television. I live the social life of a grandmother. What I wouldn't give to just be able to come home, pop a beer, plop on the couch, fart loudly, and watch a fucking Met game. That's it. That's all I want- to pass gas, order food, drink beer, watch sports, and hang out with my roommates. But if I was happy with my job, then you wouldn't be reading this blog, and I wouldn't be having all this fun writing it, so allow me to shut the fuck up and stop complaining.

No one grows up saying "gee, I'd sure love to be a doorman one day!" Could you imagine a kid saying that at the dinner table? I'd grab my son by the back of his head and drown him in his soup until he told me otherwise. In New York, a doorman becomes a doorman like any man becomes a sanitation worker. The logic is just the same- "Sure, the work isn't the most dignified, but I make great money, I'm in a union, and I have full benefits." That's all it boils down to. And while being a doorman is one of the lowest jobs on the sociatal food chain, the location of my hotel and the city that it lies in makes my job the Goldman Sachs of my profession. And from 3pm-7pm, I'm running around, directing traffic, busting my ass, and making money.

I've also mentioned that there's a mid-shift doorman that keeps me company from 3pm-7pm. We get along beautifully and have a ton of laughs. He's a great guy. It sucks having to split my tips with him, but without the company for those few hours, I would go absolutely insane. When he leaves at 7, I embark on the "Lonely Road to Midnight" - 5 hours of standing alone on a busy street in Manhattan with nothing to keep me occupied but a notepad and the world in front of me:

7:00pm- I put a piece of gum in my mouth. I chew it.

7:01pm- I fold the gum wrapper as many times as can.

7:02pm- I can't fold it anymore! HAHA!!!

7:03pm- I walk to the garbage can on the corner, throw out gum wrapper.

7:10pm- I stare at the scaffolding across the street and wonder how many tries it would take to cleanly punt a dodgeball in them.

7:17pm- I decide that it would take me three tries. One to judge how hard I should kick the ball, one to judge the wind, the third to nail the motherfucker.

7:34pm- I replay the entire Giants game-winning drive from Super Bowl 42 in my head.

7:53pm- My gum has lost it's flavor.

7:55pm- Providing my Joe Buck impression, I call myself spitting out my gum and punting it into the street.

7:56pm- Touchback. Not my best performance.

8:06pm- I pull a thread from my jacket. It wraps around my arm. I pull it till slowly to see how long I can get the thread to go without breaking it.

8:07pm- Still pulling!

8:08pm- The thread breaks. I'm more upset about this than I thought I would have been.

8:11pm- I straighten the thread and place one end on the bottom of my foot.

8:12pm- I pull the thread as high as it can go, which just clears the top of my head. That's a good six feet of thread pulled without a break. Daddy's proud.

8:14pm- I work on my impression of Saturday Night Live announcer, Don Pardo. I complete an entire opening title sequence with myself as the host and Florence and the Machine as the musical guest.

8:26pm- I continue a life-long argument that my circle of friends have debated for years- Who would win in a fight, Bruce Wayne or James Bond?

8:41pm- After more careful speculation, I decide that the recent Christopher Nolan series has created more bad-assedness for the Batman character than the Daniel Craig/James Bond series and continue to back Bruce Wayne, as I had in the past.

8:43pm- I debate chinese food or halal food for dinner.

8:44pm- Halal food.

8:45pm- Chinese food.

8:49pm- Chinese food.

8:51pm- Someone walks by with a bag of "Halal Guys".

8:52pm- Halal food.

8:54pm- I decide that I've stalled too long to have Chinese food delivered in time for my break. Halal is the winner.

9:03pm- A front desk girl walks by with McDonalds. I smell a big Mac.

9:04pm- McDonalds.

9:06pm- I have a code of fast-food ethics, which is to only allow myself fast food once per week.

9:07pm- I remember that I drunkenly noshed on White Castle at 4am on Saturday evening. That's only 5 days ago. Damnit.

9:08pm- Halal food.

9:15pm- Break time.

9:30pm- Eat Halal Guys like an animal. If you've never had Halal Guys in New York, then I feel bad for you. I even see hipsters enjoying it. It looks like dog food and is horrible for you, but I'm convinced that they sprinkle crack on every batch, because I can't get enough of them. Check out the yelp page here.

9:31pm- I accidentally watch 10 seconds of The Big Bang Theory. I reject my impulse to throw the remote through the TV and instead change the channel. Fuck that show. I find the "Jerk Store" episode of Seinfeld on the next channel. I'm happy.

9:40pm- A hot front desk girl comes into the break room. The Halal Guys have made the room smell like a fart's armpit. I'm embarrassed.

10:00pm- Back to the grind.

!0:07pm- A popular NYC tour bus rides by and stops at the light. A woman in my improv troupe is the guide. I do the Macarena and other silly dances for them. We've done this before. Tourists are filled with glee. They give me a rousing ovation. My friend gives me a thumbs-up. I am a star.

10:10pm- High off of one of my best performances, a van full of Brazilians pull up with 15 large suitcases. No tip. I am a doorman again.

10:15pm- I decide to draw a picture capturing my inner anguish.

10:37pm- I finish my picture, giggling:

10:42pm: An insanely hot British girl asks for directions. I comply, and when she thanks me, she grazes her hand on my chest.

10:43pm- I have a massive erection.

!0:44pm- This bad boy isn't going anywhere. I put my hand in my pocket, reach for my mule, and hold it down till it's deflated.

10:46pm- Front office manager comes out for a smoke and tell me that having my hands in my pockets looks ugly and I shouldn't do so. He's an actor too and would never report a fellow brother, so I ignore him.

10:48pm- The situation has been defused.

11:03pm- I sing "Falling Slowly" from the Once soundtrack. If you haven't seen this musical, then you should. It's beautiful.

11:10pm- I question the life decisions that have led me to this.

11:14pm- I think about how I worked my ass off in college to get a degree and here I am, alone on the street, being treated like a bum by all of these people that aren't as smart as me.

11:20pm- I question my decision to not get a Master's Degree after college.

11:27pm- I question my decision to not take the job when I got the call for the NYPD. I'd be making top salary right about now.

11:33pm- I think about all my past relationships and wonder if any of my exes would find satisfaction in seeing me be a doorman.

11:40pm- I think about my swanky, luxury apartment in downtown Manhattan and how shallow it is to live in such a nice place and not feel like a success.

11:50pm- I think about my future.

11:55pm- I think about all of these things, and then I remember that if I never became a doorman, I would have never started writing, and realize how much I love it, and am more thankful for that than anything.

12:00am- I punch out.

1 comment:

  1. 12:25am. I fall asleep with a beer in one hand and my penis in the other. My door is open.