Friday, May 31, 2013

Suzy the Twat: The Ugliest American - Part II

Click here for PART ONE

It was a Saturday afternoon, and I was having a decent enough day. It was extremely busy, and I was trying to valet a car and load another with luggage, simultaneously. "Raul", the morning doorman, was unloading a shuttle bus. Suzy comes waltzing out, and observing that we're both very busy, demands a taxi to Bloomingdales to neither of us in particular. Raul, who has about twenty-five years on me, points to the street and instructs me to get Suzy the fuck out of his site. We have a good working relationship based on the simple fact that I not give him shit when he occasionally passes something off on me. He clearly had enough of her bullshit as well. 

I didn't make eye-contact, because fuck her, so I continued to fill out my valet ticket as I took a couple of steps to my left to the street to get her precious taxi. One pulls up immediately, and I robotically opened the door and refused to look at her. She gets in without saying "thank you", as usual. The taxi driver must have seen someone he knows on the sidewalk, because he startled me by honking the horn and yelling "Yo, papi!!!" Not looking up from my valet ticket and once again questioning the life decisions that have lead me to this job, I couldn't help but giggle at the notion that this little five-second delay has probably given Suzy the Twat all the reason she needs to justify not giving the cabbie a tip. 

Hey, Doorman! Slam the door on her ankle!!!  

My brain had fully entertained the though, but my arm chickened out. I closed the door, ever so gently, and she was gone. Apparently she was leaving the following afternoon. Thank God. 

I turned to Raul. 

Doorman - "I can't fucking stand-" 

Raul - "I know." 

Doorman - "She hasn't fu-"

Raul - "I know." 

Doorman - "Have you-"

Raul - "Dude, are you gonna get bent out of shape every time someone stiffs you?"

I guess not. That's twenty-five years on the job talking. He's learned to accept these things, to let them roll off his back. I don't usually work with the morning guys much. They're the ones that have been there for years, who are there for good and are happy with that. And I'm happy for them. The night guys, the twenty and thirty-somethings, the ones with the Bachelor Degrees who couldn't get a job after they finished school, all roam around the lobby with chips on their shoulders, always talking about getting out and doing these bigger and better things. 

But you get sucked into the quick cash and lack of responsibility - trading in your eight hours for a cool $200 that the government can't touch, while never ever having to take your work home with you. As soul-sucking and disheartening as it can be, it's a great fucking job. Raul has a beautiful family, and he's able to provide for them with no problem. So if he has to deal with a few cunts throughout the day? It's not the end of the world to him. He can go home and play video games with his son and never have to worry about answering an email or taking a phone call for work. 

Raul and I cleared out the busy mess, and the owner of the car I valeted threw me a ten. When I got back to the door, Raul pinched my nipple, and I responded with a yelp and right-cross to his bicep. He called me a pathetic excuse for a man. I called him a vile word that I've already used twice in this post. Much like Shitdick and I, we get through the day by abusing each other. It's all out of love and respect. 

All was fine and dandy for the next half hour or so, as Raul's shift was coming to a close and his replacement was about to arrive. The doorman phone rang. He pointed to the phone, indicating that he has checked out for the day and didn't feel like dealing with anyone else. He has twenty-five years on me, so I complied. I wish I hadn't: 

Doorman - "Good Afternoon, Doorman speaking." 

Suzy - "Yes, I need to speak to the man who gets taxis." 

She didn't have to tell me who she was. 

Doorman - "Do you need to speak to the Doorman?" 

Suzy - "I need. To speak. To the man. Who gets. Taxis." 

The way she presented that sentence made me want to bite the receiver of the phone. I took a deep breath. 

Doorman - "Yes, I get taxis for people. I am the Doorman."   

Suzy - "Well, then you can help me." 

Notice the "you can help me". Like I've been qualified to serve her. As I type this out, I feel my ears getting red just hearing her fucking voice in my head. 

Doorman - "How may I help you?" 

The image of her on fire flashes before my eyes and it makes me really happy. 

Suzy - "Well, I'm not sure if you remember, but I got in a taxi to Bloomingdales about a half an hour ago."

Doorman - "I remember."

Oh, I fucking remember you. 

Suzy - "Oh, you remember?... Interesting." 

I didn't know what to make of the "interesting", but I kept listening:

Suzy - "Well I left my purse in there, and I need it back." 

Doorman - "Did you get a receipt?" 

A loud scoff from the other end. 

Suzy - "Ugh, of course not! Don't be ridiculous!!!"

The Notre Dame fight song played in my head. That was the best fucking thing she could have said. And now, fine readers, for a teachable moment: 

When you visit NYC and take a taxi, always get a receipt. Why? Because the receipt has the medallion number and what time you exited the car. That's the only way you'll be able to track down the one you took, and, save for a good samaritan who finds and returns your items, the only fucking hope you have of getting anything back. 

She fucked herself. And I was having a difficult time curbing my delight. 

Doorman - "Oh, dear. I'm sorry, but without the medallion number on the receipt, there's really no way of us tracking down the-" 

Suzy - "Are you going to let me finish? Are you going to let me finish speaking?" 

Go for it, you fucking miserable turd. 

Doorman - "Of course, my apologies." 

Suzy - "The driver was... a black man. And he was familiar with another... black man... that was in front of your hotel. Do you know this black man?" 

Doorman - "Excuse me?"

Another loud scoff. 

Suzy - "There was a black man loitering in front of your hotel. Do you know him?"

Doorman - "Ma'am I see a lot of people every-" 

Suzy - "No, no, no. You're not listening. The driver of the cab was a black man. And he knew the black man in front of your hotel." 

As angry as this was making me, I had to ferociously fight the urge to ask "I'm sorry, what color was the man?" 

Doorman - "Ma'am, I honestly don't know who you mean. There are a lot of people that pass through here. And there are so many taxis that-" 

Suzy - "Ok, ok. Fine. I get it." 

Click. 

What the fuck? 

Raul looked at me. 

Raul - "What was that about?" 

I told him the dialogue, verbatim, all the way down to her saying "interesting" and  "oh, I get it." I was legitimately confused. However, the twenty-five years of experience in Raul didn't blink. He stood there and listened without flinching, then in one simple sentence, spelled it out for me: 

Raul - "She thinks you're in cahoots with the taxi driver." 

Click here for the final part of Suzy the Twat: The Ugliest American!!!

1 comment:

  1. Nice! Keep up the blogging! Great work...luckily taxis aren't lined up at our hotel waiting, we're on a resort so we have to call one to come.

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