Sunday, July 21, 2013

Do You Want a Cup of Coffee?!?: A Quickie

After a miserable day of being stiffed, and wrongly accused of something that's not even remotely in my nature (more on that in the future, for sure), I had an interesting dialogue with a man from Brazil. I honestly don't know what to make of this. I think I had something snap in my brain, something that turned me completely insane for a few brief moments. I've learned to channel this "doorman rage" that has been boiling inside me for a long time, using this blog and other outlets to keep me from going completely fucking postal in the lobby. So, my valued employers - should you find out about this blog and not be happy about it, just know that it's the sole reason I haven't done something truly awful... so far.

Though many of the stories I've written about (and we're coming up on 100... one fucking hundred) have some sort of logic behind it, I can't seem to pinpoint where my mind took me on this one. I wouldn't call it an "out of body" experience, because that would be fucking stupid. However I do not have an explanation for the following interaction. 

Also, for reference, you should watch this: 


Brazilian Man - "I have some baggage." 

I go to the minivan. There are eight large suitcases. He stands there and watches me take every single one of them without lifting a finger. He also stands by and makes me carry the two small backpacks that have nothing in them. He's enjoying this. 

As I take the last two small backpacks, he follows me in, and his driver says goodbye. 

Brazilian Man - "Caio! Obrigado!" 

We turn the bend to the reception desk, where I have piled all of his 75+ lb. luggage. He gets in line, and I place the last two backpacks onto the largest of the suitcases, the "100 pounders." 

I stand and wait for a response. 

He gets his documents in order. 

I stand and wait for a response.

He peaks out of the corner of his eye. 

I stand and wait for a response. 

He looks and me. 

I stand and wait for a response. 

He nods. That'll do, pig. 

I stand and wait for a thank you. 

He goes back to his documents. 

My brain, my body, and my mouth are no longer collectively communicating. 

Doorman - "Would you like a cup of coffee, sir?" 

He looks up from his documents. 

Doorman - "SIR!!!" 

He looks at me, startled. 

Doorman - "Would you like a cup of coffee?" 

The man I took in before him, who also gave me nothing, looks at me wondering why he wasn't offered any coffee. 

Brazilian Man stares at me, confused. 

I can't see them, but I know my eyes have gone maniacal. 

Doorman - "I'm talking to you, sir. Would you... LIKE... a cup... of coffee?" 

I tilt my head to the side. 

He turns and looks to the person behind him. But there is no person behind him. 

Brazilian Man - "Excuse me?" 

Doorman - "Do you speak English?" 

If I had shit my pants in that moment, I wouldn't have noticed. I was a floating head. 

Brazilian Man - "Excuse me?" 

Doorman - "I was wondering if there was anything else I could do for you, like make you a cup of coffee, but if you don't speak English, then I'm going to ASSUME that you DON'T WANT ANY OF MY COFFEE!!!" 

He's next in line. His documents are now in his shaking hands. The Front Desk Girl calls him over. I put up one finger to indicate that I need another minute. 

Brazilian Man - "I speak English." 

Doorman - "GOOD!!! Now, would you like a cup of COFFEE?!?!" 

This particular Front Desk Girl is not the brightest bulb in the tanning bed, but she made the right move by breaking this up before I committed a crime. 

Front Desk Girl - "Sir, I can help you over here!" 

Brazilian Man stared at me, sort of terrified. I stood there, still waiting for a thank you. I knew a fucking tip was out of the question. 

Brazilian Man - "No. Obrigado." 

Doorman - "Okay, enjoy your stay." 

I turned and headed back to the door. As expected, and this always fucking happens, the bellman who got the front rolled everything up to the room and got a twenty. Brazilians respect bellmen. They do not respect doormen... at all. This is why I speak so ill of them. And if you read my bellman tip breakdown, the Brazilians were the most consistent tippers. That's because I was working as a bellman. 

Sometimes I scare myself. I honestly didn't know where I was going with asking him if he wanted coffee, but it definitely wasn't a good thing. At this point, I don't really know how much more of this I can take. I'm at the end of my rope, and I'm doing everything in my power to get out before I do something I regret.

On a lighter note, read this wonderful review of Doorman. Reading it makes this vicious cycle of "have bad thing happen to me, turn it into something positive, have another bad thing happen, turn it into something positive, have an even worse thing happen, turn it into something positive, and so on..." all the worthwhile. 

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