CLICK HERE FOR ACT I
7:00pm: Hoping that the cunty British Woman in a hurry wouldn't ruin my mojo, I decide it's time for a coffee break.
7:06pm: At the line in Starbucks when I see one of my barista buddies who frequently hooks me up with a free venti iced coffee. He sees me, writes my name on the cup, and turns to do something else. When he hooks me up, I throw $2 in his tip jar. I do that. He turns back from his other task and punches the keys on the register.
Barista - "$3.21, Doorman."
Fuck. Do I do the "George Costanza get your tip back reach into the jar?"
7:11pm: I bitterly sip my $5.21 iced coffee in the locker room.
7:21pm: Russian lady that had to wait for the next elevator hits me with a nick in the lobby. $5.
7:37pm: An angry white American guest wants his car from the valet and can't find Morning Doorman. I legitimately speak to him in my indoor voice:
Doorman - "I'm not sure where the doorman is, sir. He may have went to use the restroom."
Angry Guest - "DON'T RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME!!!"
His wife grabs his arm.
Angry Guest's Wife - "He's not raising his voice, honey!"
Legitimately confused, I maintain my indoor voice.
Doorman - "I'm not raising my voice, sir."
Angry Guest - "Oh, you're being a fucking wise-ass now?"
That's how you wake a sleeping monster. He ain't seen shit yet.
I hand him his valet ticket and take a step behind the bell desk.
Doorman - "Call the garage yourself, the number is on the back."
His eyes popped open like someone unexpectedly shoved a fist up his ass. I really love when I run into people who expect someone to take their little emotional beating, only to be presented with a reckless employee who kinda-sorta wants to get fired. Nine times out of ten, they're thrown so off guard that they lose their train of thought and realize what a cunt they're being. This was the one time out of ten:
Angry Guest - "What are you fucking KIDDING ME?"
Everyone in the lobby turns to us. It's a showdown. There's a cardinal rule when you deal with customer service people - you don't yell. Seriously, don't ever fucking scream. The second you raise your voice, the odds of you getting what you want virtually disappear.
And, as much as I'd love to go outside and beat him within an inch of his Ford Edge-driving life, I remained calm, because now I had an audience.
Doorman - "No, sir. The doorman has to call for you. He may be using the restroom. You're welcome to call for the vehicle yourself, sir."
Angry Guest - "GET ME YOUR MANAGER!!!"
Calmness was now being overtaken by rage, which is something I find myself battling with more and more every day. I was able to keep my calm voice, but the hospitality bullshit was going out the fucking window.
Doorman - "Get him yourself."
Everyone in the lobby, including the front desk agents, were locked on us.
Angry Guest - "I WANT TO SPEAK TO A MANAGER!!!"
Sometimes the Staten Island will come out in me. It usually happens when I get into a fight, and, in the thickest of New York accents, screamed across the lobby to the front desk agents like I was a drunk guido dad at a little league game:
Doorman - "AY! SOMEONE GET THIS GUY A MANAGER!!!"
The lobby exploded with laughter. The Angry Guest's face turned beat red. His wife, mortified, covered her face with her hand.
Angry - "OH!! WHAT ARE YOU, A FUCKING COMEDIAN?!?!"
I crossed my arms and delivered the smuggest smirk my thin little lips could muster.
Doorman - "Yes, actually. I'm very funny. You should see my movie."
He was stunned. Top-five greatest victories I've ever had at the hotel.
The manager comes out, and one of the front desk girls calls me over.
Front Desk Girl - "Doorman, wanna do a front?!?"
You bet your ass I do. Perfect bailout.
Here's the best part of this - nobody, not the manager, not the guest, not the doorman, not trip advisor, has spoken a word about this incident since. I came back to the lobby fully-expecting to be in trouble, and everyone was gone. This happened on Sunday night, and as of now I do believe I have gotten away with destroying this prick.
7:44pm: Front. Couple from Brazil, who had just witnessed my owning of this asshole. They were all smiles that they got the funny little bellboy. One duffel bag to the penthouse on the top floor.
My post-arguement adrenaline was making me sweat, and I could feel little beads fall down the middle of my back and into my ass-crask. I was on fire.
Doorman - "So you're from Brazil?"
They were all smiles.
Man - "Yes!"
Doorman - "Uh oh, no luggage means lots of shoooooooopping!!!"
We all laughed in the elevator like the fucking Muppets.
I could do no wrong. I chatted them all the way up to the top floor, where they gave me $2 for carrying nothing. Just a charming little bellboy.
I get to the elevator, and I'm still a hot, sweaty mess. I have to fart. I do, and it sounds like someone attached a jet ski motor to it.
The elevator door opens immediately, and I walk in, taking this gas trail with me. The door closes, and I'm entrapped in my own filth. Hopefully no one gets on.
The elevator stops at the floor directly below. The cute Japanese girl, who was staying with her mom, that I charmed earlier gets on and looks at me. I'm dripping sweat, face red, hair disheveled, and looking like a bonafide slob. She smiles. I can't smile. I know what's about to happen.
It was as if a little green stink cloud had branched off and created two narrow lines to shoot straight into her nostrils.
She immediately grabs her shirt and covers her face.
Japanese Girl - "oOOoo"
She clutches the shirt to her face like she's trying to chloroform herself. The door closes before she could escape. One floor down.
OH COME ON!!!
A nice, wholesome American family packs in. The visceral smell of my sweaty anus and rotten insides hit them immediately. It smells like someone vomited in the kitchen of a White Castle.
The entire ride down, everyone is subtly complaining about being trapped in my little poopy hot box. Most people would be ashamed. Me? No. I stifled my laughter and was proud of my little smelly monster.
Everyone tramples each other to escape. I casually sachet to the bell desk and await my next assignment.
7:46pm: Front. Three American women, four suitcases. $8.
7:55pm: Bags down from storage. Two small carry-ons. $2
8:00pm-8:45pm: Lunch break. I watch an episode of Full House where Kimmy gets wasted at a party and DJ gets mad because her mom was killed by a drunk driver or whatever. Fucking killjoy.
8:45pm: Cover the door so Morning Doorman can go on break.
8:53pm: Valet. Indian man makes me schlep all of his bags inside. No tip. I have to fill out a valet ticket for him, so I opt to play This Doorman is an Idiot!
Doorman - "Last name?"
Guest - "Gupta."
Doorman - "P-O-O-P..."
Guest - "No! 'G'! 'G'!"
Doorman - "C..."
Guest - "No, 'G'!"
Doorman - "OH! Sorry! G...O-O.."
Guest - "No, NO!!! 'U'!!! G-U!!!"
Doorman - "Sorry... P-U-P"
Guest - "GIVE IT TO ME!!!!"
He yanks the paper from my hand and writes it himself. Great success.
9:15pm: Back inside. Deliver a bucket of ice to an American man. $1
9:30pm: American family. Cart full of luggage and a cooler full of beers. I offer to fill the cooler with ice before I deliver it up to the room in hopes of increasing my tip. I get a five from the patriarch. Decent, but slightly disappointing given the extra effort. $5.
9:45pm: Morning Doorman asks to go home early, booting me back to the door till midnight. Party's over.
9:47pm: Valet. Americans with no luggage. $5.
9:55pm: Collect a $10 car service commission from a trip booked earlier in the week.
10:13pm: Younger business man needs a taxi to Penn Station. Take his luggage, hail the taxi, load the trunk. No tip, no thank you.
10:15pm: The 104 year-old man that eats in the hotel's restaurant five nights a week needs a taxi. Like he does every night, tips me $2 after I give him a boost inside.
10:17pm: Australian couple arrives in a taxi. Two heavy suitcases. Bring them to reception. No tip, no thank you.
10:30pm: Swedish family of four arrives in a taxi. Four heavy suitcases. Bring them to reception. No tip, no thank you.
10:40pm: Young, attractive woman arrives in a taxi. I don't know where she's from because when I greeted her she looked right through me without saying a word. Bring her suitcase to reception. No tip, no thank you.
11:15pm: Valet. Chinese family. Chinese people DO NOT want you to touch their fucking luggage. EVER. So I don't. No tip, and a head-nod that I'm assuming was a thank you.
11:17pm: Valet. Two American guys that are about my age. Turn down help with luggage, tip me $5 anyway.
11:38pm: Help two young Irish ladies up the steps with their luggage. No tip, but a very big smile and hearty "thank you." Sometimes, that's all I need.
11:40pm: Valet. The attendant from the garage is picking up one of the cars I called for. We're bull-shiting about finding better professions. A black family with a bunch of luggage strapped to the hood of the car pulls up.
Valet - "Good luck with this one, papi."
I approach the car, a man who is a dead-ringer of Taye Diggs gets out.
Doorman - "Haya doin', sir."
He flashes the biggest, brightest smile I've ever seen. You know when someone smiles at you, and you know right away that they actually mean it? The type of smile from someone who genuinely enjoys life, and wants to make your day better? That's what it was. When I say this man was one of the nicest people I've ever met, I really mean it. He was with his wife and four daughters, all under the age of ten, and they were just as happy to be alive as he was.
Doorman - "Last name, sir?"
And we shared a last name.
People commonly misspell my last name, leaving out one letter.
Doorman - "Two L's, right?"
Man - "Ha! Come on, man! You know the one L doesn't exist!"
We chatted and I loaded up a luggage cart and brought them to reception. They were from Canada, just outside Niagara Falls.
He hits me with a five.
I head back to the door, and notice that the only bellman left is upstairs doing a front. Since he already hit me up, I figured I'd take them up to the room and finish the job. As we headed to the elevators in the East Wing, we talked some more. First time in New York. The whole family was excited to be here. As I pulled the cart up to the staircase before the elevators, I handed them their keys.
Doorman - "Why don't you guys go up and get settled. I'll be right behind you with your luggage."
The man notices the pain-in-the-ass staircase.
Man - "They don't make it easier for you, huh?"
Doorman - "No they do not. I'll see you in a couple of minutes."
As I humped the bags down the steps, the family pushed the button for the elevator. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the British Woman, who was in a big hurry earlier, arrive back. She was drunkenly munching on a bag of M&M's.
She makes her way down the steps, notices the black family, and gives a disgusted look. Like they don't belong here.
The door opens and the family shuffles in. With plenty of room in the elevator already, the man motions to his family to make more room so the British Woman can get on.
British Woman - "That's alright, I'll get the next one."
What a convenient time to be patient, you fucking cunt.
I wish I had said that, but I didn't. I just schlepped the luggage onto the cart, let her go in the next elevator, and delivered the bags accordingly. The wonderful man gave me another $5 for my efforts.
12:00am: I punch out.
My total wages in cash for the evening added up to $167.
My shift pay is $84 after taxes.
$251 total for the evening. That's a very good day.
You've seen the good... now see the ugly! CLICK HERE for Doorman Breaks Down a Bad NYC Bellman Shift!