Thursday, August 1, 2013

Doorman Has a Run-in with the Devil

Today I had an experience that was something out of a David Lynch film:

It was around 3:30pm and Shitdick had gone for a smoke, so I was left to deal with the nonsense. Thursday isn't my usual day of work, and I had just spent the morning helping my new roommate move in, so I was a little fucking cranky. (As if you really need me to explain why I hate being at work anymore, but a little pretense gets my writing juices flowing. Go fuck yourself.) 

As I unloaded a taxi for a family of mouth-breathing Times Square-goers, I turned to see the scariest man I've ever seen standing right in front of me. 

He was a black man (I know I'm treading on thin ice because of my previous post, but I have to paint a picture, god dammit. Go fuck yourself.), and was clearly homeless due to the blue sweatsuit that was now shredded into ashy rags. His eyes were a shade of white indicating he was probably (if not already) going blind, and what was left of his irises looked in different directions. His head trembled and ever-so-slightly ticked to the side every few seconds. 

As we stood in a stand-off that I was clearly not ready for, I put down the suitcase I was holding. He slowly rose his index finger to my face and meticulously waved it from side to side, like Dikembe Mutombo

Satan - "No... No." 

I stared into his faded, vacant white eyes, waiting for him to say something. I thought he was going to hit me, which I prepared for, but he didn't. His body turned, with his eyes and head maintaining contact with mine as he slowly slithered away. 

I picked the suitcase back up and headed towards the door, engaged in a full-blown stare-down with this obviously possessed man. 

Then I asked what any common man would ask the devil. 

Doorman - "What the fuck are you staring at?" 

His arm stiffened as he pointed his elongated index finger at me.


As he turned away, Shitdick walked past him and they brushed shoulders. Him and I could pass for brothers, and seeing that we wear the same uniform and Satan was blind as a bat, he reacted as if I had teleported myself behind him. 

Satan jumped back with a gasp, then turned to run away, though not before sending the two Doormen a message: 


He took off down the street, bouncing off scaffolding poles and storefronts. 

After taking the mouth-breathers into the hotel without a tip, I returned to Shitdick, who provided me with an update: 

Shitdick - "The Mets are losing. Fucking Harvey was cruising then gave up three runs." 

Doorman - "Next year, buddy." 

And that's how New Yorkers react to run-ins with the devil. 

(Go fuck yourself.)

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