I’m no astrologer, but I’m pretty sure the cosmos is out of whack.
Either that or The Big Guy is on vacation and a Kardashian is at the controls.
Right about now you’re thinking, “What are you on about this time, Hook? Did you mix your meds up again?”
Allow me to explain.
Someone decided to reboot Sunday, label it “Monday” and sell it all over again – whether you want it or not. Today has been as hectic as a Sunday, but with that extra kick for flavor.
- Despite the resolution of the elevator repairman strike, our elevators decided to monkey with the human race and work intermittently. People, being people, have not responded well. Imagine that, right?
- What’s difference between the kids I’ve dealt with today and howler monkeys? Howler monkeys actually prefer canopy leaves, fruits, flowers, and nuts for breakfast rather than Red Bull, chips and cold pizza. Also howler monkeys are less destructive.
- My never-ending quest to keep pace with the speed of stupid kept from my desk and so I missed meeting the one and only, Mr. “I knew Leo when he was nothin’!”, the host of Thicke of the Night, Mr. Alan Thicke. He dropped by for directions, but alas, our paths were not meant to converge, which is probably a good thing for Mr. Thicke.
- As of this writing, a pink duffle bag emblazoned with the words “Bitchin’ Diva” has been buzzing for more than five hours. I daresay Ms. Diva’s mechanical friend has lasted longer than any lover she’s ever had….
Enough with the bullet points; time for a little more detail about just why they call me The Hook.
I served a Greek family with a son who may or may not have been a little slow – I wouldn’t even mention it if it didn’t figure into my tale – and as they walked ahead of me on the way to the car, a group of drunken bachelors decided to weigh in on the young man’s status.
“Boy, that kid looks like a retard!” remarked one of the brain donors in question. His buddies laughed sheepishly, but audibly.
I was outnumbered twelve to one, but I simply wouldn’t be me if I let this one pass.
“Actually, sir, the young man is strong as an ox (he loaded three ridiculously heavy coolers as easily as lifting a pillow.), he’s well-mannered and he has more common sense than most people.”
“How do you figure, Boss?” was my new friend’s response.
“For one thing, he isn’t wearing a shirt that reads “Tittie Inspector”.
Fortunately, the Inspector was distracted by the guffaws and raucous laughter emanating from the gathered crowd to bother with me. Chalk up another “hit ‘n run” for The Hook.
So far the day has been one mini-misadventure after another, but my next call threw a much-needed monkey wrench into the chaos machine.
After a metaphorical crossed wire that resulted in a fifteen-minute delay, I made my way to a family room. The clan in question seemed a little perturbed with me, but after waiting another twenty minutes for an elevator, my performance seemed golden. At the car, Dad decided to knock me flat, in a manner of speaking. After pressing a five dollar bill into my hand, he patted me on the back and we finished loading their “Griswold-mobile”. I began to make my way to my next victim when dad stopped me.
“Hang on, sir. I’m not through with you just yet.” he said, a sinister Stephen King-like twinkle in his eye.
His wife hurried over and passed something into his hand which he then passed over to me. The object in question wasn’t important, but his message certainly was.
“Here you go, sir.” he pressed another bill into my hand. “I didn’t tip you enough.”
You read that correctly. He actually said “I didn’t tip you enough.“
It was a “One small step for man.” moment. Trust me, when you’re a bellman, you have to take your victories where you can find them.
That’s all for now, folks. See you in the lobby…