The Time The Hook Defended Amy Schumer… Poorly.

Serving the public as a bellman is kind of like performing stand-up – for the smallest audience in the history of the profession.

You have a captive but unsuspecting audience who could turn ugly at any moment and so it falls to you to ensure they eat out of the palm of your hand by the time the last bag is loaded or unloaded.

I often use brutal, razor sharp honesty to cut through the usual bullshit that people in my industry have been utilizing for decades. Sometimes I cut to the quick and the result is boisterous laughter and a meeting of the minds. Sometimes I fall flat on my metaphorical face and the result is a glossy, cadaverous look and the sound of crickets, even if we’re indoors.

Fortunately for financial well-being, my failures are infrequent. Today’s adventure straddles the fence dividing victory and crushing defeat but should, providing I do my job correctly, illicit a snicker or two.

You’ve never met her, but you know her; she was a towering, stunning blonde-from-a-bottle that had spent more hours on a plastic surgeon’s operating table than the late, great Joan Rivers. Unlike Rivers, however, the results were worthwhile. Her eyes were cavernous, fiery, and inviting. Her chest was a living billboard for Corning. She was a testament to the power of medical science.

She was a mini-van driving, big-box-store-outfit-wearing, disunited soccer mom with two children named Jason and Jennifer. And yes, it’s safe to assume she never had an original thought in her life. She could stand in for a Real Housewife in any city on a moment’s notice.

BOTTLE BLONDE:  I hope you’re feeling strong, honey, I have a lot for you to handle!

Hey, it beats the usual greeting I get from people when I arrive to unload their vehicle at check-in time. Her game was all-too obvious but a bellman never pops his guest’s balloon. Unless it’s called for, that is.

ME:  I can only assume you’re referring to the contents of the small house you stuffed into the vehicle you won in the divorce?”

BB:  How do you know so much about my life?

ME:  Because it’s not your life. You’re sharing an existence with billions of soccer moms whose husbands absconded with the nanny or babysitter after stocking up on Cialis.

Needless to say, she was gobsmacked. But she recovered rather quickly.

BB:  (After silently contemplating my words.)  OH! I get it, you’re being funny! You’re hilarious!

Then she gave me a line that will resonate in my consciousness forever.

“You’re like Amy Schumer… but with less hair and a penis!”

I then made a tactical error: I kept going even though I was on ridiculously-thin ice.

ME:  Well, Amy Schumer definitely has more hair than me… but we don’t know for sure if she has boy parts, do we?

BB:  (Pondering once more.)  Hmm… I guess that’s true! Then again, I don’t know for sure if you have a penis, do I?

It was my turn to be gobsmacked. And to repeat in my head:

“You couldn’t quit while you were behind by one, could you, Hook? You had to keeping upping the ante, didn’t you?”

ME:  Well, you’re going to have to trust me on that one, miss.

BB:  Aww…

ME:  Well, you were married, so you’re used to being disappointed by a man, right?

BB:  Oh yeah! You sure knew how to get out of that one, didn’t you?

Maybe the Bottle Blonde wasn’t as slow as I thought?

BB:  By the way, you don’t look like Amy Schumer at all –

ME:  Thanks.

BB:  ‘Cause she’s so fat!

Say what?

Did a fellow female just verbally body shame Amy Schumer? How did we go from inappropriate banter to this?

ME:  Well, Amy Schumer is curvy, but not really fat. I kind of hate that term. I would think a woman would too.

BB:  (Without missing a beat.)  She makes fun of her body shape – so I can too! Plus, I was a huge before the liposuction, so I can say what I want about others!

Bold, wasn’t she?

ME:  I suppose you can! Let’s just agree that Amy is hilarious, okay? I mean, her Star Wars GQ cover ticked off Lucasfilm and was so bad, it was great!

BB:  Oh yeah, she’s freakin’ hilarious! That’s how she makes up for her acres of fat! Personally, I would never take pictures of my threesomes… at least not any that I would put in a magazine, at least!

Well, Hustler, maybe.

At any rate, it was time to switch my strategy.

ME:  I’m not going to win this one, am I?

BB:  Nope! I’m entitled to my opinion, right?

ME:  Most definitely!

Sometimes a tactical retreat counts as a win.

See you in the lobby, kids…