There are other things/calamities unfolding in my life that I could use this space to discuss… but I need to wrap myself in the familiar, the absurd, the not-so-normal that has become perfectly normal in my existence. If I don’t, if I give into despair and worry, my mind will surely break.
So here we go.
A bellman is many things: a pack-horse, a mobile concierge, a sympathetic shoulder to cry on, in some extreme cases, a dealer/pusher, and above all… a bellman is a witness.
To more than you can ever imagine.
We see it all. Literally. (Why do people keep the door open when they start having coitus and they know I’m coming up with luggage? Why?)
Raging fathers. Birth. (I didn’t even see my own daughter’s entrance to this world from that vantage point.) Alcoholic mothers. (Boxed wine is a powerful drug.) Death. (It sucks every bit as much as you can imagine.) Nutty rugrats, hopped up on Red Bull.
And everything in-between.
Including an early Saturday morning convo between two mammals that probably shouldn’t be anywhere near one another, never mind involved in a coupling. She was a dead ringer for Canadian, uber-actress Dani Kind of the smash CBC hit comedy Workin’ Moms, with a few piercings, blazing crimson locks, piercing, deep-set eyes blue eyes, a thin frame and a surgically-enhanced rack to die for.
He looked like your accountant’s nephew.
They were the original romantic version of the Odd Couple.
I rolled on by them as they bickered in the middle of the fiftieth floor; I didn’t get the finer points but the gist was this: she was pissed. My duties as a bellman prevented me from lingering and eavesdropping so I continued on my way and began to load up luggage for a whole mess of Asians. And yes, I said “duties”. Get over it.
By the way, Asians are awesome guests to serve; they’re friendly as hell and their accent/super speed speech always makes me smile. But back to our regularly-scheduled
victims guests: the Asians started out ahead of me, chattering away and moving through the hall as a single, hyper-active unit.
Sort of like a human sharknado.
But anyway, they moved ahead, which conveniently left me to slooowly make my past our intrepid heroes as she delivered one of the greatest lines of all time…
“I hate your stupid face… but you have a big cock and you know how to use it… so yes, I’ll marry you.”
She spit those venomous-yet-sweet words in the direction of her lover with a calm, measured pitch and little or no enthusiasm. But he was happy to be covered in her… love? (For lack of a more appropriate word.) He reached for her, she opened her arms with all the grace of a department store mannequin and they began to make out… and dry hump against the wall… in the middle of the hall.
Ain’t love – or whatever the hell that was – grand?
I’d be a fool to try to follow that spectacle.
See you in the lobby, kids…