companies were flush with cash…
and they didn't care who showed up in your suite at a convention.
then one year someone pissed the powers that be off and they said, "by invitation only".
this suited the bastard well as if not too many jerks won't be heading into my room...
to steal my team's food...
to mooch off of our resources...
to make me want to stab them in the face.
they even put us in a room that is off to the side.
away from the action so no one would even WANT to come walking in.
but all plans are not foolproof
case...
meet...
point...
this couple walks in and beelines straight for the coffee and snick snax.
i head over to them and ask them if they need any help because it's better to be polite.
the wife scrambles to grab a cup as her man looks his nose down on the bastard and does the slowest...
smuggest...
head shake ever.
slowly shaking his head no, like a fucking boss.
so i step to him, "well this is my press room. you can't be here. get out"
"sorry, i thought we were allowed in here even though we just zipped right in through the back door with no obvious reason to stay in the main room where salespeople are diligently trying to make your company because we thought we were slick. and because we're fucking moochers", he responds.
"no you aren't...get out"
and thus began the consistent parade of sneaky assholes in "air quotes" who kept darkening my door.
"can i use your computers?"
"no...get out"
"i just thought i'd get a cup of coffee here where i suspected no one was looking"
"there you go with the thinking again chuckles. no...get out"
the bastard even had a guy slink in who actually had a door pass but still saw fit to saunter in. he was retired corps. gave me the stink eye. said he had a pass to be in here. showed me the card.
"that pass isn't for this room, sir. you can't be in here"
then he proceeded to make a scene up front. bitching about the surly bald guy in the back.
"i used to be a marine!"
"that coffee is mine by divine right of kingship"
"i used to eat guys like that for breakfast before i got old"
"i am. I AM! I AM!"
"shut the hell up jerk"
they calmed him down and put up a sign and sent him on his way but not before he spent 20 minutes pacing back and forth past my door to give me the stink eye and it reminded me of my time at the grocery store in the fhills.
old folks would give me shit and expect me to take it and were aghast when i told them what they could do with their effing coupons which was followed by a litany of "respect your elders" bullshit.
the bastard respects his elders but because he tries to step with the good foot. but if you come back with sass you lose that respect. you aren't owed respect for taking up space on this rock for longer than the youth, you get it because you try to be good and give what you get. it isn't foolproof but it's worth trying every time.
then you slap folks with your pimp hand.
—the bastard
P.S. i later found that the retired marine had the door pass because his organization helps disabled veterans so the bastard felt a little sheepish for rolling up on the guy. but, he was still creeping and that shit isn't above board with me.
No comments:
Post a Comment