I love getting attitude from lowly door help because as I’m sucking in the humiliation, it makes me think “At least it’ll be a good item.”
Case in point: The other night, I went to a splashy theater gala at Cipriani.
I assumed I was wildly famous from all the press I’ve been nabbing and would get a nice greeting, but one should never assume.
“Yes?” said the doorman, looking suspicious.
“I’m here for the gala,” I announced.
“And…?” he said, with fish eyes.
“I was invited,” I said, irked that I had to keep selling myself.
“As what?” he asked, looking me over as if surveying a decaying rodent.
As what??? As a guest, you fucking asshole!!
“As what? As a guest,” I responded, really over it but trying not to scream out my exasperation.
What could he have thought I was there as–the janitor? Before finding out, I simply walked into the entrance and assumed my place at the dinner table.