“Doorman”
Aug 09, 2019I stumbled up to the first door and practically smashed my face against the glass as I heaved into it. The suction of air wooshed the hair from my face. I saw the doorman pick his nose, stare at his newfound treasure, pondering the depths from whence they had arisen, and promptly put it back in his mouth. I’ll never tell. I found my Manhattan working its way back up my throat but I told it to shut the fuck up and sit back down you’re not wanted right now thanks.
I saw him see me as I stumbled into the second door. What am I paying all this money for to live in a building with doormen if the doormen don’t open the door for me? Gah. I’m a big girl. I’ll do it myself. Never mind the gum stuck to my heel. Who the fuck still chews gum? And why are you throwing it on the ground? There are literally a million trash cans in New York for you to dispose of your chewed up rubber. There are guys who ride around on the back of trucks throwing your fucking gum into landfills where you don’t have to think about how your stupid habits kill baby seals.
This doorman finally gets up from his seat to grab hold of the door handle when I’ve already pushed it all the way open and made my presence be known. I do not know this doorman. He must be new as of right this moment. He is a figment of my imagination. I just wanted to be disgusted by someone as I stumbled home. God forbid Joe be disgusted with himself. Fucking troll.
All night long, ogling chicks in the bar. My tits are practically in your fucking face, Joe. What more do you want from me? Do you want to see my pussy hanging out under my skirt? Will that get your attention? Because it’s gonna get someone’s attention, Joe, and then it’ll be too late for you. Asshole. The things we do to try to catch the attention of those whose attention we want. And we just keep catching the attention of nose-picking doormen the world round. And the motherfuckers won’t even open the door for us until we’ve already opened it. Gah!
“Hello,” I say as I walk past the front desk. He mutters something unintelligible. I’ve stopped caring. I just want to be home. My heels click loudly on the marble floor, walking through the empty hallway to the elevators. I just want to be home. I don’t need to look back. I can feel his gaze touching my neck, sniffing and licking. You are no puppy, sir. You disgust me. You smell like the shit on the bottom of my soles. You smell like the shit that comes out of Joe’s mouth. Every fucking time we go out, every fucking time I think he’s finally figured it out. But he never does. And neither will this doorman. I see you looking down my shirt with your cameras as I ride the elevator up the slow eight stories. Will this be the longest ride of my life? The Manhattan thinks so. Maybe I’ll leave a little gift in the corner. That’ll give you something to do, mister doorman. I just want to be home.