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"Alright, thanks a lot, I've got to get back to work."

I head for the door and on my way out, I notice a pair of woman about 10 or 12 feet behind me.

I make it a point to stop and hold the door open for them as they near the exit.

I like to do things like this. Not for the recognition, I just like to think it makes me look like my parents did it right, if you know what I mean. If you don't, I don't think your parents probably did it right.

I also like to think this person that you helped out will remember it for a second and hold a door for someone else, or smile at the homeless person no ones looking at, or save a baby from a burning building or something like that.

So I hold this door for two woman in their mid to upper twenties that I don't know, as they talk and gossip and juggle their bags.

I smile as they make their way through the open space.
The open space that I gave them, with my kind and giving hands.
And I watch as they pass.

The woman do not stop their conversation.
The woman do not look at me.
The woman do not acknowledge my presence.
The woman do not say thank you.
The woman are mother fuckers.

I let the door slide out of my hand, and walk to the second set of doors leading out to the sidewalk. These woman are dawdling and chatting their pretty little heads so much, they are now behind me again.

So at the second set of doors,
I again, get there first.

This time they're not more then a foot and a half behind me.

I lean in and open the door.
I take a step outside.
I turn sharply.
I pull the door shut hard behind me.

The woman jump back shocked, staring violently through the glass paneling.

I stand there for three to four seconds and I look them both straight in the face.

The woman stop their conversation.
The woman look at me.
The woman acknowledge my presence.
The woman do not say thank you.
The woman are mother fuckers.
And the woman can open their own fucking doors.

Sears and its sinners.

Today was a nice day.
I didn't even need my coat.
I wore it anyway, but thats not the point.
Today was a nice day.

getting out of work while its still daytime is a good enough reason to call it an Ok day.
The fact that the sun was actually out, on the other hand, blasted that shit straight to nice.

Tra la la-ing my way to my car, I pause to put on my sunglasses.
Sunglasses!
Wow!

I pass a group of gaggling girls
giggling and gossiping.
Taking up most of the sidewalk,
I accidentally on purpose steer them awkwardly into an outdoor garbage can.
Wow!

I can actually hear birds chirping
and children laughing
and snow melting
and coffee brewing
and ice cream licking
and people smiling
and winter ending
Wow!

Over dosing on sunshine and splendor
I vomit myself awake and nearly skip the rest of the way to my car.

I start thinking about what I should do after work,
Maybe something gay like rollerblade.

Im almost to my car.
Maybe I'll walk around and take pictures.
Ive got my key out.
Maybe I'll just go for a walk
Im inches away now
unzipping my coat because frankly, who needs it!
Im at the door,
about to put the key in..


"EXCUSE ME!"

I turn and glance towards a woman screaming through the window of her obnoxiously teal vehicle.

"whats up?" I say strangely.


"EXCUSE ME!" she says as if she hadnt already, clearly gotten my attention.


"Um, yes?" I answer again.


'WHERE IS THE SEARS?" She yells much to loud for someone just feet away from where Im standing.

"Oh, yeah, its right over...."

"NEVER MIND! you're no help" she says cutting half way through my sentence angrily.


She then turns to her companion and says, and I quote,


"what a bitch"


Then puts it in gear and drives away.



I'm not doing anything gay today.
This day fucking sucks.

Hay Supermodel! [lines off your stomach]

At my hotel there is a community computer in the main lobby.
This community computer resides directly next to the main door.
This Main door locks at 11:00pm.
This main door has explicit instructions on what to do if checking in after 11:00pm.
These explicit instructions refer to a more then obvious phone to its immediate right.
This phone has the same explicit instructions, which in large bold letters state the following:

FOR LATE CHECK IN'S DIAL 600.

at 11:30pm a woman comes to the door.

pulls.
pulls again.
shakes.
pulls harder.
bangs on the door.

I look up from the computer which resides directly next to the main door.
Reaching over I open the door, at which the woman gives no thanks.
She looks at me and says.

"How do I do this?"

I look at her and say.

"Do what, exactly?"

She shakes her bag at me.

I do nothing.

"I'm Here to check in"

she states in a part irritated part "I am an important person" voice.

I do nothing.

She stares at me.

This is the point where I'm hoping this less then clever woman is realizing that she is shouting at a young girl with wet hair, wearing leggings, moccasins, a neon teal headband (to straighten my bangs) and a pink t-shirt that reads "DONT TAZE ME BRO" in large black font.

instead, she just stares at me.

"I don't work here." I say in a far to friendly manner given her tone."You have to use the phone," pointing towards the door in which she struggled so dearly. "And call the number I think.

I don't think, I know.

I go through this bit at least 3 times a week with Mr. or Mrs. something or another who cant read the signs.

(side note: as I write this, I pause to let in yet another clever tenant.)

[One half hour later.]

A tall grey haired gentlemen rattles the door.
I let him in, tell him his instructions.
He calls.
I re-let him in while he waits for the night attendant.

Moments later, he walks up behind me and reads over my shoulder.
Startled, I turn and look at him.
Reaching far to close to my face, he asks,

"Whats this?!"

"The Internet" I say.

With the man still gazing at the computer, I log out and trudge to my room.

This is why I can't get my fucking taxes done mom. This is why.