Macaulay Culkin's New Job
I step out of the hotel lobby and get hit with the harsh cold of the mean season. It's the type of cold where you wish it would snow just so you could get something out of it. I wait next to the doorman for my cab because the lobby music is too awful to bear. "Vvvvvvvv," the doorman shivers. "Tell me about it," I breathe. "Jesus, it is fucking cold out here. I'm freezing my balls off," he whines. "Heh, yeah." "I'm gonna turn into a girl in this shit. Just have 'em fall right off and clunk down my pants." I give a half chuckle. He isn't done. "I mean my sack is like an underdeveloped walnut right now. It's ridiculous." "Okay, I get it," I say. "They're like two tiny grapes getting stabbed with invisible icicles. They hurt with this sharp stinging -" "Dude, that's enough. That's really gross."
He stares at me. "What's wrong with you?" he asks. "I'm over here trying to commiserate about the weather and build an amicable bond between us and you're just shrugging me off. Is today Asshole Day or something? Fuck this," he mutters. He takes off his hat, throws it to the ground, and storms off. A man in a suit exits the hotel and glares at me. "Did you just piss off Rick?" he asks. "I have no idea, he was complaining about the cold, and then he yelled at me and left." "Look, I can't have a hotel without a doorman. You pick up that hat and get to work." He goes back into the hotel and I stare at the hat. My cab pulls up, and I put the little black cap on my head.
A couple hours later, Rick comes trudging back to the hotel. "Hey, I'm really sorry about that," he starts, "I overreacted and - what the fuck is this?" I'm holding the door open for a young woman with a tiny dog and shopping bags. "Uh... they made me do this." "First you treat me like shit, then you steal my job? Fuck you, man!" Rick stomps away. The manager comes back outside. "Was that Rick?" "No sir, just some lost person looking for directions," I say. "Humph. Well, keep it up," he says as he walks back inside. My cab is still waiting for me, the driver napping in the front seat. I'm still plotting my escape.