Usual Disclaimer: On an inappropriateness scale of 7, this entry is merely a 5 (because of the very wrong picture)
When I wrote last Thursday that it was the last of my bitter entries, I obviously misled you. Let’s talk about front desk guys and bike messengers. Both categories have not much in common 
besides the fact that they both look like they used to or could wear an orange jumpsuit at one point in their life and have meaningless, borderline criminal jobs. Front desk guys and messengers are lower than clerks or my mother in the food chain and yet are despicable wicked creatures in their own little twisted way.
I actually have mixed feelings for bike messengers. The majority is composed of fanatical toothless two-wheeled f**ks who threaten everybody’s life with their lawless bike riding for ridiculous packages and minimum wages. But once in a while, I have to admit, there is this really hot tattooed, trimmed, shaved head messenger with rolled up jeans. Of course, his conversation will be the dull conversation of your average pothead illuminated anarchist (let’s hope that Karl does not read this entry) but if you feel you are able to ignore this detail you can pick up one of those at “Lucky Bar” next to 1223 around 6/7 pm on weekdays. Besides being a threat to urban road safety, I suspect that bike messengers are all drug dealers. How do you think they can afford to buy these incredibly expensive bike messengers bags ? The smallest Timbuk2 cost $60 so is the smallest Manhattan Portage. Bike Messengers even have their evil secret societies such as the New York Bike Messengers Association or worse the International Federation of Bike Messenger Associations. One may wonder what happen when they strike ? People have to wait a little to get their urine sample test results ?. In Chicago, people like me intentionally crash bike messengers for breakfast (as well as Mimes strangely enough … LL is going to say I sound creepy again). Let’s hurt the messenger for once.
For DC front desk guys, I have no sympathy whatsoever, those are ruthless redundant alcoholics whose only function is to yelp with a toothpick between their lips “How you doing man ?” to strangers and for the most literate "How are you? And the stomach ?” to the building tenants. They also collect gratuities by implying threats to your household such as "I don't want nobody hurt". What is their mission exactly? they do not even hold the door for you. And why exactly do I have to sign in if they can’t even read. I have been signing Faye Dunaway everywhere in the city and only once did a doorman ask me if I was a parent of the actress. I believe that their real occupation is to resell the drugs that the bike messengers transport. I also trust that most front desk guys are actually retired bike messengers. A doorman is a status symbol that has to go…buy a 50 inch TV like everybody else. I particularly despise my mental health doctors front desk guys who always shout in the lobby “Oh suite 800 you are going to see Dr. S ., THE PSYCHOANALYST then ?”. They always seem to have access to my medical file too and often add “Hey y’all how is that sex offender problem of yours ?”. That is thoughtless. I am thinking to launch my own “replace your doorman with a digital interphone” league.
You get the point. To Jim M. who told me that these days it seems that I am going over the edge I would like to say that L2 is back to school and I have withdrawals symptoms. I even rent Man bites dogs (a masterpiece by the way) and Deliverance from Netflix. To Dr. Carl Gustav J., who asked me if I am not ashamed to bash my own mother in my blog, I reply “let’s see the DNA test result” and “guilt is petit-bourgeois crap”. Thank you to Elayne S. for her kind consoling words. Congratulations to Martha S. for making it without being insolent this time.
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