This woman D—T---, local socialite in her mid-30s, came in for dinner two nights ago with a friend (another woman). They started in the bar with some martinis, appletinis and icetinis
purchased for them by a couple of gentlemen. (I use the term loosely.)
They were escorted to their table in the atrium approximately 30 minutes
after arrival and promptly ordered dinner. They were not served drinks at
the table because the waiter thought they looked tipsy enough, but the
gentlemen in the bar sent them a bottle of red wine and the women themselves
took periodic trips to the bar and drank God-only-knows-what. Anyway, D—T--- apparently got so drunk that she puked in her hand. This was the beginning of the end. Her friend promptly left. Just left her there. Our bar manager, Dan, picked the woman out of her seat to take her
outside to a taxi (after it became apparent she couldn't walk) and as he
lifted her up, he noticed she had defecated on the seat of her chair and on
her skirt. He started to gag, but made it out the door. The first cab he
put her in went around the block, and dropped her back off at our door,
saying she was throwing up in his cab. The second cab wouldn't take her.
Finally, he got the third to agree to take her home.
Yesterday, she called us trying to make arrangements to pick up her car.
Staff could not believe she was calling. She was a bit of a mythical figure
at this point. That afternoon, her "friend" called as well to say that she
could not locate D---T--- and that she had not made it home the night
before. We said that we had spoken with her, but did not know where
she was. Friend called back a few hours later to tell us that she
had located D---T--- at S-- Hospital, where she had been admitted the
night before. The story she was able to piece together from the neighbors
and the woman herself is as follows:
D---T--- is dropped off at her condo by taxi. She does not have her condo key because her key ring is here at the restaurant. She decides to attempt to scale condo building and get in via balcony door. She makes it three stories, before falling onto a balcony below, on her back. She immediately rolls off this balcony and lands on the ground, narrowly missing a large rock. A neighbor sees her and calls an ambulance. She is taken to the hospital and treated and still manages to come to the front desk that afternoon to pick up her car
keys. Amazing!!! (Sorry, this is the short version, without embellishment.)
Excellent nightmare customer story!!!! Clearly, I use the word "nightmare" loosely, because she is for many reasons a dream customer, as long as you are not the one cleaning up the vomit or dooky.
I will just say that as I sat here reading your email
my mouth just opened wider and still wider in silent
HORROR at the depravity. A few
*Who cleaned up the vomit?
*Who cleaned up the dooky?
*Any speculation on how the drunk survived the 3-story
fall? Perhaps because she was drunk?
*How did she look? Was she attractive? (Her looks, not her
behavior.) Did she have good style?
*My behavior in public is irreproachable. Why am I not a socialite?
I must have details. Anything. Whatever you can offer. Will spend the rest of the day brooding.
In the meantime, let me tell you about Kaiser and cake.
OK, so Kaiser is an HMO, yet I have never seen so much
eating of cake at any job I've had. Since I've been
here (three weeks) there have been numerous birthday
parties, some with not just one cake but two, and
often cookies, candy and pastries as well!! The reason
this irks me is that Kaiser allows cake to take precedence over business needs. They deserve to go down, Wilson, down. I had booked a room for a meeting
today, went up there 15 minutes early to set up the
laptop and projector, only to find a herd of fat
people in there eating cake!!!!! Aieee. I informed them we had
booked the room for a meeting. Meanwhile, “my” executives
were starting to gather in the hallway outside the
room, looking impatient. I informed the cake-eaters
again that the room was ours. Several of them went and
checked the room reservation, which confirmed I had
the room, yet they did not vacate. OMG! Fuckers! I was
getting more and more anxious, and was loaded down with
heavy laptop and projector cases. Minutes passed. They would not
leave. Instead, they made comments like "We should
close the blinds, so they can't see us," as if I
couldn't hear them. Good stuff, huh? Because if I couldn’t see them, I would forget they were preventing fulfillment of my business needs. Was pissed. They finally got their
asses out of there, slowly and resentfully, as if WE
were the ones out of line. And they left smears of cake on
OMG Kaiser Part II: My boss is paying $6500 a month for
"leadership coaching" from this woman whose company
name involves the phrase "The Innovative Edge." On top of a $400
"assessment fee," you pay $6500 a month for three
40-50 minute coaching sessions over the phone. Wilson,
what are we doing with our livers? I mean lives? This innovative
leadership coach, R---, is a fuckwit. I had a hell of a time trying to schedule these monthly sessions because she appears to keep her calendar on scraps of candy wrappers. Hellllooooo...I should set myself up as
coach for the coaches. $9500 a month gets you an email
whenever I damn feel like it, with salient advice like
"Keep your schedule on a calendar made for that purpose, and don't fuck around with the admins of the executives who are paying you big money for leadership skills,
In other news, my boss came around to ask me to plan another birthday party. When asked about food, she paused for a moment and said in all seriousness, “We’ve been eating an awful lot of cake lately. How about a pie?”
Eagerly awaiting answers on D---T---.
over and out.
I asked all of the very same questions. I believe a busser cleaned up
the vomit. There was quite an argument over who would clean up the poop and
I don't know how that turned out. When I asked Keoki, our maitre d', about
the woman's personal style, his exact words were (after I asked if she was skanky or proper), "Mmmmmm… definitely more skanky. She looked like she was maybe in her mid-30s and was a good
looking woman who had been ridden hard and put away wet." I think that says
it all. In further developments, we have discovered that her dining
companion is a bona-fide lady, married to a Scottish knight. This may
partially explain why she left after the vomiting in the hand began, but
also makes it a bit more inexcusable. Must do something with my life soon, or begin writing a book about how much
it sucks and is at the same time funny. I am sick of sharing a bathroom
with our bussers. I think I need an 18th century mahogany desk and an
accent color on my wall if I am to remain in this office much longer.
I need therapy. I have a huge posthumous crush on Tim
Buckley. My hold on reality is tenuous. Am now fantasizing that I can
take my three large boxes crammed with notes from elementary through high
school, organize them, edit them, publish them and make millions.
Keep in mind, most of these notes probably say, "How are you doing? I am
bored in this class. What are you doing tonight?" Clearly a ludicrous
proposition, yet I can't help but think there is a hook in there somewhere.
Was that a Freudian slip with “livers”? Clearly both spellings apply.
PIE. Am laughing real hard. PIE.