the doorman knows i threw up

It is always stressful the first few moments walking into Dad's apartment and seeing who is working the door. Unbeknownst to my Dad, at least I pray to God it is, the doormen and I have a history. I have developed quite a name for myself there.

My dad lives in a fancy condo in downtown Chicago. The residents are mostly retired couples. They have 24 hour doormen to let the tenants in and out and they help carry suitcases and groceries and whatnot. They are very nice, wholesome doormen who always say hello and ask what your plans are for the day and where you are going for brunch.

The clincher is that they are there 24 hours a day. That means morning, afternoon, evening. Day in, day out, they witness everything- the sober moments and the not very. When I come to town, it has become a tradition of mine to do something completely embarrassing in front of them. Something so mortifying that they can't help but remember who I am.

Let's see, there's Woody, who saw me totter in fantastically drunk after an evening of Christmas parties, and later cleaned my puke off the brass elevator panel. There's Clarence, who saw me make out with some Randy Random who I never saw before or since. And we can never forget Rick, who has actually seen me naked and virtually unconscious on my dad's bathroom floor. And I have to see these people every time I visit my father! Now to be honest, I do not do this all the time. It does happen sometimes, and when it does they are there to see me in all my glory.

I visited Chicago this past weekend and this trip was no exception. I rang the doorbell around 3 am and realized I needed to throw up immediately. So I leaned over the hedge next to the door and promptly did what needed to be done. Not wanting Clarence to see me in this state, I ran over to the gutter around the corner to complete the job. Of course, that was when he showed up at the door, shouting "Hello?" Finally, I casually walked over and knocked on the door. He asked if I rang the bell, I said yes. He asked where I went. That was a tough one. I told him I went around back to see if he was at the back door. (Nevermind the fact that actually, there is no back door. I made that up. I am such a sucky liar!!!) He must have noticed something, and asked if I was OK. So I acted like everything was as normal as could be and said "Oh fine, how are you?" and quickly trotted to the elevator so I could feel like a complete jackass in peace. I swear, if I didn't have a key the doormen would never, ever let me in that place.

Being a doorman there must be damn good job. They never quit, these doormen. The turnover rate is unbelievable low - it's appalling! Every time I go there, I recognize each one. And they recognize me, too. Believe it.

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