always keep the doorman happy

I just saw my (off-duty) doorman, Jorge, in the lobby. He was stinking drunk, and I’m quite proud to say that at it was at least partly because of me.

This morning, when I finally got my ass out of the apartment and headed downstairs to try to find a place to make a cheap international phone call to my New York Brazilian friend’s São Paulo cell phone, he was suited up and sitting on duty at the front desk. He gave me this trademark ultra-wide smile shows his exposed rear gums where he had some teeth pulled. I know its not his fault but this makes him look even goofier than he already is, which is a lot. He stuck his hand out with the thumbs up sign (the Brazilian substitute for a wave) and yelled something unintelligible as I passed by. I stopped and turned around and answered him with the word that I know best and use most in Portuguese, which is “What?"

He repeated what he said, but this time it was faster. I managed to glean that he was asking me if I had a good time last night. I said I did and I thought there was about 10k people out there but he said the TV said it was more like 9 or 13k (I didn’t understand which) or whatever. Then he said a bunch of other stuff and I made the executive decision at that point that we were going to go with the “smiling and nodding” strategy with the thumbs up for emphasis.

As I walked out the door I realized that I had agreed to drink beer with him tonight which is a bit of a problem since I don’t drink. So I got all stressed out about how I was going to explain the deal to him. It’s a tough situation, obviously, because I really want to be on good terms with the guy, and for him to ask me to come drink some beers with him is a pretty big step in our relationship, and I wasn’t sure that explaining to him that I couldn’t drink after I already said I would drink with him wouldn’t be offensive to him.

So when I got back he gave me the gummy smile and the thumbs up again, and made some reference to beer drinking, and I explained to him that I didn’t drink. His face sort of fell, and I guess mine must have too, because he took the opportunity to say something like, “In that case, why don’t you buy me some beers?” I felt a tinge of being taken advantage of but I was willing to do anything to smooth things over, so I rushed outside and got him 2 Skol tall boys. Skol is the [insert the shittiest brand of beer you know here] of Bahia, and therefore the most popular. When I came back and handed them to him, I wasn’t sure he’d been serious because he was speechless. Maybe by now he just knows it’s not worth saying anything since I understand around 30% of what he says.

I left one more time and as I passed the desk again he had a grave, near-tears expression on his face and put his hand over his heart to show how much all this meant to him. I got a little teary myself.

Then when I came in about 5 hours later after the Daniela Mercury show a block away (another huge crowd of ~10000) I felt someone following me right after I walked in. After pushing the buttons for the elevator I turned around and there was Jorge, his shirt untucked, bloodshot eyes nearly too shut to see, and swaying back and forth like he might do a face plant into the lobby floor at any minute. He put his hand over his heart again and this time said something that was intelligible not just because of me but because he couldn’t talk, and he hugged me and called me his amigo 2 or 3 times. I almost had to pry him off me and say something like, “OK, Jorge, I have to go in the elevator now so I can go upstairs and sit in my room and stare.”

I should note that while I was writing this and listening to “Feels So Good” by Van Halen (yes, with Sammy Hagar – I like it, OK? Jesus) with my shirt off, I did a headbanging, dancing half twirl towards my kitchenette area and fell over on an empty 20 liter water cooler bottle. Those things jump right out at you if you’re not careful. And no, after that I didn’t Feel So Good.