Sunday, January 29, 2006

Between the Lobby and the Storm

You know something... The doormen at posh downtown hotels never believe you when you shout back at them through the glass that you just remembered there are demons waiting outside and you're going to need to reverse the revolving door and come back in.

They tell you lies like: "The revolving door only spins one way sir." And, "I don't see any demons." Then they don't even bother to look when you point all the demons out. They just nod patronizingly and tell you you're holding up traffic and would you kindly un-wedge your boot toe from beneath the door.

Well guess what--no one tells Latigo Flint where he can and can't wedge his boot toe. And if Latigo Flint decides he needs to wait in the quiet quarter of a sectioned door between the lobby and the storm until all the demons go away, then by the waxed handlebar of Earp, that's exactly what Latigo Flint is going to do.

Anyone trapped in the section opposite yours tends to become significantly less than cordial after a minute or two. They whine about being late for a meeting and then say very cruel things, and at some point threaten to have your family killed. (It usually takes at least half an hour to get to that last one though.) I really don't know what they're so pissy about. They're safe from the demons where they are and to go forward means being in the same room with that jerk of a doorman, and being in the same room with jerks is bad for your chi.

Sometimes playing your harmonica chases the demons away. Demons don't like harmonica music much, it makes them uneasy and gives them a headache. But the angry crowd that has formed on both sides of the door is gonna go batshit when you pull out your harmonica and start to play, so though it'll probably chase the demons away, just make sure you're mentally prepared to deal with being the focus of that much rage.

Only when the demons are gone do I un-wedge my boot toe from beneath the door and continue outside. I find a child on the edge of the mob and lock eyes with her or him as I'm swallowed up by the crowd and maimed. I've always thought that makes a maiming more poetic somehow.

In lieu of a child a hobo will do.

7 Comments:

At 1:25 AM, Anonymous caleb said...

Do the affects of the harmonica vs demons follow a linear or exponential progression?

IE: How fast does it affect them?

It would seem that most of your waiting is due to being "harmonica-shy."

Now, if I know squinty eyed gunslinger's I know one thing -- they don't shy away from much of anything.

What were you doing hiding from demons?
Why did you not turn and face them and blast them away with your harmonics?

Surely you would have unleashed your harmonica at the faintest hint of demons...

Or is it that the demon fighting power of harmonicas follows a bell curve -- and you waited for the highest concentration of demons before you unleashed your final defense.

It would seem then that the harmonica, as a tool to fight demons, has the side affect of drawing large crowds of disgruntled individuals -- mobs.

I guess then my recommendation is as follows.

Learn to befriend and tame the savage beasts that are Doormen. Learn what beguiles them, know their worst fears and their quaintest dreams. Take it upon you to learn the tongue they speak amongst themselves.

Become the Doorman Whisperer.

Not only will this save you from demons and mobs -- but it will also allow you to exhibit near-god-father style access to the ritziest of saloons,

That is, if you ever become a Barista Whisperer first.

 
At 6:59 AM, Anonymous Mr. Scoop said...

Thanks for the harmonica tip, Latigo. Personally, I've found only mixed success in my hiding-under-the-bed-until-the-demons-go-away strategy. Whenever I tip my bottle of Old No. 7 Demon Repellent up, it hits the bedframe, I chip my teeth, my buzz gets fainter and I die inside a little bit.

And I meant no insult or disrespect in my last post. Hell, I was just trying to help. Because appearance is everything, Latigo. I learned that the hard way when I announced my candidacy for President of The United States.

Had I taken a little more care and done a little more preparation, I'd have learned that the word I was looking for was pronounced "con-stit-u-an-cy," not "scrote-chok-ers." Plus, in mid-speech, the bartender pointed out that my fly was down. Although if he had a better suggestion on how give my pants the slack I needed to make them flutter like a cape after I tied them around my neck, I'd like to have heard it.

So please don't shoot me, even though it would grease the skids for you to take Scoop away from me, and I'm not certain that she'd be immune to your charms. After all, she does sometimes call me "The Fastest Shot in The East," although when she does, I'm pretty sure that she's referring to something different than you are.

Regards,
Mr. Scoop

 
At 12:05 PM, Blogger Teaspoon said...

This is a first, the comments are longer then the post. :-)

That's all I've got.

 
At 12:46 PM, Blogger Cad Grublygold said...

Since when did the coments section of a blog become an open invitation to write the next great American novel??
I however will keep it simple as it should be........I loved it.

 
At 1:54 PM, Blogger Lance Manion said...

You know what would be cool? If you could also find a way for a flock of snow-white doves to fly from you as the crowd drags you down. Between that and the child/hobo, it would be like being beaten down by John Woo himself.

 
At 9:40 PM, Blogger Ari said...

That's what happened to Boxcar Willie, stank-eyed by a gunslinger.

That's why he got the "damned old train" blues and started selling 8-tracks of his collected works on television during the 70's and late 80's.

Yes, there was a Biography Special Edition on him tonight. You missed it.

No, my recent smashup didn't jar any coherence-related neurons loose. Why?

 
At 1:39 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

An actual conversation between Latigo Flint and Caleb:

"Who are you?"
"No one of consequence."
"I must know."
"Get used to disappointment."
"'Kay."

(I think shall one day be the Doorman Whisperer Caleb. I think it is, other than The Grin in the Dark, the man I was born to become.)

You don't have to tell me about dying inside a little bit Mr. Scoop--turns out the increments become terminal, stack enough of 'em up. And I'm not going to shoot you. I love you almost as much as I do your wife, that's just my way. (I turn dinner parties very uncomfortable, that's what I do. Everyone always says, if you have a dinner party you need turned very uncomfortable, be sure to invite Latigo Flint.)

You callin' my stories short TSP?!!! I don't cotton to folks callin' my stories short 'round these here parts!!!

And I adore you Cad. We shall dance on the cliff at the edge of the world, you and I, one of these days. (And it's all good, 'cause if the great American novel does happen to be writ in my comment section, I'm pretty sure I own the rights to it and won't hesitate to sell it to a made-for-TV movie producer for a bucket of cash and a hand-job.)

Okay, Lance Manion, you are definitely choreographing all my upcoming death scenes--I liked that perhaps a bit more than I should.

Thanks for catching me up Ari. I always seem to miss the good Biography Special Editions--history makes me uneasy, and I sold my television set a while ago for booze, peyote and a tiger shark named Fesbach.

 

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