Bro: “I’m not gonna go to the end of the fucking line, who the fuck are you? I have just as much of a right to be here as any of these little fratty bros. What, am I not fratty enough for you, you want me to hike up my fucking middie socks with my low top vintage Nikes? Want me to tuck this Vineyard Vines shirt in and remove this Patagonia hat with the little string rope running across the brim? What the fuck is your problem? I’m not going anywhere, you’re just some roided out freak with a fucking clipboard. And your stupid little fucking rope! You know what, you may have power now but you are not god. You’re a doorman, okay. You’re a doorman, doorman, doorman, doorman, doorman, so… Fuck You! You fucking fag with your fucking little faggy gloves.”
Doorman who is not in a Universal Pictures and Apatow Production comedy:
It’s tip time!
When you are this:
And you are squared about against this:
And he’s got a face full of anger and is subtly squaring up his shoulders as you insult his weight which he’s worked really hard on but his thyroid condition prevents him from seeing the results he so desperately wants…
I don’t care what law firm your dad has his name on the letterhead for.
In his defense he took that bear hand like a fucking champion. I did the same thing when I got open hand slapped by a 450 pound Greek man in Athens. Waited until he was a quarter mile away before I sat down and started openly weeping.