Depth of perception. 3/3/2007
Last night, I had to attend a business dinner. The venue was a ritzy hotel in the middle of the city, in the Japanese restaurant. Dinner was supposed to be at 8, and by the time I shut down at work after a full day of meetings and negotiations, rushed home, had a shit, shower and shave, it was already 7:30. This meant that driving the truck into the city was out the question, since the traffic was still horrendous after the afternoon’s rain. I got on the bike, and rolled quickly into the city.
I drew up into the driveway of this hotel, and pulled to a stop in front of the main entrance. I flipped up the visor, and looked for the doorman, or someone, to ask where I could park the bike. I sighted a doorman standing just inside the glass doors of the entrance, and I motioned him over. He looked at me, and very reluctantly came over. I asked him where I could park my bike, and he had a look on his face that suggested that I was the equivalent of something unpleasant that he might have found stuck to the underside of his shoe.
I repeated my question, and he finally deigned to answer me. He hold out a hand, and said that I could park my bike in the motorcycle parking around the back of the hotel. I gave him a stare, recording his face for future reference. He was quite obviously thinking that anyone who rode a motorcycle couldn’t afford to be a guest in that hotel. Or that guests in that particular hotel were not the kind to descend to being anything as low class as bikers.
I rode round the back, and located the bike park. I muttered a heartfelt “fuck you very much” for the place where the so-called motorcycle park was located. By the side of the hotel’s building access road, like an afterthought. It was a long, long row of motorcycles parked by the side of the road, perpendicular to the road direction. I looked at all these little scooters and step-throughs, and realised my bike wasn’t going to fit in any of the spaces. It was definitely going to stick out into the road. I shrugged my shoulders, and parked the bike anyway, hoping that some drunken idiot wouldn’t come too fast down the access road and side swipe the rear of the bike.
After dinner (which was rather quite enjoyable, and much laughter and merriment was had, because contracts were on the verge of being signed), I went down to the lobby of the hotel. I was wearing all my riding gear, and was holding the Skull helmet in my hand. I walked past the doorman. Who didn’t hold open the door for me, although he did so for 2 of my colleagues who were walking a little ahead of me. This doorman was beginning to piss me off. First was that he had formed an impression of me that wasn’t flattering, based on the vehicle I pulled into the driveway on. The second was not holding the door open for me because I was a local, and my colleagues were expatriates.
I walked out of the hotel, and went off about my business for the rest of the night. I thought no more about it. Until the next morning. I had made plans to meet up with the business guests who were visiting us in the morning, so that we could procure some local food items for one of their wives, and make a visit to a facility located outside the city. And I suddenly realised, as I was going down in the lift at home, what was different about today. I wasn’t riding in, neither was I driving the truck.
This next morning, I rolled into the driveway of the same hotel, sitting in the back of a long, sleek, black Mercedes with blacked out windows. As the driver pulled the car round the driveway, I smiled as I saw the same doorman from last night come rushing out of the doors, and grabbing the handle of the car’s door. He pulled the door open, stood up straight, and uttered a “Good Morning Sir!”, with a smile on his face.
I got out of the car, glanced at his name tag, looked him straight in the eyes, and replied, “Good morning, Doorman. Do you remember me?” He frowned for a second, trying to recollect who I might be of the many people he might meet in a day, and I savoured the look of shock on his face as he recognised me as the biker he had treated rather shabbily the night before.
- Posted in : On the road, Work Bitching
- Author : thesnark
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I’ve both struggled with and been amused by the differences in perception for what seems like forever. Finally, in the big picture, it all comes down to these words ( to quote you )
“Fuck you very much”. Pretty much the bottom line.
I don’t want or need the approval of anyone else but me.
Dan
Yesssss!!
Dan : Not so much approval, but a little common courtesy and respect. Because I happen to be wearing Axo and Sidi doesn’t mean I should be treated any differently from someone wearing Cerruti and Ferragamo.
Combatscoot : You should have seen what happened after breakfast. The maitre’d came over to our table to ostensibly make “small talk” with me. He managed to find out who my guests were. When we were leaving the hotel, the only thing missing was a red carpet in the farewell. And the doorman bowed really low as he opened the car door for me. Now, I’m thinking about going back to the same place for lunch today, riding the bike, to see if I get treated any differently.
Nomal, people only repect merc’s owner. Biker?? Most people knows nuts about bike especially big bike. Have a nice day.
bloody elitist doormen…
You’re right, that is very similiar to the experience I had checking into a school office to sub. There I was in all my motorcycle gear and they didn’t seem to think I was qualified by what I wore.
Great post. Did you go back for lunch? I would have liked to see the look on the doorman’s face when he recognized you from the night before, lol.
When I first started working, the stationary nazi refused to issue me with a calculator. He thought I was a first year uni student doing an internship (I’d graduated 9 months ago).
I had to wait until my staff ID card was issued before he would believe me.
I still get asked what I’m studying at uni (8 years ago) regardless if I’m driving a car or riding a motorcycle (not that I’ve ever done the latter).
Snark: let me know if you\’re going back there for lunch. May join you if schedule permits… sorely miss a good Japanese lunch…
Horny AM : Well, considering my background, where I was accustomed to a certain amount of respect and courtesy due my position, it burns me sometimes to be looked down upon.
Suanie : Yes, but the look on his face the next morning more than made up for it.
Biker Betty : Unfortunately not. I spent all of Sunday in the workshop.
IB : Do you look that young?
bikerwannabe : And which of our companies is going to pick up the tab? If I am not mistaken, dinner that night cost the best part of a thousand US dollars. I may love you like a brother dude, but I don’t love you *THAT* much ROFLMAO.
What bike was it?
Admittedly, sometimes I get that when I was working for an upper class casual dining restaurant. Sometimes people are so shabbily dressed that I don’t know whether to call them ‘bos’ or ’sir’.
But then again, that’s really unrepresentable so I’ll say I won’t want to take 100% of the blame, since people are expected to at least look decent.
Dr Tan : The bike was bigger than is normal, let’s put it that way. Definitely not a cub or scooter. And I wasn’t dressed shabbily. Icon Mainframe helmet, Axo riding jacket, nice jeans, Sidi boots, Dainese gloves, none of which were shabby, despite the fact that someone says I dress like a derelict. The issue was that the doorman thought I wasn’t worthy of any courtesy because I came in on a motorcycle, but when I arrived being driven in the back of a Mercedes the next day, the treatment I got was very different. The point I was trying to make was how we perceive people, based on our impressions and prejudices of them.
Aiyaa… lunch won\’t cost that much.. and if you can justify some business opportunity for me, my expence account will pick it up…
Otherwise, we go there and SHARE a cup of green tea onli ler….
Nono… I wasn’t bringing up the subject of whether it was a nice bike or not. That was just for interest’s sake.
Well, at least I know you weren’t shabby at all, with reference to my earlier comment.
Hi,
Is there any way I can contact you? This is about the Bloggers Together Gather Party 2007. VERY URGENT, so drop me a mail or somehting =)
I think you did the right thing. Getting upset about it is natural but really, what were the alternatives. To say something like, ‘Bitch, do your job’ or waving a hundred in front of him and pocketing it after he opened the door while saying something like, ‘I waited, you didn’t earn it.’ would feel nice but…
The Roadbum
Hi, thank you for joining the bloggers party and nice meeting you
Harv : I meet petty people every day, with an overinflated sense of themselves, and I’m sure you do as well. Nothing you can really do, except shrug your shoulders and ignore them.
Kenny : You’re welcome. It was a pleasure meeting you as well. And if you have any pictures with me in them, blank my face out before posting it, thanks.