Saturday, February 27, 2016

…then he nailed me to the chair with a rat-a-tat grilling

"What should I call my next project? Celestia? Empyrean? Royal Imperial Regal? He must run that routine on every visitor. 
This is "the Sign Lady" telling her story on NY Daily News, a woman contractor who came into contact with the deadbeat Trump. She tells about her unhappy interaction with Trump and how she managed to get him to pay his bills owed her. Virginia Postrel pointed to this sub hosting at pjmedia.

The story puts us in Trumps office. He told her to show up at that specific time. She went there to challenge him about paying up. He dismissed all that as matters for clerks and went on with his style of questioning instead. This is the moment in reading the story that matched up with something else unrelated that's been lingering for days. It's been bugging the hell out of me. This trait in Trump matches with traits shown by friends repeatedly.

I'm not talking or thinking about Trump anymore. I'm bringing it home, what he did there is corrective to a personal failure. I've been lingering on this for days.

On Monday two acquaintances stopped by after work for dinner. They stayed for two hours. We had a great time. They both work the next day.

I don't drink alcohol. Acquaintances are divided among non-driners and lushes. So I keep a completely stocked cabinet. Very well stocked. I'd blow your mind considering I don't drink. Whatever you might want is in there, that I could reasonably know about, it's a full garage type storage cabinet. It's ridiculous. Come over, you can have anything.

I know a good host will ask what they can get you by way of refreshing beverage. Immediately. So I do. Deena thinks and answers, "Water, please." Pleased with her decision.

That set the tone for everything.

I asked, she answered. Simple as that.

Others I know would insist. They'd make suggestions. Every negation and all uncertainty is call for further suggestion. So it goes, bing bong, hello, glad you can make it, would you like a cocktail? Would you like a glass of wine? Would you like red wine? Would you like white wine? Would you like a Cuba libre? Would you like gin and tonic? Would you like a beer? How about a soft drink? Would you like some vodka?

Before you can think you are hit with a barrage of bar drink suggestions that makes your head spin until you blurt out something to make the suggestions stop. Before you have your coat off, before you enter a room. That is the way of hosts that I've seen. That is where I utterly fail. I am to total fail host when it comes to that.

I was looking at a photo of a dinner win and realized the wine glasses are empty. We three all have our full choice of what we want and it's not wine and it's not cocktails. Even though all that stuff is right there. The Pepsi can stick out in the photo and so do empty wine glasses. My friends will see this photo and imagine dinner fail because of that. Dinner fail in the eyes of all drinking friends. They will not understand this as preference. They will understand this as hosting fail.

If a bottle of wine is to be opened, then they'd have to do it themselves because I cannot share the wine. That's what happened. That's what needs correction. They'll have to drink the whole bottle. That's not so hard. They'll have to decide to open the bottle. As if the decision is beyond me because I cannot drink it. And guests cannot do that. They're being polite. I really should have forced it. Even though they're working the next day. Anyone else that I know would have simply insisted. Just opened one of the bottles and poured it. That didn't occur to me any more than it would occur to me to roll a joint and torch it up and pass it around. It's not something I do so I didn't think of it. But when it comes to this wine at dinner I should think of it. I think. I think the pictures shows I really should behave more hostly obnoxious. As Trump does, as regular aggressive hosts do.

I'm still undecided.

8 comments:

edutcher said...

You do know the Daily Dirt is very pro-Democrat and Postrel is very Libertarian, right?

Not saying the story's a lie (I have no idea), but you might want to check another source.

The Lefties and the Whigs figure Super Tuesday is the last chance to stop Trump, so they're going to go all out.

Keep that in mind.

ricpic said...

Okay, what I don't know about hosting could fill volumes, but shouldn't the drinks phase of the evening be relatively anxiety free? I mean if you like these people and you expect to have an evening of pleasant conversation with them isn't who drinks what peripheral to the whole exercise?

Joe Biden, America's Putin said...

Any source deemed anti Trump friendly is now left-wing.



edutcher said...

No, the Cruzzers are Conservatives or at least see themselves that way, but they're so intent on their version being the only one, they won't see some people just see it another way.

MamaM said...

Well, the end of the article wasn't what I expected, and it left me in the same place I end up whenever I encounter a weird duality in Trump interactions.

But Trump’s a professional: Doesn’t hold a grudge. I ran into him some weeks later at a charity shindig. “Ya got me, Sign Lady,” he chuckled, graciously introducing me to gorgeous, brainy Marla.

“But there’s always next time!” He waggled a stubby finger and melted into the crowd.


He didn't do right by her, she dinged him back, and he knows he was got enough to engage with that truth and move on as if there will be a next time. While this wouldn't be the way I'd like to see business done or the story unfold, the two appear to have ended up squared away, at least financially. But there he is pushing his agenda, paying attention and not paying attention as he sees fit. However, "“About the outstanding invoices on our previous jobs . . .,” sounds like weak sauce to me. What stopped her from saying "Stop with the horse crap and pay up. She was standing right there in his office listening to him talk about another job. "Not another word, Big Guy, until you make this right!"

As for the pushing drinks dilemma, what was the outcome? Two hours of a good time had by all! Who can make that happen, without alcohol no less, with people who don't know each other well, aren't related and haven't eaten together before, in a rather intimate home setting of three? That's a wonderful outcome. An amazing outcome for a first time experience. And like Trump said, "There's always next time!"

bagoh20 said...

" I keep a completely stocked cabinet. Very well stocked. I'd blow your mind considering I don't drink. Whatever you might want is in there, that I could reasonably know about, it's a full garage type storage cabinet. It's ridiculous. Come over, you can have anything."

It's long drive, but I'm on my way. You don't have to wait up, just leave the door unlocked. I can take care of myself. That will make you a passively perfect host, and I'll give you great yelp review.

Chip Ahoy said...

Thanks. That happened once. A guy drank half a bottle of Maker's Mark whatever that is. Whisky I think. Maybe Bourbon. I don't know the difference. Finished the bottle.

Lost his job. Kicked out of his home. Raining outside. Showed up at the door. Got blasted on Maker's Mark. That was a half gallon size. Left the next day.

Went downstairs to the bottle shop and replaced the half gallon of Maker's Mark and it's still in there. I think.

I didn't push dessert either. Deena asked playfully, "What's for dessert." I said, "Chocolate malted milkshakes." They both rejected dessert. I did not push.

But I should have. I should have just made it. The poured children's size glasses. Boom. Now you have to taste it.

Deena would be concerned about watching her weight, and Dexter would be concerned about allowing empty carbs and fat. I should have just blown through those objections like good persistent obnoxious hosts do. I'll know better next time. Be more pushy.

MamaM said...

Well, there it is. Next time.

Once again the strangest part of the story turns out to be the end, not the unpushed liquor, the unopened wine or the good time had among relative strangers sans alcohol, but the idea of offering chocolate malted milkshakes as dessert following a plated red meat dinner.

What happened to those little gift boxes of fancy home made chocolates wrapped in foil? They'd have likely sailed out the door if not over the teeth and gums as a fine finish. Even fortune cookies carrying the message "You're lucky to be alive" would be less heavy and less easy to turn down at the end.

From the article, the "sausage finger" thing was a cute ding.