Essays

intercom

The light blinked on the concierge desk intercom.

“I mean, I’m tired of her!” a beautiful twenty-something said to the forty-something who used to be a beautiful twenty-something.

The concierge picked up the phone and called her manager because of the woman on the other end of the blinking intercom.

“I told her that if she didn’t raise the gate, I was driving through it!”

The concierge received her instructions from her manager and pressed the insistent button. “Um…hello?” a voice brimming with young attitude asked.

“This is the Concierge Desk, how may I help you.”

“The gate is still not up,” the voice said.

The concierge pressed the button to let the voice out of the parking deck. It was a typical “just to get rid of you” move. By now, the beautiful twenty something was gone as well. The concierge let out a frustrated sigh. “Can I come home with you?” she kidded to the forty-year-old and me.

“You can come home with me,” the forty-year-old said, “I have wine.”

The concierge gave me my package and I gave her a smile. “Have a good evening,” she said and I responded with the same.

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