When I´m in a shop and see people approach its door I rush forward
and open it, this is not to be polite but I was a doorman at a posh
hotel fr 25 years. I also opened taxi doors for guests and had an umbrella
ready if it rained to shield from too much reality.
A posh hotel is an artificial place everyone is polite to a guest and
the staff mingling with the posh tend to, when not working, take on an air
of superiority which doesn´t go down well with the kitchen staff.
My wife tells me to stop opening doors for all and sundry, but what
can I do? If you train a dog to give paw, you can´t un-train it.
25 years as a doorman, the rich gave me a few shilling, now I get
glances from women who think I´m patronizing them
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.