When They Can’t Handle You Speaking Up For Yourself

, , , , , | Right | August 6, 2020

I work security and concierge for a high-end condo complex and have been doing so for ten years. I am female. I am covering for another guard who broke a hip in a major auto accident.

As the site is an extremely expensive condo complex, I have been warned that some of the residents, all very rich people, are… well… a trifle rude and overbearing to those they consider beneath them.

As an aside, I broke my back a year before I took this site and I am unable to lift or carry anything over ten pounds. I am lucky to still be able to walk.

I am at my post greeting residents, calling for the valets to bring their cars, arranging for limos, and coordinating deliveries for them when one well-heeled resident walks in the doors. She is carrying multiple heavy, stuffed grocery bags and two suitcases. She immediately drops them on the floor of the lobby.

Resident: “You!” *Points at me* “Take those up to 713! Now!

I stare at her. This woman is at least fifteen years younger than I am, and since she doesn’t have a job — a “kept” woman — she spends a large chunk of her day working out in the complex’s extensive gym. While we may arrange for cars and drivers and do other minor tasks for residents, we are not to leave our post and are absolutely not their personal slaves.

Even though I am bristling and just itching to tell her off, I have to remain polite.

Me: “Ma’am, I am building security and cannot leave this post.”

Resident: “Pick up those bags and take them upstairs now! I have more important things to do than talk to useless menials!”

Me: “Right now, the only important thing you need to be doing is learning some g**d*** manners. Pick up and carry your own d*** bags!”

The resident’s face goes bright red and she stalks off towards the elevators, without the bags and suitcases, which she leaves in a pile on the lobby floor.

Me: “Hey, you! If you don’t have these bags cleared out of this lobby in ten minutes, they’re all going in the garbage!”

The resident muttered a string of expletives as she got into the elevator. I gave her a little longer than ten minutes and then had another worker help me drag the bags into the security office. Had she come back even within a couple of days, her stuff would have been returned — any longer and a lot of the groceries would have spoiled — but her precious groceries ended up being donated by me to a women’s shelter.

I kept the suitcases and their contents in Lost & Found for three months and then donated them to the same shelter. I figured the hard-working, very deserving women who were forced into that shelter deserved all that nice stuff far better than that rich b**** did.

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