Mr. Wilson is a big, burly, funny man. Quite charming. I open the door and there he stands – his whole 250 lbs self, dressed in white cotton, leaning against the doorframe. I can’t help but notice the bulge of hair that protrudes from his open collared silk-shirt. Is it a cross or a Virgin Mary that is struggling to be seen through the jungle that is his chest? And of course the “stare”. The not quite smoky-eyed look. He thinks he is sexy, I’m assuming. He’s a businessman that doesn’t need to wear a business suit. The same joke every time we see each other, “Liza-sun,” and gives me a traditional Asian bow. I laugh. Not because it’s funny, but it makes him smile. And his smile is an endearing one. Crooked ever since the stroke a few years back. He always makes off-handed remarks that make me laugh out loud. Not the most appropriate behavior for this environment, but then again if I told you guys like Mr. Wilson came to this place, you would swear I was lying.
And he’s loud. “I want one of the better rooms,” he yells. “Don’t put me in room 3 with the ee-ee-ee-ee broken speaker blaring in my ear.” You just have to see him say this to me. It actually makes me laugh for days. I begin to have flashes of Captain Ahab staring into Moby Dicks’ eyes. I can take it, because the sonofabitch is right. The radio in room 3 sucks ass. I hold back a loud chuckle. “Oh, would I do that to you, Mr. Wilson?” I ask him innocently. He stands in the middle of the waiting room looking at me. This time Moby has the upper hand. The room’s energy has been swept up by his vacuous presence. And it’s not just his weight. “Where do you want me?” He bellows. “Now, Mr. Wilson, you’ll have to wait. You’re not up yet.” I start out the room. “Well, I’m early. Or on time? Wait a minute? I’m actually on time!” his volume scaling Mt. Everest. “Shhhh, Mr. Wilson,” I plead.
Patience is a virtue? Tell that to Ahab, or better yet the uncle/father of his out of control nephew/son, “Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.”