Meet the Idiots: Mami (The Boss Lady)

So this is the first in a series introducing all of the characters who work at the Hotel Idiotica, beginning with who I like the most.

The boss lady is the woman who hired me, grandmother of a dear friend of mine to whom I owe more or less my entire life at this time. She is in her mid-70s and she is about 4 feet tall. Everyone who loves her here at work calls her Mami. She became the manager and part-owner of this hotel after her husband passed away ten years ago.

She is wonderful and kind, and she definitely still has both a spark and a twinkle in her eye, though I wouldn't go so far as to say a kick in her step. She calls me "darling" and tells me she loves me and that I'm her new grandson. Some of you know that this is all I've really ever wanted. She's always greasing my palm and telling me to get myself a nice meal.

She's also always bringing back food for me from her two sons' (both doctors!) on the holidays. This is somewhat hit or miss. Last week it was a really tasty apple strudel, but this week's offering looks like nothing so much as a chocolate fetus. Upon second inspection, it could be the internal organs of a dark brown, medium-sized animal preserved in formaldehyde (She says it too has something to do with apples).

For a while, it was assumed that she referred to all Asian people as Mongolians, but that has since been proven apocryphal (there actually are three different people from Mongolia working here).

Her voice is warm and soothing and scratchy, with familiar what-a-you-gonna-do, who's-this-wiseguy Jewish grandmother rhythms. Ooh, and every Sunday she comes in with her hair done like Marie Antoinette--puffy up front (positively bouffant!), with a cascade of cylindrical ringlets down the back. She is there every night when I come in at ten, and it is somethin' when she shuffles over to kiss me goodnight on the cheek before she goes to bed. Sometimes she gets to talking about her past, about coming over from Poland in the 40s and living in Williamsburg before it was Billyburg. She also doesn't have any compunction over talking about being in a concentration camp, and it is pretty heartbreaking. Somehow these talks always start out with her assuring me that its fine that I'm not a married executive by now, and end up with my lips pursed and my eyes heavy. Once in a while she gets a little cranky, but that really only adds to her charm.

She's the patron saint of hotel blogs.