My name is Alexis Pereira. I live in NYC, where I dabble in writing and acting. My work is regularly featured on Funny or Die and I've even created some original work for Funny or Die's Youtube page.
I currently write and perform at a monthly show at UCB, and I was even once on a house improv team there!
In this tumblr, you will find what I hope are interesting essays about my life. I like to think of myself as a statesman, though I may not know what that means exactly.
If you want to see and hear more about me, please visit alexispereira.net
I was on a crowded N at 59th St. when I heard a few gasps and a thud. A few yards to my left, a young Indian man had just collapsed on the floor.
He was immediately alert, if not a little dazed, and his friends picked up him and brought him over to a newly vacated seat. They were all wearing jeans and t-shirts, but gave the impression that they all had just worked together somewhere.
As the man sat down, I felt another commotion coming the other way. Another Indian man, this one in his late 50’s wearing a suit and tie, was squeezing his way through people on his way over to the group.
"Excuse me, excuse me," he said hurriedly.
He finally got over to them and wordlessly pushed them out of the way. He then got face to face with the dazed man and literally yelled:
"Are you ok?!?"
The dazed man nodded quietly, but this was not enough for the older man.
"Don’t bullshit me! I will take you to hospital!"
The dazed young man again nodded his head, but now said, “I’m ok.”
His friends just watched silently, but the older suited man stood up and now yelled at them:
"Don’t play with his life! If he is sick, take him to hospital!"
They nodded and mumbled “ok,” and the older man stood there until the next stop and got off.
When I was 19, my dad called me at a party at 1 am and we got in an argument about what time I’d be home. After hanging up, I saw my restaurant manager smiling at me. I went crimson, but he tapped me on the shoulder and went, “As you get older, you’ll think of the people who cared about you so much that they got upset, and you’ll wish they were still around.”
I was drinking a Mike’s Hard Lemonade and had no idea what he meant.
I think we should give a break to taking a break.
Every fuck’n day, I see a news story attacking somebody for taking a vacation.
The President gets it a lot. Now the Mayor of NYC. CEOs. Celebrities. Basically anybody in the public eye is attacked and/or mocked for going on vacation.
And I know what you’re saying: but they’re rich, they’re powerful. Maybe they should go on vacation, but at the very least, I don’t give a shit about hurting their feelings. Fuck ‘em.
Well, you should give a shit. Because these news stories aren’t really trying to take away their vacations. They’re trying to take away YOUR vacation.
You think it’s an accident that ‘vacation” has become a bad word? Who do you think pays for these news stories? Literally every company on Earth. Who doesn’t want you to have leverage when taking your vacation? Again, literally every company on Earth. By sponsoring news stories attacking these public personas for going on vacation, the powers that be have made it easier to then tell people like you and me “no” when we ask for our vacations from work.
And of course, they don’t just say “no” - they subvert our vacations. Some companies give 3 weeks but write you up for taking every day. Some quietly suggest you don’t take more than half your days. Some force you to keep answering your emails.
And why do they have that power? Why don’t more people go ballistic?
Because it’s…ew…vacation. Vacation is for slobs. You care, don’t you? Unlike that Obama, who went GOLFING for 2 days. Vacation is where fat people lay shirtless on the beach and then die of a coronary. Vacation is where, ugh, celebrities walk around on a boat. Are you gonna walk around on a boat? Like you’re a princess? A LAZY princess?! No, right? Good, see you Monday.
So, remember, it’s all a scam. Shut up about other people’s vacations - whoever they are - and take yours.
Having forgotten my Morrissey autobiography at home, I just stared straight ahead at the subway map on my way home, when I heard a girl who was standing in front of me blurt out:
"You’re so pretty."
I looked up and there was a very striking 25-year-old brunette smiling abashedly at the the girl sitting next to me, a blush slowly growing on her cheeks. She looked like she was coming from work, wearing the requisite pencil cut grey miniskirt and white blouse. The girl next to me, a blonde I didn’t dare look at, was obviously stunned but managed to slightly laugh and respond:
"Oh, God, thank you - you’re so pretty. I love your hair."
The brunette, now with perhaps 20 pairs of eyes looking at her and in full blush, refused to believe the veracity of this returned compliment, and just shook her head and looked down and muttered:
A few stops later, without another word to each other, the brunette got off the train.
Carpe diem, young lady. Carpe diem.
My bank constantly makes me uncomfortable and I’ve recently learned it’s all for naught.
Whenever I walk into my bank, some manager/greeter in a suit sorta walks up to me and says, “Hey, welcome to Capital One! How are you? Can I do anything for you?”
I hate this.
I just want to walk into my bank and use the ATM or make a deposit like an old man by dealing with as few people as possible. Maybe there are middle-aged idiots who enjoy this “service,” but it is not a service, as they’re just gonna pass you off anyway.
So anyway I walked into my bank to deposit my coins when I was accosted as usual. However, as I tried I ignore him, I noticed they got rid of their coin machine.
For the first time, I accepted bank manager/greeter’s offer.
"Uh, I need to deposit coins, where’s the machine?"
"Oh we got rid of it," he answered.
"So I gotta pack the coins?"
"Do you have any packing slips?"
"Yep! You can just wait in line and ask the teller for some slips!"
I waited in line for 15 minutes, got the slips, and then sat at a table for an hour filling slips. These times are underestimations.
By the time I finished, the line was enormous. There were about 20-25 people waiting, and tellers were clocking out, with two tellers left. I unfortunately had to give up, and I started walking out.
"How was everything today?!" asked the manager/greeter.
In a last ditch effort, I again said something.
"It took too long to pack the coins and now the line is gigantic."
He gave me a big smile and said, “All right. Have a great day.”
We often speak with trepidation about the day robots will take over every job, turning humans into gelatinous husks. However, if my bank were run by robots, and I had this exact same experience, people would be up in arms and force everything about it to be reprogrammed.
Robot bothering you when you enter? No.
Robot finding a way to actually assist you? Yes.
Programming is easy!
Instead, I have to battle my social anxiety while entering and leaving the bank. And what do I get for it?
It’s not nice to be nice. Sometimes it’s just annoying.