At least he tipped.

Didn't get home last night until 2 am. Who the hell has a party that goes until midnight on a Monday?!

Really fucking rich people, that's who.

Now I've worked in some fancy homes, but this place took the cake - and that's saying something. It was a four storey brownstone in Brooklyn Heights with a two bedroom carriage house in the back. (To give you an idea of the price of this thing, studio apartments in this neighborhood go for around $400 K.) It had a wine cellar, three kitchens, two live-in housekeepers and - of course - the requisite elevator. The fourth floor had been converted into a dance studio for their little girls, complete with regulation ballet floor, barres, and floor-to-ceiling mirrors. The place was insane. They had TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE GUESTS. Can you imagine fitting 275 people into your place? (Do I even know 275 people?)

Insane.