He didn’t say please.


That’s the first thing that struck me about Donald Trump, as I sat down in a hotel conference suite with him and a dozen or so other reporters in St Andrews in 2006. I was 23 years old, still a fairly inexperienced journalist, and somewhat discombobulated to be at a press conference that was ostensibly about golf.


The waitressing jobs I’d held throughout my time at university were still fresh, so when he demanded a Diet Coke from the waiting staff with zero pleasantries, I noticed. No please, no thank you, just a wave of his hand, exposing a comically garish yellow gold watch. It’s a small thing, but I’ve always believed you can tell a lot about people from how they treat those serving them, so I took an immediate dislike to him.


Over the next hour, in what remains the weirdest press conference I’ve ever attended, he proved my instincts right.


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