Saturday, 31 December 2011

It's A Battle To The Death, But With Hookers and Drunks Instead of Shanks

I don't even know where to begin.

Tonight is.... going to be interesting. I'll try to document as much as I can, but kids? It's going to be a shit show.

I am tired, good luck to me napping, and I'm walking into an audit that isn't going to balance.
I also hear tonight's a busy night, what with drunk people trying to 'get it in' one last time before the year changes over.

I have some 'backup' tonight, in the form of a maintenance guy they suckered into working with me, but it could go either way. He'll either be a super help, or end up sleeping half the night away.

On a happier note,
My nephew is finally here! Wee boy arrived Thursday morning, happy and healthy and everyone's already back home. It should be fun, living with a newborn again (and now a three year old who has serious jealousy issues) I'm just grateful I live in the basement.

I'm going to go and try to do this whole napping thing I hear is helpful,
and I hope you all have a fantastic New Years Eve and a great start to your year!!!

Thursday, 22 December 2011

Come At Me With An Apology And I Think You're About To Stab Me

Dear hot and awkwardly drunk boy,

I'm using you today as an example of what to never ever do when approaching the desk of a hotel.
Don't say "I'm realllllyyyyy sorry" before I notice your state of intoxication.
I nearly shit my pants tonight because I saw hands in pockets, dark and mysterious tall man, who smelled yummy, coming at me with a fucking apology.
You know who apologizes, hot and awkwardly drunk boy?

People about to rob me.

People who are about to throw knives/darts/babies at my face.

People who have weapons hiding in their pants, that aren't attached to them.

Those kinds of people start with an apology.
Never apologize because you were too drunk to drive, and the voice of your mother scared you into walking 3 miles to get to my hotel, where you've been before so you know I'd give you a drunk guy rate.
You're smart, peanut.
One day I'll have you trained.

Happy Holidays, my friends.



Monday, 19 December 2011

The Post That Starts Out As A Dear You, And Turns Into Talking About Jail Bathrooms Without Soap

Dear Mom,

I sit at my computer for hours with this blank screen up, the flashing telling me I have to type something to appease the computer gods. Nothing I have to say right now is polite, or nice or without hurt. Yes, I am angry at missing out on the job. Yes, I'm so fucking pissed off that I'm being held here by that fucking asshole yet again, but I could swallow that. It's only five, six months tops. Then I can leave without having to come back and make sure he goes to jail. My testimony will undoubtedly put him into a place where he'll wish there was a bar of soap to drop and use. I know this and that fact helps ease my utter fury over losing out on that adventure I could have and should have had.

I'm so angry though, at you and Dad.

I understand you think you know best for me. I understand that you had what you believed to be valid objections that should have removed my desire completely to move to another province for a year. But treating me like I was 15 again, asking to study abroad? Not being willing to debate more, discuss my reasons for wanting to travel and see other parts of the country we live in? I call bullshit.

I know the past couple of years I haven't been as open, I know I don't tell you everything I'm feeling or thinking. I never have. That's not my style, to bare it all for everyone. The things that have happened to me, the things I've done and been a part of, have changed me into the private kind of person.*

*at least, to people I see on a daily basis and who know my middle name.

I feel hurt that you didn't support me and pressured me to give the job up, but I feel even angrier at the fact you played along for three days while I was getting more and more hopeful and excited and telling everyone my huge plans. Turning against me after all that, well, you should know me well enough by now to know I would react poorly. At least I'm being the mature one and not saying anything. I'm keeping my distance because I'm angry and we, as a family, have a track record for saying stupid shit we don't actually mean when we are hurt/upset.

I don't think you understand why I wanted to leave, why, once D is in jail and I'm not longer needed and hopefully still alive/standing in one piece, I fully intend to pack up and move. With or without a proper plan.*

*This is a blatant lie. I'm too much of a control freak to not have a proper plan. But whether or not I tell you, will be an entirely different story.

This was going to be my clean break. I love you guys, I love the small town that I used to live in that has put on it's big boy pants, which I hate. I love my friends I see rarely and my job I have, but I need a clean break. Do not misread this and assume I'm running away from my problems. I'm not. I'm taking them with me, but just in my heart, instead of all the fuck around me.

I live in the town where I moved in with D. I live in the town, five blocks away from the apartment I had to move us to when he got thrown in jail for what he did. I live seven blocks away from where it happened, and eight blocks away is where we began our home and life and where I was when everything happened. I drive the same streets, I drive past those places. It kills me. I drive past the apartment where I lost not one, but two babies. That apartment is both a blessing and a curse, but lately, because I know he lives near there now, it's more painful than I can bear if I let it hit me all at once.

I am coping. I have moved on from the miscarriage with D. I still resent you and possibly have disgust towards you for telling me weeks after the miscarriage that it was for the best. The rage I felt then, when I walked out of the house and out of town before anyone found me, is still there, but it's lessened because I can accept it is better for me to not be tied to D in any way. Losing a child, though? And almost dying, in the hospital, completely the fuck alone? Not for the best. I've punched people in the mouth for telling me “It was meant to be” or “God meant for that to happen, we'll never know why”. That bullshit people tell me, can go fuck itself.

I can't write about Bug right now, maybe in another post.
(Bug is what one of my best friends called the baby inside me, and it stuck with everyone. I lost him last February).

The bad things that have happened in this town and my hometown, have given me no reason to want to stay here. I want to experience things, away from your influence and control. I love you, but ever since I was born there has been this control over me. Finding out what my IQ is was the worst thing that has ever happened to me, because it altered the life I was living. It changed me almost more than any other act, because the pressure increased tenfold and I have never, ever,
ever felt like I have done well enough for you.

I know what everyone must be thinking. I know my mom loves me, I know she is proud of me and cares about me and is doing what she thinks is right. I can respect that and understand it, but never, in my entire life, has
she ever shown me that she's proud of everything I've done. I hear about her pride from my cousins, or uncle. I don't see it from her. I see the “why couldn't you do better” and the “you're making the worst choices of your life” side.

I wanted to move away to start fresh. I wanted to take all the hurt and pain I've been dealing with for two years, and I wanted to finally heal. I've tried here. I moved home, away from this city aside from work and it only hindered me. Living at home once you've been out of the house is basically like slapping yourself in the face over and over. I moved out again and into a tiny room with my best friend and her family. I love it there, as much as I can.

I am a grown woman, who knows what she wants and how she intends to get there. I'm determined, stubborn and incredibly sure that I will do it, with or without you. I just need to get through the next six months and then I'm gone.

I don't think this is going to be a strictly hotel blog anymore. I use writing as a source of venting, and letting my anger out so I stop keeping it inside. I'm still going to blog about the hotel, though. Let's be honest. I can't stop blogging about the whores and shenanigans this close to Christmas and New Years Eve.

Sorry for the rambling makes no sense because it started out as a dear you and turned into a dialogue with myself kind of post. I like to think it's quirky and charming, with a dash of endearing.

Friday, 16 December 2011

I Am Not Your Friend, You Dirty Trollop!

Dear 'Valued Guest'

I think I speak for both night audits when I tell you to go fuck yourself.
We deal with your bullshit, every.fucking.night.
I, for the most part, ignore you and give you my "I'm only smiling because I'm being paid to" smile.
You confused that with a genuine interest in your life, until the night you tore into me when I was dealing with more drama than your room has ever been a part of. You threatened me, you threatened to have my job and you assume you're 'important' because you're always here.

You're the last person we want to see here, and I'm ranking you below the creepy porn guy. Which clearly says a lot.

So I have to ask you.
How, and where, do you get off thinking I'd like to receive a Christmas gift you're making yourself? I'm not telling you, or anyone at this hotel for that matter, what my "Most Favouritest Colour Ever IS!" Because fuck you. I hate clutter, I generally have a hard time accepting gifts from family members, let alone a stranger I Clearly only tolerate.

I know I sound like a bitch, but I have declined your offer twice. Politely. But if you bring in another person at my work to harass me about giving a favourite colour, I will snap at you in the most Un-Christmas Spirit Ever. You cannot buy back the respect you lost from me, and I will continue to say politely "No thank you".

Spread your holiday 'cheer' elsewhere, please and thanks.

P.S. The next time I see you bringing your business through my lobby where they try to PEE INTO THE PLANTER, I will call the cops and have you evicted. And your little dog too.

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

I May Be Dying, But I Won The Battle

Okay, so this past weekend (aka Sunday) was my work's "Christmas Party Round One". Which basically meant the dinner portion, because they are doing gift exchange after a training thing which is in the middle of the day when I should be sleeping next weekend. This year people in my hotel hated me and chose one of the two places I absolutely.fucking.hate eating at. I haven't ate there since I was 17 and ended up in the hospital with violent food poisioning. It wasn't a pretty sight then, and guess what?

Still not a pretty sight.

Yes, that's correct, kids. I ordered the one fucking thing I would eat off the menu (Chicken and mashed potatoes) and ten minutes after I started my shift, I became best friends with the toilet. My impressed level soared to an all time high, especially since I had been forced to go to the restaurant by my loving coworkers.

Who are all now eating their words.

So while I am still weak and haven't had anything more than apple juice in the past twenty four hours,
I win.

My manager saw how sick I was this morning, andddddddddddd we have officially banned the place that has made me ill. I feel like it's a huge victory.

All I want to do now is sleep, though.
Which is all I did today. 15 hours of sleep and my body could still go another 5-8 hours.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Tips On Whoring, From A Forced Observer



I have to tell you something.
Your tits need better support. You're slacking, literally, in that department.

Don't request to be beside your 'friends' and then have a screaming match in my hallways at 1am. That shit, will not fly anywhere. Now that you've gone back to your own beds and have resumed 'watching tv', I can honestly say that I am already sick of the Winter Whores.

Last year, they weren't nearly as bad as this. This year? I feel the need to point out some 'safety' tips.

Safety Tip One

When you are in the hotel, or around the hotel, act like you aren't a big dirty whore.
Why, Ninja? Because then I won't have to get the cops to come and bust your ass and you can continue spreading your legs for minimal money. I can't see anyone paying above $20 for what you have.
Safety Tip Two

Stay Classy.
Why, Ninja​? Because it makes me less inclined to call the cops. Ways to make me call the cops on you, are as follows (but obviously not limited to):
-Calling me names
- Talking to people I'm checking in and offering your services. THAT IS NOT OKAY.
- Dressing like a whore, in the most obvious and nipple-painful way. When I can see the nipple clamps on you, you're not wearing enough clothing, kids.
- Spitting outside my lobby. Or in my lobby.

Safety Tip Three
Do Not Be Dramatic. Why, Ninja? Well it's simple, Winter Whore. I know that times are getting rough, and it is a helluvalot colder now out there when you have to display your goods, so most of you have taken to working out of the hotel, rather than getting the john to pay for it. I can respect this. I have some tips in another post coming up on How To Whore Properly From A Hotel, but right now this isn't about proper hotel usage. This is about the BULLSHIT fight I just had to break up. Keeping it drama free brings the clients back and keeps my hotel name out of your filthy mouth. Let's work on that, shall we?
A Final Safety Note....

Dear Winter Whores,
Fighting in, or out of my hotel will have you kicked out on your ass. I understand this man drives a really expensive car. I do not understand why he is choosing to slum it with you, but that is not for me to judge openly. What I will judge, and what I will do, is call the police on all of you if you
ever get into a catfight over another client again. I don't care who saw him first, I do not care whose number he called. I will take pictures of his face, car and license plate, along with yours and send them in anonymously to the local newspapers. I will bust this shit wide open and make sure you are banned from every single hotel in this city if you ever call me a whore, cunt or bitch again. The cameras can be turned off, sweetheart. I don't tell you how to suck cock, don't try and tell me how to do my job. Be classier, ladies. You've only got a good five years left in this industry.



Thursday, 1 December 2011

Life Choices Will Always Come To Punch You In The Mouth, Kids. Always.

I'm not just talking about the unfortunate dress you wore to your cousin's wedding, either.
Life choices are going to affect us in so many future years that you cannot properly control everything.
I'm willing to admit some bad life choices on my part, a lot of bad ones actually, but I figured ever since Douchebag, my life was turning its shit around.
Clearly, Douchebag and his shitty life has yet to be done with me. He is ruining my life now, without even fucking trying.

Without going into details, because it's such a dramatic and long story and shows how bad my judgement was two years ago, my last ex boyfriend is going to be standing trial for something horrible in March, and I get to testify against him. Which isn't that bad of a thing, because I want the fucker to rot in hell, but it completely fucks my Move Away plans.

I'm going to the courthouse today to get more information and if the likelihood is that I'll be in court for more than a few days, I'm pretty confident I won't be moving away, at least not yet. No supervisor/big boss is going to take a chance on someone they do not know, fly them to a remote location and pay them money only to have them be gone for who knows how fucking long, over something that is questionable at best and
shows how bad my judgement was and makes them rethink hiring me at worst.

I'm hoping if I don't get to move this year, I'll be able to end things on good terms with the Inn and maybe reapply when my life isn't so goddamn 80s soap opera. I'm looking at you, Victor Newman.

On a completely related note, Month End was tonight.
It was smooth like a newborn baby's bottom, people. I take it as a sign from the Month End Gods that they are being forgiving and understand my stress levels are two seconds away from shanking the next skank to come in here.

I do have a hilarious story about drunks and escorts, though.
Saving that for next time.

Happy December, kids!

Monday, 28 November 2011

It's The End Of A Goddamn Era, Kids

Okay, so I've been in super secret ninja mode for the past... five days.
I got a job offer and it's a serious one and I had to
a) consider my options
b) figure out what the fuck I wanted to do
c) do it.

Saturday night, by the by, I only called the cops once, and it wasn't even for a hotel related issue. I had a drunk passed out (and I thought he was dead-no lie) outside leaning against my sign and it was tacky looking. I listened to the health and safety flag waving in my brain and let them boys in blue (technically black, but I didn't want to sound racist) handle that situation. Funniest twenty minutes of my life, y'all.


The moral of this story, is I have 25 days left at this job, and in 30 days I am flying to a colder, much more isolated, I am almost certifiably insane, smaller province in Canada. For a year.
This is a much nicer place, people. <--- yeah, I'm gonna whore that link out like one of my regular hookers. I figure if anyone really wants to pay the 900+ dollars one way to fly in and stalk my ass, they should probably get a medal.

This place is located in Iqaluit, Nunavut.
It's a once in a lifetime chance, and after five days of no sleep and so many pro and con lists, I'm doing it.
You cannot drive there, you literally have to fly (anytime) or take a ship (summer only, because otherwise...there is ice.)

So! With that all being said, because I have a year to stick it out in the cold cold North, where there is limited? internetz, I feel like the next 30 days are going to turn into a batshit crazy marathon of packing, moving, packing shit for Nunavut, saying goodbye (my first goodbyes start this weekend coming up, I'm already ready to cry) and getting ready to take on the average -30 degree temperatures.

I'm toying with the idea of doing a "moving to Iqaluit" blog, because there aren't many recent ones out there, that I've been able to find. I won't be able to write about the hotel, because I'll have my ass handed to me, but I feel like I can still write about my experiences up there. I'm sure it's going to be a crazy ride, and I want to share.

If I can't, I might just keep a journal, and then bombard you guys in a year.
Whatcha think?

Thursday, 24 November 2011

Oh, The Times, They Are A' Changin'...

I butcher that song every karaoke night I go to.
Anywhore, it's been a couple days and I've been meaning to do a post that doesn't involve crackwhores or ridiculous shenangians that you people seem to love so much and it seems that this post is going to be it!

Shit's going down, yo.
I can't give details out just yet, because nothing's dotted and signed, but I'm so fucking excited that I've been bouncing off the walls and selling rooms to crack dealers half off.
Kidding, about the crack dealers.
10% discount say whatttt

Okay. For realz.
I should know by the weekend for sure and when I do you bet Ill write a way better post, involving chocolate and porn and girlish glee.
Until then, I'll let you all picture me, this Saturday night, working a sold out holiday party weekend, once again by myself.

The bets for how many times I'm calling the cops can start.....NOW.

Thursday, 17 November 2011

Dearest Snivelling Crackwhore...

It's me, your unfriendly night audit.
Why unfriendly, do you say? Well, its probably because you called me a C U Next Tuesday, in front of a family with small children. Also probably because you wished me to "burn with the flames of a thousand cigars" which while I found hilarious, and laughed, I now reflect you likely meant that to be insulting. That explains the two middle fingers I received promptly afterwards.

You were kind enough to let me check the scared family in, though.
So thank you.

But then proceeding to try and check out and take your john's money?
Uncool, bitch. UN.Cool.
When I wasn't hip to your game, and wasn't caving because I clearly have my "don't fuck with me" face on today (as opposed to all those other nights that wool gets pulled over my eyes..) You then proceeded to cry to me. Crying.
Hookers Don't Cry In Hotels. It's like baseball, but, different profession.

So crying to me, naturally, made me irritated. Your bullshit sob story about how you had to use the phone and get home and fine if you're going to be a bitch I'll just get beat tomorrow then, Doesn't Work Here.*

*If I legitimately believed this woman was in any danger, I would have tried to help her. But this 'I'm going to get beat if you don't give me the money RIGHT.NOW. story came after I asked her if she wanted to cry in her room. Sorry, my bullshit meter exploded with that story.

So crying didn't work. Clearly.
Sorry, I live with a three year old and if her puppy dog eyes and tears of the injustice known as life won't have me caving, there's no chance in hell of you making me give in.

But then, you pathetic whore,
you turn your back, whispercall me a bitch, and then proceed to cry silently,
snivelling and snorting the snot back.
For. Thirty. Fucking. Minutes.

People, I was held hostage by a fucking hooker tonight.

Sidenote: I cannot leave the desk when someone is standing there. It's legitimately against policy, and it's the only Health and Safety thing I abide on the regular. People tend to follow you back if you go into the office and this room is a one door exit only kind of situation. Fuck that.

Two minutes into the hostage, I plopped the box of Kleenex on the counter. People who don't blow their noses and act like insolent five year olds drive me up the fucking wall. I think proceeded to ignore her and do 95% of my audit, five hours early. I figured I'd make my hostage-d time useful.

But then, after you badgered me into letting you call a friend to take you home (aka get crack,because let's be real- that face doesn't look like a diseased manwhore without some effort) you then proceeded to stand there and talk to the person like I wasn't there. Telling him that you're hysterical, sweets, was an exaggeration. Calling me a fat ugly worker, incredibly untrue. I prefer curvy average slacker, thank you very much. Get your shit together.

I'm grateful you went away and came back higher than a goddamn kite.
You're hopefully passed out in the room you absolutely couldn't stay in tonight, yet did?
It's also passed 1am, toots, and you ain't on no bus.

Next time, take these tips and adhere to them, so we can both feel better, mmmmkay?

-No Crying In My Hotel Unless you're beaten.
- Stay Classy Because no one likes a stupid bitch.
- Less Perfume/Make-up Or learn how to put it on/what smells not death-like.
- No Name Calling Because we all know how that ends up.

If You Want The John's Deposit For The Room, YOUR NAME HAS TO BE ON THE RESERVATION. Otherwise, kindly fuck off.

Lines and Kleenex,


Wednesday, 16 November 2011

Please Don't Whore Your Bitch Out For Your Crack


I had a post about non-hotel related things and my computer ate it so I will take that as a sign I should stick to the funny and stupid shit that goes on in my hotel bubble. Like this Stupid Fucking Woman (SFW from now on) who seems to think we are best friends fo lyfe even though that one weekend where I wanted to stab everyone and everything because of all the bullshit she verbally abused and belittled me, is back.
She's like the worst case of acne a teenager can get. She is offstandish, complains about everything I do and then turns around and says “Hey Girl!” like a large black woman might, except she resembles a crack addicted hooker. Which, she is. Or her dog is. I'm unsure of which is the whore and which is the crackwhore.

Last night, I got drunk from her fumes. I swear to baby Jesus, I was tipsy and I held my breath for 90 percent of that conversation. Absurd, how involved a person wants to be in your life when all you do is hand them hotel room keys and turn a blind eye to her ultimate bitchy remarks. Winners like “I can't believe they let a
girl work alone here” and “Don't worry, no one will blame a little girl like you for this mess” are things that are routinely heard from this woman when she's sober.

I may actually like her better drunk. Is that wrong?

Friday, 11 November 2011

What.The.Fuck. Wednesdays

So last night, I was going to write this post about how November and December are our quiet times in the hotel. Most places slow down, construction season is almost over so a lot of our business will be going somewhere else until the summer comes around again and they can work outside without freezing their nads off. This is the time of year where I'm both incredibly productive and incredibly lazy and the best stories come about. I can wander from the desk for longer than my rounds, and some nights we have an entire hall empty so I can act like I'm five and run up and down the halls with the luggage cart.

You cannot tell me that you haven't wanted to do that. Whatever age you are, that shit is fun. I just wait for opportune times, like 3am after the bars have closed and my work is done and everyone is asleep, before I let that much immaturity shine through.

Anywhore, this week I expected quiet, I expected to be able to get my audit done in peace and I expected to catch up on my homework that I may or may not have been slacking on. It's not my fault YouTube just got interesting, or a bunch of new shows on T.V. Started and I need to watch them at work/online because I sleep when regular humans sleep. I'm too poor for 'PVR', people.

This week went according to plan, for the most part. Until last night. Last night it became apparent that I live in the ghetto, and that the police are morons.*

*I have a healthy respect for more police officers, but the local department that are in charge of keeping the law and order around these parts....

I live and work in the ghetto because of the crime rates. The fact that I regularly rent rooms to drug dealers, and Yes Mom I know its wrong and I should call the police, but if I called them every time this happened, I’d have no business. Its the sad sad truth. I do have the policy that if they are stupid about handling their business, or guests complain about traffic that shit stops or they get kicked out with no refund.

Last night, people complained. Understandably so, it was like a revolving door of every known drug dealer or user. I think it’s sad that I can describe these people by appearance and know some of their names. Anyways, someone complained when I wasn’t on duty and the afternoon girl (bless her soul) called the po-po.

Two Hours Later

They show up and everyone gets away anyways.
I wish I were kidding, by the way. I’m not. Two hours to get here, thirty minutes to plan and execute and everyone they were after was gone or escaped.

And then I had two crazy French Canadian women attack me verbally and almost psychically, had to call the cops
again and my night still had four hours to go before I was done. Insanity, I tell you.

Tonight? Tonight shit is quiet. The hotel is giving me a break so I don’t completely lose my marbles or become so jaded I turn into stone. Working in this industry has taught me a lot, it has given me an amazing perspective on myself and what I want to do with my life, but it has also taken away the innocence of a lot of things. Idea for a new post, perhaps.

This weekend is the last full weekend I get off this month, too, which should be interesting... I’m about to work a week, get a day off, then a week, get a day off, then six days. Lord save anyone who has excessive noise or too much traffic in their room, because this ninja isn’t putting up with shit for the rest of the month.

Saturday, 5 November 2011

Dear Weekend Hookers, No Sex In My Lobby KTHANKXBAI.

Dear Weekend Hooks,

I'm sorry. I clearly forgot you are an entirely different breed of whore.
I also know I'm a new face to this weekend jive, but let me be clear.
If you ever think us night audits would be okay with you performing your less than mediocore 'blowies' in front of us, in the lobby, where there are actual guests and teenagers who yes, may be looking at porn on our lobby computer (dont think I'm not on to you, punk. I just don't care because you don't have the manballs necessary to whip it out this early in the night), but these are children nonetheless, I will slap you with the thing you're trying to put in your mouth and rip your weave out.

Getting called some very unkind things wasn't really on my list of shit to do tonight, so how's about we lay some ground rules down, okay sweetheart?

Weekend Whore Rules1. You will refrain from stripping in the halls/lobby/common areas.
2.You will not insult the front desk clerks. Unless you want to be evicted.
3. You will NOT solicit yourself in my lobby when your latest score ditched you because (and I QUOTE) "a high school broad could suck it better"
4. Acting like you only do this on the weekends? Fine. Go for it. You and I both know you just find cheaper hotels during the week.

Dearest whores, if you want to keep your room and trick it up, be classy about it.
Or I'll use my pimp hand and slap a 'ho, yo.

Much love,

Wednesday, 2 November 2011

An Open Letter To Less Intelligent Hookers

Dear Hooks,

Hassling the nice audit girl at the desk at 3:30 in the goddamn morning when you and she clearly know whats up? Very uncool. I don't come into your room and criticize the way you're blowing your latest 'husband', do I? I don't come up to you and tell you what flavour of condom you should buy next, or if your hair truly does look like it's 1980s meets Time Warp... no. No.I.DO.NOT.

Mainly, for the most part, hooks, I got your back. Pimp's beating you, I'll call them boys in blue so you can scatter like the wind.

You need a condom? We sell them here. You need mix for your drinks so Big Bob doesn't hurt so much? We sell pop, too. We turn a blind eye as long as you don't fucking piss us off or have too much traffic.

So, hooks, coming in and rage-yelling at me because I'm not falling for your “husband will come and pay for tonight on his credit card so give me the 90 bucks I JUST GAVE YOU NOW BITCH” schtick, ... don't you see how you've left a really bad taste in my mouth and my soul life mission is to now make it impossible for you to stay here?

I'm sorry if he's a picky bastard and won't pay for a room that you've Already paid for.
Maybe plan better next time.
Also, protip 101? Never threaten to have any night audit call the hotel owner/manager/boss.
I can guarantee you that's the quickest way to a 430am wakeup call that accidentally goes off every 15 minutes, especially if you're a bitch stubborn person about it and actually
make us call.

Because we run this shit at night, and our bosses know it. Calling them is essentially like kicking yourself in the crotch with fire ants. Not only do you wake someone up in the middle of their sleep with a guest issue that you can handle on your own, but they then have to deal with an angry hooker at 345am?

I can't post what I want to actually say, because even under the mask of anonymity I fear backlash.
It's not pretty. It resembles a dirty sailor and trucker meeting up to have heathen babies.

I have never been so belittled by a hooker, ever. I had some respect for this particular one before she lost her shit on me.

Bright side: It's my Friday! I'm working this weekend (heaven help me) so I get Wednesday Thursday off, go team middle of the week break!

Have a great week/end, you fine feathered creatures.

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Hotels and Halloween Part One

Let me start out by saying Fuck. This. Bullshit.

I just finished the easiest month end ever, so I'm clearly suspicious and waiting for this place to burn down or someone to come in and demand I perform sexual things on them. Something drastic has to happen every month end, because.... well, it does. Without fail, every Month End has had something go horribly fucking wrong. Normally it's one section, and when it's not that, it's something else. Like my pool flooding, or the power going out. Something.

This month, I thought I was safe. I tricked myself into a stupid sense of comfort.
Month End balanced.
It was nice and easy.

Two hours after I finished it, it occurred to me that it was almost too easy.
Then the heat broke.
So I've been freezing my lady bits for the past four hours, huddled up in this office with (and I shit you NOT) my breath coming out in little puffs like Rose on the wooden door after the Titantic went down.

I thought that was it. I thought that was my big break down of the month, and I ACCEPTED IT.
Next month, someone slap me and tell a bitch it can get worse, because, my friends, IT DID.

The brand new hot tub, which I cannot remember if I've written about yet, but I will if I haven't, basically decided to tell me to bend over and take it tonight.

It's been giving us attitude like a mother fucker all week. Leaking water, not staying warm enough, throwing temper tantrums and then conspiring with the doors in the pool area to not open so I'm stranded from stopping explosions....

Tonight it upped its game.
I am actually impressed with it.

Tonight, it was a sneaky little bitch.
About an hour ago (yes, I fixed it- bandaid on a gun shot kind of fix, but still) I heard this god awful screeching.
Dying cats mixed with battered babies kind of screeching.
Not a sound I hear every night, so I clearly went to investigate like a good little girl.
It was the hot tub. Spraying water against the windows that surround 3/4 of it.
From the parts of the hottub that don't.have.nozzles.
Me, Captain Safety over here, went in to the pool area barefoot, and walking quickly.
Guess who almost fell into the pool?
This chick. (fucking hilarious, btw.I almost want it on tape so someone I know can blackmail me for something later)
So, Captain Safety continued her trek, figured out the problem and tried to solve it by filling the hot tub up with water.
Increased the pressure to the leakage instead.
Ultimately, that bitch is now shut off,
but I'm soaking wet. I look like a wet dog and smell like chemical deliciousness.

Less than an hour to go, at least.
Happy Halloween!

Wednesday, 26 October 2011

It's A Ghetto Kind Of Life: Dedicated to Jaclyn, With Love

Reading comments from my last post got me to thinking.
I should probably start by explaining my surroundings. I mean, everyone has an idea of what kind of place a hotel is. Either a shady one where you hide the good china, or one where you have people to wipe your ass. I'm kind of in the middle of that. I won't wipe anyone's ass, but for a good conversation I'll extend your check out time a couple hours so you have a chance of getting a sleep in after the drunk has happened.

To sum it up, I work in the ghetto.
People around here think I'm kidding when I say this. They'll chuckle, or shake their head in that “oh, that Ninja, she's fucking crazy, she has no idea what the 'ghetto' is... it's not like she works in Toronto”*

*I don't. I don't think you could pay me enough to work in that fucking city. Sorry. I hate the city I live and work in, but Toronto is its own goddamn planet. I mock those who come from there and call this a wee town. Also, Toronto is the fake capital of Canada. I figure it's safe to mention I'm near there. Ish. Depending on how fast you drive and all that.

Now, to cast out any doubt in your mind about whether or not I work in the ghetto (or as Jaclyn put it- the 'hood') I offer you these examples:
Bike Guy
Bike Guy (has no real name, or at least... I have yet to learn it) is a man, on a bike. He comes into my parking lot on occasion, looking for cars that are unlocked/have some valuable shit in it. My hotel and the surrounding hotels are not legally responsible for your shit that you choose to leave in the car, that you then choose to leave out in the open
OR unlocked so he can rummage/fall asleep in (I shit you not, it's happened). Does that matter to you when you check out and realise your passenger door is open? Probably not. I work nights for a reason, people. Bike Guy is known by the police, and yet evades them like LiLo evades the Big House.
I realise they are everywhere, like cockroaches. But I feel they are a vital part to my ghetto-fab life. These women are semi-decent, especially if they've got a good John to help pay the rent. My favourite brand of hookers are the ones who are new to town, have been told that we're one of the 'safer' places to go (as in, I won't call the cops if they are classy/smart about how they handle but they act incredibly bitchy when I remind them they have a patio door to 'bring their things in' from. That's not entirely code, either. Most of the rooms I give these ladies have patio doors. They can bring their luggage (or John's, y'know... whatever those kids call it these days) in through there. Rather than make me get up every other hour. Win win, people.

Nefarious Activities Around My Hotel
Two stores in a plaza across from my work have been robbed, in broad daylight. A hotel a couple hotels away from me (I work on what I affectionately dubbed “Hotel Strip” because there's 129930 hotels all rightnexttoeachotheromghowdotheypickone and we all slightly hate each other.) had someone try to break into their cash,
my hotel has had a couple incidents. Oh, and around the corner (also across the street from where I used to live) there was a body discovered in the river/ravine type thing.
Storage Room Guy
Refer to last post. I mean, if I lived in the classy area, I don't think that shit would have happened, do you?

I could continue, I really could. We aren't in the absolute trashiest area of my city, but we're so close we can see the buttcrack.

Of course it makes sense to hire a 23 year old girl who has a sometimes pretty face to work the shift where she has no back up and cops around here take 40 minutes to show up... of course.*

*In all honesty, I'm normally pretty safe here. Occasionally I have to exert my bad ass ninja skillz, but, overall I'm the safest little button ever. I'm the youngest audit to work here ever, and I had to knock one of the badass maintenance guys on his ass during my interview to secure this job, but I'm a year in and have almost died only four times. Maybe five, depending on where you're sitting.

What's the most unsafe job you've ever done? Was it your favourite?

Friday, 21 October 2011

Health&Safety: How A Ninja Handles Her Shit, Safely. Sort Of.

A few months ago, I had my first annual review at this new hotel. I walked in expecting a few slaps on the wrist, because (let's face it- when I walk around barefoot all night and take no shit from anyone, I'm bound to have a few “areas of improvement” checked off) my work doesn't like to give out 100%'s to anyone. That's fine. What I didn't expect, though, was the Health and Safety area to need improvement. What I took that to mean was “Please stop jumping on the counters to clean the shelves and shutting the doors”. What they actually meant was “Start paying attention to situations that you shouldn't handle on your own and call those fine men in the blue”. Which got me thinking. I'm a total bad ass ninja 95% of my time here. I can handle it, unless knives come out (and they have. Whats up, panic buttons? Ever want to see hot half naked construction men race to the lobby in their boxers at 3am? Pull that bitch.) but there were other times that I have been told “You should have called the cops!”

Tonight, I present to you a list of scenarios, what my boss' (or coworkers) have told me to do, and
what I actually did.
Situation One: Name Calling
What Happened: Guest A had checked in before I arrived for the night. Guest A went out, got absolutely smashed. Guest B had been travelling all night, come in tired and bitchy and needed the kid-glove approach to keep her from losing her shit on everyone and anything that moved. Guest A chose this time to return back to my lobby and start hitting on me. I politely advised the guest to stfu and go to bed, but he was having none of it. Guest B was irritated, Guest A sensed it with their drunken spidey sense and pounced. Explosion of tired meets drunk meets me watching as the most outrageous fight ever happens. Guest A started calling names, Guest B threw some threats out there, it was absurd. What I Should Have Done, According To My Boss: Called the cops. Hands down. Things almost escalated to a full scaled fight and we could have been liable. Or some legal bullshit. Or I could have been hurt? What I Did Instead: Safety Sam over here, I chose instead to stand and listen to the battle of drunken vs tired wits until the threats turned serious enough. Then I stepped around the safety of my counter (!) and air guided Guest A to his room while instructing Guest B on how to get to theirs. Thankfully down a different hallway. Why: I did this because I hate calling the cops.
Situation Two: Man Sleeping In LOCKED Storage Room
What Happened: I was running behind on my audit. Typical on a Wednesday night. Whatever, don't judge- hot drunk construction men see fit to entertain me with their smiles and deep voices, I'm not going to pause that shit and do 'work'. So I was running behind and karma thought it would be funny to hide printer paper. So I walked to the other side of the hotel, far away in the middle of nowhere land, to the Storage Room. This room holds many things. Decapitated clowns, chairs that people spoiled, a fridge that has beer people leave behind,... and my audit files. It also holds things like spare printer paper, boxes and the unused cots which we have. There's a patio door that has been blocked off and every night when I do my rounds I check the door by twisting it to make sure it's not unlocked. That night, it was locked. Fast forward to 5am and I'm walking in, loudly, because I'm in the middle of no where and it was time for my daily dance off. With myself.
There was a man. Fully clothed (thank fucking god) but still, nonetheless. I had thrown the door open and turned the light on so I could barge in and grab my shit and be on my way.
What I Should Have Done, According To My Bosses And Everyone Who's Heard This Story: Ran. Called the cops and grabbed something to defend myself with. Woken up the restaurant owner who lives in the hotel, and had him stay with me until the po-po pranced on over.What I Did Instead: Gawked at the man while he was woken up, and when he rudely gave me shit for walking into the room (Because CLEARLY I was in the wrong here, mister) I apologised and shut the light off, locked the door and closed it quietly so's not to disturb him. Yup. And then I slowly walked back to my desk, trying to figure out what the fuck happened. Waited for my boss to call, as she does every morning, and when she flipped her shit with worry I crossed my fingers when I promised to not go back down to the room again. I went back down there after the restaurant opened, with strict instructions to assume I had been stabbed and needed help if I wasn't back up at the desk within 10 minutes. Why: I hate calling the cops. I also thought, for some ridiculous reason, that the man was supposed to be there. He was very convincing in his indignation at my intrusion. Also? I went back down there because by that point I was pissed my ninja status was in question and I wanted to kick some trespassing ass. (He was gone by the time I got back down there, but he had been kind enough to leave the cot used so I know I wasn't crazy).

And Finally,

Situation Three: Ball Hockey Bastards
What Happened: Ball Hockey weekend. Refer to previous post, if you wish. Long story short, two drunk asshats decided to see who had the bigger dick in my lobby by showing off to their friends and start a pushing and yelling drunken match that had one missed punch and LOTS of dramz. What I Should Have Done, According To My Boss: Call the cops. I could have been hurt. Supposedly.
What I Did Instead: I'm clearly the Safety Expert here. I kicked my heels off, hollered louder than the jerkholes cheering the fight on, so I startled the masses, pushed my way through and forced myself between the two drunken fools. Sweet talked one into sitting in the corner while I walked the other one to his room and told him to stay there. Why: I hate calling the cops. I'd rather risk next to anything than have to give the control over to the men in blue.

***********disclaimer:************ I
DO call the cops. On things like, New Year's Eve (where there's bloody spatter or girls gone fucking crazy and I have too much to deal with), when domestics are involved (of course the po-lease take a full 40 minutes to show up, so, y'know, my domestic has time to fester into a full fledged murder...), and when people try to pull a knife on me. Anything else, I try to handle that shit on my own. But a Ninja does know her limits. Maybe. Sort of.

I'm learning, people.

I hope everyone is having a fantastic weekend, I'm going to be stretching and getting ready for next weekend, formerly known as Month End Hell, Halloween Style.

Any ideas on what I can dress up as, in a work appropriate manner?
Zombies are
so last year.

There Should Be A Better Post Here, But My Hotel Is Trying To Kill Me

By getting so cold you can see your breath.
I shit you not, people.
I have the heat cranked in this office, which is doing nothing but making me doubt its worthiness of being called a 'heater'. I prefer the term "device that is loud and points heat in wrong direction"
Out in the lobby, where all my work is sitting in snow (I'm almost not kidding. It's almost cold enough in my lobby for snow.) it is now 60 motherfucking degrees in there.

I'm not above sexual favours to get the fireplace working by Sunday night when I come back.

And for the record,
I am wearing:
long pants. heavy, the soft and snuggly kind that still look professional and keep them boys coming back.
a tank top. layers, people. it's key to survival here.
a tight tshirt, because it holds the girls in a better place than 'stomach'.
a blouse. gotta keep it classy here, we ain't no Super8. (oooooo burn.)
my own sweater. (completely unprofessional, but, fuckyou its cold.)
A WORK JACKET. Because I am a thief in the night and steal warm shit from people who leave it lazing about my office. You forgot it? Here. I'll warm that bastard up for you.
I'm legitimately tempted to get my scarf and hat.

I also know this isn't in my head, because I have had a few of the guys coming back from bar-land offer me coffee/their jackets. Because even my nose is cold.*

Fuck this.

*For...everyone here: My nose is the last piece of me that gets cold. Once my nose is cold, I turn into whiney bitch central. It's a proven fact.

If I thaw out in the next two hours, I'll finish my H&S post. Until then,
send me warmth, purdy please.

Monday, 17 October 2011

It's Always One Bitch Who Kicks You In The Cooter That Ruins Your Weekend...

I don't even know where to begin.
It's been a while. I know this. I'm sorry, to my three readers and one ghost, for neglecting this blog.
I have my reasons, of course. I just moved, and it wasn't a happy go lucky move, it was a “I picked the most inconvenient time for EVERY SINGLE PERSON in my life, so I had to move everything but my dresser and bed by myself” kind of move. So I'm basically a ball of sore muscles and no sleep.
I'm writing this from work, curled up in dorky unprofessional looking clothes because I thought I'd be smart and do laundry, but, it backfires when you fall asleep for too long.

I digress.

I'm back, bitches. I promise.
I still have no idea where to begin.

Work is ridiculous. I worked last weekend, and I was attacked by 18-30 year old men with sticks and burly rawrness.
Normally that gets me all flustered and excited and primping my hair and making sure I look damn delicious, because lets face it- I only get the attention from the boys at work.*
But alas, by the Saturday night I wanted to kill every fucking person in the hotel because oh my god it was almost as bad as New Years Eve. Almost.
And then I got a complaint lodged against me.


I was less than thrilled to hear about it, but I wasn't going to get my panties in a bunch. Shit happens, right? I mean, that weekend was insane and I cannot possibly be expected to keep everyone super happy and ready to expel confetti and roses over the fact they were surrounded by drunk ball hockey players. I knew I'd have some angry people to deal with on Sunday morning, and I warned the girls the best I could.

I did not realise, however, that one woman who was seemingly fine with my services and said
nothing to me, would ruin my perfect streak of fantastic with her bitchy fucking comment. And I know that makes me sound bitter (I am) and petty (I don't care, I am sometimes), but I wasn't given my chance to apologise or make things better. She acted like nothing was wrong, and complained only at checkout about me.

Her complaint?
I argued with her and paid more attention to other people than her when I was checking her in. At four am. Let me assure you, at four am? There were so many drunks in my lobby, that when I interrupted myself, it was to tell them to disperse and allow me to check this woman in. I was nothing but polite to her when her credit card didn't go through, and I was as helpful as I could be to a woman who drove from America to watch her two teenage boys play in this tournament.

She did not give me any indication that she was pissed off, or upset with how I acted. For a four am check in, For a check in
period, she received above standard service. I am only lax with the drunks and the assholes. She was neither. She also acted like she had no issues with me all weekend. So, I still do not see where I went wrong. Either way, her actions led to me having to defend myself on my last night of work because in this industry, the guest is generally always right and we lowly workers need to back that up and apologise for offending them prettypleasecomebackandseeusagain.

I leave you with this request, peeps.
If you do not like what someone in a hotel is doing, tell them. Or at least act bitchy so we know we've got shit to handle, because nothing sucks asshole more than getting blindsided by the worst written complaint in the history of ever.

And for the record, I do not apologize for my actions. I was courteous, professional and I made sure the hallway she was down was one of the quieter ones. If I'm ever wrong, I'll admit it. I own up to that shit like no tomorrow, because it's a lot easier than trying to spin it to make me look less douchey. Everyone, at some point or another, is a douche. It happens. This was not one of those times.

Thank Baby Jesus I don't work another weekend until mid-November. All I have to worry about for the rest of the month, is Month End and Halloween. Which equals one of the shittier months, Calendar Gods... planning a drinking night on the same night as a Month End. /whining.

*That statement alone may make me sound whorey- I promise, the only thing I flash them are my pearly whites.

Friday, 7 October 2011

all the ups and downs and you can't get off


Most of my toddlers are gone, so I'll actually start working on that saga I promised a while ago.
Not tonight, though.
Or this weekend
Or next week.

Tonight Im mopping up carpet, and trying to stay sane.
It's harder than it sounds, when you have parties to shut up (oh hai, I'm 23 and I look like I'm MAYBE 15 on a good day? Picture that coming to your door to ask you to be quiet. Yeah. You can stop laughing now.) and when you constantly have drunks thinking I have all the time in the fucking world to deal with their really bad attempts at picking me up..
And then a room floods.
Not just, a little flood.
A flood that started after 11, maybe, and kept flooding until after 12 when I was forced to leave my office and go deal with something completely unrelated.
It's super working on nights like these, lemme tell you.

This weekend, for all us Canucks out there, is Thanksgiving. Nomz.
I work, so obviously we're also a sold out hockey tournament weekend.
18-30 yearolds.
The temptation to do some shots before work, I will not lie, is high. I'm going to try and power through.

This week coming up I'm moving, so, expect insanity and possible bone breaking, because it's not a moving party without a little blood in my life.

Right now, though, I'm blaring inappropriate music and preparing for round 6 with the mop.
Wish me luck.

Monday, 3 October 2011

The Drunk Toddlers Saga: The Sweet Kid

He’s already gone, and has been for a long while. Still remember him though.
His real name was a common one, a few of the guys had that name too and so they called him a slew of nicknames. Garth, Shy Kid, Cobra, and something else that I can’t remember. I called him my Sweet Kid. He’s younger than I am, and he started with the boys the same time I started at the hotel. It took him three months of working this job site and staying at my hotel for him to come out and talk to me without the rest of the guys. Adorable, for one. Not the prettiest guy on the crew, but I have never been one for looks and looks alone. He was hilarious once you got past the shy bullshit and had him more sober than a Wednesday night.

He was the one who forced a hug on me when I came to work the night after my uncle died.
The one who I first told about being pregnant, even though that eventually blew up in my face (protip 2398? Don’t tell a boy who is prone to spilling his feelings and thoughts out something you wanted to keep secret from the rest of the toddlers. He’ll spill that shit oh so fast when they razz him for not making a move on me)

He was an awesome guy, an amazing friend. One of the only toddlers to ever get my actual cellphone number, although we don’t talk hardly ever now. That’s what happens when you don’t see each other all the time, right? Sad, but it happens. He went back to school and when his co-op kicked in again, his company sent him to a newer site. I will forever remember the moments he was here and he was my friend, though…

-The time he came out after all the guys had gone to bed to ask for a wake up call, as an excuse to come out and talk to me in the comfy chairs in the lobby.

-When he heard about my uncle and saw how I wasn’t crying, or showing any emotion he made an ass out of himself and lept over the counter to pull me into a hug after I warned him I’d punch him if he touched me.

-During Christmas, the week before the guys all went on a two week vacation for the holidays, they were all up at the desk saying goodbye (and eating the cookies and muffins I had made) he came up, went behind the desk and kissed me in front of all of them. Strong lips- he must practice on watermelons, or something.*

Safe to say that he was and will always be one of my favourite Drunk Toddlers, my Sweet Shy Kid.

*If you do not understand that line, you need to go back to the 80s and educate yourself. That is all.

Sunday, 2 October 2011

Drunk Toddlers: The Beginnings

Drunk Toddlers. My boymen. The guys who have (some of them) been there longer than I've been employed, day in and day out, Monday through Thursday (or Friday or Saturday if they've had a shitty productive week). A lot of them have already left me, only 8 of the originals are left. They are my friends, whether they want it or not. The boys are actually older than me (except for two, who are just wee babies at 20/21. And I realise they're only 2/3 years older than me, but trust me. The generational gap has punched them in the boyjunk.) but when you feed them the booze, they turn into children. So I call them as such.

Hopefully once a week (possibly more, depending on the ridiculous of work/school/any interesting shit that happens that ADD Squirrels me instead) I'm going to write a blurb about the ones I've met and had an impact made. I'll nickname them to protect them (because, y'know, I expect this shit to get really popular. I mean, hello! Who doesn't want to read about the raw meat on my counter, or the naked races down a hallway...) and all shall be grand.

While reading the Drunk Toddlers series, keep in mind that I honestly do love these guys. They're all spectacular examples of what hardworking men are, and if they didn't all have girlfriends/wives/things to bang at home, and it wasn't completely against the rules and I signed something thank you very much so my legs are staying closed, I'd probably have taken a few of them up on the beer and pool offers. Oh, and the fact they live three hours away from me in real life and not hotel life. That also puts a cockblock.

But they are handsome. Tall, dark, handsome, most of them come from the small towns and country roads that I basically want to dry hump. Yeah. Great window-shopping opportunities.

Getting off topic.

I should have the first part in the series up later on.......
Hope everyone's enjoying the October air!

Friday, 30 September 2011

Month End Hell

It's that time, kids.

Month End. The bane of my fucking life, even though technically, TECHNICALLY, I am not doing it this month. Because tomorrow is Actual Month End, and tomorrow is Friday. I do not work Friday's, normally. But of course, because I am the Full Time Audit, I tend to do Month End all the time.
Which means that I have to pretend like tonight is audit, so the part time audit (who has been here longer than me, used to be the full time audit, and generally knows more because oh hai I am the youngest audit ever in this hotel's history, and he is old enough to be my father. But no, let's make me do more work because he clearly can't remember the last 10 years of his audit career and the world will EXPLODE if I don't make sure everything's can do audit without a hitch and just make sure tomorrow night balances up.

I hate Month End.
Hate. So. So. SO. MUCH.

In my other blog, before I moved to the much nicer and better blogger, I had a Month End rant. It explains why I loathe this one day out of the month more than others. So in a blatant “yes I'm stealing from myself but really is it stealing if it's yourself? I think not.” move, I'm copying the highlights from there. No use in me retyping all that nonsense again.
Now, you must think I’m over-exaggerating on this. I assure you I’m not, but I wouldn’t assume you’d take my word on this. Just a sample of the shit that has gone wrong on a month end night for me:

-Nothing Balances. This is common. I’ll have everything up until the last week, or the last day before I walk into work 3 hours early to start month end paperwork. Everything has balanced, but during that last day of the month, someone fucks the shit so badly that it will take me up to five hours to find and fix the problem. Cursing like a trucker is not uncommon on this night, which is why the earplugs are necessary for little Susie sleeping down the hall.

The Drunk Toddlers Really, if I need to explain this, it’s already too late for you. These boys have been trained as best as I can manage, but sometimes my month end will fall on a Wednesday or Thursday and I can’t control them then. They come in, they try to pee on the plants and throw uncooked steaks on to the desk, they come around the counter and try to get a feel (and subsequently feel my knee in their family jewels),… month ends on a Wednesday or Thursday are charming. ETA: I will explain the Drunk Toddlers once my toe stops bleeding*

Power Outages Are the bane of every persons existence when they are at work, I’m sure. Even on a good day a power outage will fuck up my life at work. On Month End, though, when I have to get everything done and if I can’t play with shit on Opera (the operating system for the hotel) my night gets royally fucked. It’s like surprise butt sex when the power goes out, and no one likes that.

Pool Floods Worst night of my life. Hands down. Only New Years Eve has rivalled this month end, last May. We had just installed the new liner in the pool and the pool guys said that everything was good to go, so they filled ‘er up and left me to my own. I was contending with a Month End that didn’t balance, and it was a tedious sort of fix, when my feet felt…wet. The pool is on the other side of the lobby, through the sitting area and restaurant. Panic does not begin to describe my emotions when I realised they had left the water on and didn’t tell me to turn it off after a certain time. Five hours of dealing with that, and month end had to be done. It was a long night.

I realise you cannot tell how long it took me to write all this.
2 hours.
Not because I am a person who types slowly, or lacked anything to say. Oh no.
Two freaking hours because tonight, people sense that it's a mock-Month End for me, and are breaking shit left right and center.
*Also, I may or may not have just broken my pinky toe because I moved to quickly to go fix a blown fuse.

The things we do...
Happy end of the month to us all!

Thursday, 29 September 2011

I Can Add Pimp To My List Of Accomplishments Now

Dear Drunk Toddlers,
You all fail for not being awake at 1130.
Why, you ask?
There are hot girls here wanting to mingle.
See what you miss when you don’t come visit me?

An Hour Later….

Dear Drunk Toddlers,
See how much I love you?
Maybe now you’ll be more entertaining.
Call me babe one more time, though, and I *will* kick you.

How Far Politically Correct Reaches

Andrew: “David, what colour is the car?”
David: “Its black, Andrew.”
Andrew: “David! We’re teachers. It’s African American, not black!”

Funniest moment of my life. Andrew was far too serious.
I only know the names because I had to add them into the system. I’m not that big of a creep, y’all

Wednesday, 28 September 2011

Welcome To The Jungle

If you're just tuning in, welcome!
If you followed me from Tumblr, you get a cookie and sticker.

I chose to bail out of Tumblr because of the inability for my peeps to comment.
I want to hear what you have to say, what you find funny and whether or not you want to stalk me and get me fired for some of the shit I do.

Working nights at a hotel gives one a lot of tolerance for getting away with shit, I've realised.
I love my job, and feel like I need to share the funny with you fine fellows.
So, without further ado.