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!