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!