Thursday, 17 November 2011

Dearest Snivelling Crackwhore...

Hi.
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.
Also.

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

Thankssomuch!
Lines and Kleenex,

Ninja

5 comments:

Gia said...

Yikes. So you can't leave the desk. Hmm. Pepper spray? Give em a reason to cry...

Front Desk Ninja said...

I can, when people aren't insisting on being douchebags. Every time I tried to full out ignore her and go back to my office, she would follow me. I don't like being cornered. Lobby=options of escape. Office=One door only.

briLikethebear said...

I work night audit at a hotel too! And one time I was held hostage like that by a man in a dress. Not a man dressed like a woman; just a dude in a dress. I'm worried for whoever brought him back with them. Did they think they were boning a chick?

mistyslaws said...

You work in the klassiest joint, ever! I never have fun stories about hookers crying about getting beat and being all cracked out and crazy on my ass. You are so lucky. And by lucky, I mean, have you thought about looking for other employment lately? Just wondering.

Front Desk Ninja said...

@bri: We're starting a club. Right now. Dudes in dresses is sadly not uncommon round these parts.

@Misty: It's the least ghetto joint on the street. Legit. Also, if my city wasn't currently suffering the worst unemployment rate in the entire province, I'd look. But I'm not built for factory and I'm too bitchy for a 'day' job at a hotel. Nights are where it's at. I rarely see the lovely getup's you do, though. I'm almost jealous.