You Wonder Why I Want To Slap People.... Take This Advice.

So tonight was both amusing and informative and has me reflecting pretty hardcore about some shit, but for the most part what I want to write about tonight involves a tutorial I want you all to take to fucking heart.

The Motherfucking DO's and DON'TS of Complaining To the Front Desk

DO: Call the desk if there are children running rampant
This is helpful to the desk, when you let us know that there is an issue. You're giving us a chance to fix the situation before shit really gets out of hand and we get shot with a fucking Nerf gun thing. However,

DON'T: Call the desk if it is your own fucking child who is running rampant
I am not a built in babysitter, contrary to the popular fucking belief. If you are calling me because your own fucking child is a part of the problem, then own up to that shit. Or I will not take your next call seriously and I'll tell you that you need to control your own spawn.

DO: Tell the desk how upset you are
Because sometimes people call, just to let us know. The level of annoyance on the phone does infact increase my own level of annoyance. If it's just a hockey parent calling to be an asshole to the other team, then I take that shit less seriously. If it's an old woman calling because she can't hear the TV and it's on full blast, and she's got venom spewing out her mouth into my ear, then I tend to walk a little quicker. However,

DON'T: Yell at/Curse at/THREATEN the desk.
We do not care enough. We never will. I'm sorry, but how many weekends, or nights of absolute bullshit do you reckon I put up with? Let me tell you, it's a fucking lot. So when someone gets it in their mind that they need to Yell At Me, Curse at me and then tell me that they'll “have my job” in the morning, or “they're going to pack up and leave” I wave to them. Yell at me, it just makes me not want to help you. Curse at me and it makes me twitch because I have to (at times Out Loud) remind myself that I am at work and can't go off on the person who is cursing. My favourite is when people threaten to get me fired. Really? You're going to assume that I don't know how to do my job badly enough that you can come in with your bullshit complaint and get me fired the next day. My job is one of the worst jobs in this fucking industry, and anyone who has worked it knows. No one likes this job because of the job. I like it because it's normally quieter and you don't have to deal with management. Threatening to leave is also hilarious, because if you leave and don't give us a chance to do anything, we still charge you the room rate.

DO: Speak Calmly When Talking To The Desk
Seriously. I cannot emphasize this enough. When you're calling, for ANYTHING, don't rush your words. Unless there is blood, or broken bones, there is never a need to race through a sentence like you're on crack. It also gives the impression that you're a rational human being. Anyone in the retail/customer service business will appreciate someone who speaks calmly when telling us how children are screaming their little heads off in the hallway upstairs.

DONT: Come Out In Your Underwear To Yell At The Desk I say this for two reasons. One, the chances of a person being anywhere near to what I want to look at half naked, are so slim that you can assume I'd rather stab my own eyes out with a rusty spoon. Even the hot construction guys. Keep it clothed, people. There are cameras, and it is a lot harder to take someone seriously when the desk is wondering if you're fully naked or just mainly. The second reason, is Don't yell at us at the desk. Seriously. Think about this for a hot minute. If you're standing here, yelling at me, telling me how useless and incompetent I am, where can I go? What can I possibly fucking do to help your situation out? The answer, kidlets, is nothing. Not a goddamn thing. I cannot leave the desk when someone is standing there. It is the golden rule, it is a fucking pain in my asshole when I get drunks who will not go to fucking bed, but it is unspoken. If I leave, I'm inviting people to fuck up my workstation. It's happened before (Story for another day) and it will likely happen again. The only time I ever leave someone at the desk, is when I'm grabbing them pillows or blankets. Because that shit is down the hallway.

I can't leave the desk to go yell at the drunks or the children, until you let me.
I understand your frustrations about not being able to watch “I Love Lucy” but I can't do anything until I am able to leave the desk. There is only ever one of me.


Suggestions On How To Handle Shit

Take a moment. Think about how noisy the hotel is, and whether or not the desk can hear it.
I know in my hotel, the only shit I can't hear is down the hallways that are upstairs. I can hear running, and I can hear serious noise, but singular room shit? If it's not on the ground floor I can't hear it. I would absolutely welcome a call letting me know that there is ruckus going on upstairs. I'd prefer it to be a calm call and without anger towards me (because really, people, I didn't fucking tell them to go and be assholes upstairs. I'm bored some nights but never that bored). I'd also really prefer only one call about the issue. If you call within a five minute period of calling the first time, you almost automatically put yourself on the douchebag list.

I guarantee, unless it's a problem downstairs and I can see the room door from the lobby (which is a total of five rooms, and I can hear them sneeze from here) then I need about 10 minutes to get in contact with the room and issue the warning. Add five minutes for them to settle the fuck down, that means you should only be calling me once every 15-20 minutes. Even then that's excessive.

Call once. Let the desk know what the fuck is up, then try to be patient. Wait a good 30 minutes, and if shit hasn't changed, call the desk again. It could be that you weren't the only one and I had to answer the phone 13290 times before I could go and do something about the problem that everyone and their mother told me about.

Remember that normally the desk only has one or two people. If it's a busy night, you can bet those poor souls are being run ragged. I know it seems like they should be able to drop everything and deal with whatever has your ass in a twist, but sometimes you need to have patience.

Don't threaten. Or blame the desk. We are here to help you, for the most part. I hate having to apologise for shit that isn't my fault. Assholes not listening to me, isn't entirely my fault. I can only do so much and evicting people is actually a lot harder than it sounds. I really hate having a person come stay here and their night be ruined by drunk idiots. But unfortunately, sometimes, that shit happens.

As long as you stay cool, control your own spawn and follow the hotel rules it should be good. And when those noisy fuckers start shit, I got this. Hopefully.


On a completely unrelated note, I'm running away for the weekend and plan to come back a lot less stressed out and more my old badass self. No more people trying to kill themselves in my hotel, no more court hanging over my head and no more threatening exboyfriends. Just waiting for my acceptance into school and for my next ASL class to start.

Behave yourselves! 

ASL Practice, No Talking Dinner and A Drug Bust- Typical Wednesday

So, I'm writing this to stave off the boredom while the cops haul the douchebags away.

Yeah.

ASL practicing is tiring, because it's just review of the things I already know and I want to learn more but my next level doesn't start until April 12th.

Tonight was my last class with the local college, and we went out to dinner and had a No Talking rule. That was wicked fun, but I think I'm the only one who thinks so... everyone else was chomping at the bit to talk while they signed. I think I'm both odd and awesome for not being affected either way. I don't mouth the words I'm signing, I just sign and assume everyone knows what the fuck is up.

Then tonight my favourite cop came in and said he missed me, asked about the trouble rooms and I pointed him to one, like a good night audit. He and his partner wander down to see if they can hear anything, and they smell an amazing amount of pot (which is why I'm so fucking tired and have the munchies tonight) so they knock on the door, get no answer and then come up to the desk.

I advise them that the dumbasses will likely bolt through the back door, and my cop takes my advice and calls in backup. So I get swarmed by cops, all of them hot and delicious, of course. Ten minutes later they're running down the hall and telling me I'm right.

I'm not even phased by this. Seriously. I think it's absurd how nonchalant I am about shit like this nowadays. It takes a fuck of a lot more to shock me or ruffle my feathers, which is probably a good thing?

Who the fuck knows.

Anywhore.
I'm alive, and I'm okay, and I love all of you for everything.

No Clever Title, Just Word Vomit

This post is going to be an insanely long tangent and I'm already apologising. I will bold the shit that might be funny/interesting to read. The rest is going to be word vomit and a terrible show of my character. Or something seemingly important to only me.

So last week when I posted, I wanted to talk about how I don't talk about the bad shit that happens here at work. I have no issues talking about the stupid whores or the crack addicts who try to come at me, but when it comes to talking about the women who get beaten in their homes and use my hotel as a 'safe haven', I tend to close up. Last week, I had a woman who came in and exhibited every single sign that she was a battered woman. I would have used her in a model to explain what the next night auditor should look for.

She was nervous, always looking out the door she came in, she did not park anywhere near the front so her van was hidden from sight unless you drove into my parking lot, she came in wearing only the clothes on her back and a really long jacket, and had a big purse. She walked like she had been beaten, and talked so quietly I turned everything loud off just to hear her. She teared up when I asked my roundabout question to confirm what I knew- when the front desk ever asks you if you'd like any calls forwarded to your room, or if you would prefer to not be disturbed, we either suspect you are hiding out and for a good reason, or you're a horny teenager with their girlfriend for a hot night.

At 3am in the morning, it was the former when I asked her and she did not want anyone to know she was here. I understood and quietly told her no one would bother her. I put her in a room away from everyone and left her to her own devices.

At 5am in the morning, something was clearly wrong when she checked out, worse for wear than when she checked in and talking senselessly about going to the hospital an hour away as opposed to the one ten minutes.

Then I noticed the blood.

I had no idea how I managed to not freak out, because I was hitting the wall of “Let's Remember When I Was The Bleeding Scared Girl” and I needed to not go through it at that moment. I kept calm, tricked her into going back into her room, called the cops and tried to keep her on the property because I was worried she had injuries that were worse than what I had originally thought. She obviously needed help, and I hate forcing it upon people, but, when there are bloody hands involved, I get to be a pushy bitch.

It wasn't until almost 620am that I learned it was a self inflicted reason. That the woman had more issues than her abusive husband, and that my hotel room was soaked in red. The officer wouldn't let me go any further than the door to which I let him in.

I think she lived?

That's the thing, about hotels. Cops and firefighters and other hot helpers, they come and they help you and they take away the problem to go and fix it somewhere else, but they never inform those who were involved or affected what the overall outcome was. I'd never know if she died. They had taken away all the evidence they needed that morning.

People don't like to hear about those kinds of stories. Or about what happens when the husbands come in looking, or the wives of a cheater come in knowing fully well that they are here, but I either can't or will not tell them. I legally cannot.

That, combined with my shock over dealing with it, combined with the stress of court, made me break a bit.

And then people started telling me how strong and tough and able I am to testify and how I should just suck it up and deal.

Um, no.

Fuck you.

Fuck you very much.

A lot of the people in my life do not know every single detail about my relationship with him. Or the aftermath, or the terror I lived with for weeks after. I was never worried about testifying against him. Ever. Fuck that worry. Bitch can't get up on the stand and tell the truth and nothing but the truth about how he woke me up with a kiss, went away for forty minutes in my car and came back to our bed after having brutally raped his ex? Bitch needs to be smacked good and hard.

I was freaking out and stressing and trying to show that I HAVE FUCKING WEAKNESSES, over the fact of having to actually SEE him again. I can tell you where I was, exactly, the last time we saw each other. Down the street from here, at the local Tim Horton's. I go there every night, and he knows this. He's only ever shown his face three times there when I was. Each time, he'd smile, or say something, or suggest that he was going to do something and it would make me want to scream.

He hasn't left a bruise on me. He hasn't emailed me in two years, almost to the fucking day, and he has not contacted me via cellphone even though my number has not changed in almost three years. He is smart. He knows all of that is traceable and with his fucking history, it would not look well.

Court was this week.

I did not have to see him, because he pled out. I have no idea what he got instead of the years in jail he was going to get, but he is not my imminent threat anymore. I don't know if he ever was, but I hate that I let him have that power over me.

I wasted two days of not working, and I am officially so stupid tired that my assessment test today should basically spank me without even trying. But I will find a way to get what I want. I always do.

I'm hoping this week, and the next, are lazy and boring and full of non grown up things, because I need a moment.

So I haven't died. I told y'all about the thing that freaked me the fuck out, and I admitted I have weaknesses. I think thats a pretty stellar vomit, don't you? 

I Haven't Died Yet. Promise.

I always start my shift thinking I'm going to write about something completely different than I actually end up writing. I have so many topics and ideas and then life gets in the way and slaps me in the mouth and I end up using this as a place to vent and release. That's what writing is all about, right?

I was looking online to find the exact quote about writing that really struck a chord with me, but I fail and can't find it. Anyways. It goes something along the lines of “Writing is one of the easiest things a person can do. You just sit at the keyboard and bleed”.

It's true. When I'm writing about something, like what I'm about to write about, it takes a piece of me with it. It also helps heal me, and helps me to make sense of certain things. I have a lot of shit going on this week and next. I've been trying to write a post for here this entire week, and other shit keeps getting in the way.

Just a highlight of the awesomeness in my life right now:

I'm sick, and have been for the past week. I'm a whiny grumpy bitch when I'm more than a cold sick. I have some sort of throat thing, mixed with the general exhaustion that comes with my days off not being true days off. I am also aware that I'm still upset over my boss being fired, and the chaos at work here with the new manager is kind of ridiculous and taking a toll. I'm the invisible employee again, and while it's nice because I don't have to really answer to anyone, it's also annoying because I'm not getting answers to fucking questions I keep asking.

So I'm trying to get over my sickness because I really can't afford to be ill right now.

Today I'm packing up my entire room and getting ready to move back to my parents. The move is happening either Friday, or Friday and Saturday. Not sure which, it'll depend on how much help and muscle I can acquire on Friday. I have some bribery and IOU cards from a couple guy friends, so that might work.

I heard back from the local Deaf Access office, and I'm waiting for an assessment test date to see if I can skip to the Level 2 course. Cross your fingers for me, please, because I really want this. It will make my shit so much easier to handle, because I'll be able to finalize my application to the school out east that offers the program I want.

My goals for the year have changed, but it's a good and responsible change I think. No more bike, still getting out of debt and moving to a much prettier part of my country.

I've had to deal with a lot of personal shit lately, and work hasn't made it very easy. I had a serious incident this week where the police had to be called, and it took me a good day and a half to get over what the fuck happened. There's just a lot of shit that most people don't think others have to deal with.

I'm probably not going to post anything for a week or so, but, I'm alive. If I die, I promise I'll tell Jaclyn, and she can collaborate with Jen and write my obituary. I expect it to be full of how I died, and how I should have passed many months ago after the lip balm touched my beautifully moisturized lips.

Seriously, though, I promise not to die.

Court starts Monday, and fucking lawyers just made my Saint Paddy's Day celebrations impossible because we're meeting at the courthouse Sunday morning to discuss prep and questions. To say I'm freaking out is an understatement, but, I'm putting on my big girl panties and hoping that this shit only takes a day or two. I'm already missing two days of work, and it's fucking lame.

As I'm typing this, my hot construction men are waking up to the thunderstorm that is ravaging my city, so I shall leave you all with this awesome cover of a song that I'm obsessed with this week. Enjoy.

Love,

Ninja

Tribute To One Of My Internet Heroes, Take Two: Jaclyn

I'm still sad and sick and bitchy, but I wanted to get away from that whine-fest for a moment and bring everyone's attention to Jaclyn.

She's on my list of fantastic fucking people and I want you all to fall in love with her and stalk her too. Like Jen, I found her through Noa. Jaclyn is what I think people call a 'mommy-blogger'. Basically, she's a fucking badass mom. I don't even know her kid, and I think she's the coolest kid out there (after my own nieces and nephews, of course. Gotta put family above the children of women who try to kill you with lip balm) and she's pretty funny too.

In all seriousness, Jaclyn is a fucking amazing person.

She's helped me through some tough shit, sent me a letter that made me cry and lip balm that didn't kill me (yet) and cookies that were decent even though they were kinda stale because her country and my country apparently hate each other.

She gives awesome advice, sucks at Words with Friends, hilarious drawings with Draw Something and overall makes me feel like I'm not alone even when shit gets tough. If you need someone to talk dicks, work, or babies with, she's your chick. She's kind of a sore loser when you kick her ass by 218 points though. So, fair warning.

She knows I love her, even when she tries to kill me.
Now y'all know I love her too.

As a completely random fact,

my right ear feels like it's underwater and it's...humming? Throbbing? It's awkward and I want it to stop. Suggestions on ear replacements are being taken...now.

Loyalty Means Nothing Here, Apparently. UPDATED WITH EMOTIONS

So, this weekend was insanely stupid and full of me getting called in to work to cover a shift where figure skating moms and hockey moms were both assholes and deserve to be cut, but that's not the point of the story. That sort of shit happens all the time.

The point of this story is I'm grieving.

The head of the hotel/manager, the sweetest lady, was 'let go' on Friday due to 'costs'.


Lost an amazing boss, and now shit is up in the fucking air with everything.
Half the staff wants to leave, myself included, but a lot of us are staying because we need the money and we don't want to completely fuck each other over.
It was sudden, it was out of the blue and this office feels a lot like an interrogation room now as opposed to a place of accomplishments and honours.

The hardest part I'm having right now is two fold.
One, the owner knows nothing about running a hotel. I'm not exaggerating when I say this. Shit is going down and everyone is taking flak from the 'all knowing owner'.
two, my boss normally calls every night to talk and catch up, but tonight I won't get that call.

It's gonna take me a while to get adjusted to that. I don't deal with change very well when I know it's happening, and I've been reeling since the bomb got dropped on me Saturday afternoon that she was terminated.

On a completely unrelated note, I broke the heaters again.
Fuck this.

UPDATE INVOLVING TEARS SO I CAN'T BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR SPELLING ERRORS:

So my boss just called, for the very last time.
I can't properly express how much this woman has helped me. I came into this job knowing that I was a badass on the front desk, and I could rock the night audit like no tomorrow, and I figured that would be all. She made this place like a family, somewhere where yes, there is bickering and some backstabbing but what family doesn't have that? She cared about us all so fucking much, I'm not exaggerating when I say she is was the heart of this fucking hotel.

She called, and we talked for a minute and then I started to cry because it's the last time I'm going to hear her voice over the phone. There won't be anymore 4-5am  calls that trigger me into a more professional mode, that remind me that construction guys are waking up, unlock the doors.. I won't have that connection to the hotel now.

Monika has always been fair, and has such a huge heart, that the entire hotel is grieving. Our regulars who were here this weekend are upset, the construction crews coming in today are going to be upset, especially if the owner comes in and revokes the construction special rates...

She said a lot of wonderful and inspiring things to me, for me, and then she asked me to pass on a message to everyone else that she couldn't say goodbye to, because she will never come back here again. I told her I would, and I will write a note today and put it upstairs in the housekeeping office because I don't want to think about what the owner will do to anything that has her mark.

This weekend sucked. Today sucks,and I'm apparently getting sick so expect me to be a whiny bitch for the rest of the week.


I know that bosses come and go, but she is the only boss that I have ever tried to do better for. Be better for, because she commanded that sort of respect and awesomeness. She cared.

This owner? Doesn't even know my name.
Didn't even know we had hired my friend to work part time on the desk, or that one of the girls was on sick leave and has been since the middle of fucking December.

But he clearly knows whats best for us.


Long day.

Very first post from my phone (aka my laptop is already closed and I'm waiting for the next shift)

I am mere minutes away from going home and packing up for the weekend.

I just wanted to wish you all a great weekend and I promise a proper tale is coming your way soon!

Lots of love and snuggles,
Ninja