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The Weekend Wrap-Up Part One (subtitled: In Which Our Heroine Is Srsly Creeped Out)
There are some times when my life just cracks me up. I mean, if I were to sit down and make something up, I could never think of this kind of stuff.
Read on. You’ll see what I mean.
****
Saturday was rough. There were over thirty people due to arrive; I looked at schedule and saw that Miss Thang was on. She’s been battling a cold lately, and I knew that many check-ins would wig her out, so I pre-blocked the rooms, made out all the paperwork and had it ready to roll by the second hour of my day.
Good thing. By two-thirty there were only eight reservations left. Miss Thang was more than grateful when she came on; I do believe I was her favorite person for the moment. :)
But I was beat to death and beyond, and I knew Sunday was going to be a bear because all these (very nice, and very drunk, for the most part) tournament bowlers were going to be out early.
Over fifty of ‘em, as a matter of fact. OY. Gem was out of town for the weekend for her mother’s birthday (YAY!) and there was no way in hell I was going to let anything interfere with that.
When I clocked in, the Weekend Guy wasn’t even close to ready to close out his shift, but I didn’t think much of that. It’s like that every weekend; he’s always on his laptop. Same as today. I heard him mumbling something about “She’s almost ready,” but I didn’t think much of that either, because I’m going to be seeing about a hundred people today and I’m solo.
So I’m running off my reports, and he walks over and says, “You almost had a visitor at 5AM.” He’s a big guy – over six feet and hefty.
I snapped my head around and said, “What?!” I’m thinking, who the hell would come up here at that hour? Nobody I can think of, without someone being dead.
He said it again, looking at me out of the corner of his weasely eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, I was up there near your room delivering papers, and I thought….”
You ASSHOLE. “Only if you want to die.”
He’s snickering. I’m dead serious. And I’m starting to freak out a little. Because the truth is, if he had knocked on my door, I would have opened it. Do you see?
This doesn’t sink in right away, you understand. It slinks in, cold and nasty and slimey.
He got his shit together, and told me he had to finish up something on his laptop, and he was off the clock and could he go back to my desk?
Whatever. I’m busy. I have over fifty rooms to turn over. And they’re leaving early.
So he left, and I’m up to my armpits in it. I ran out of staples, and went to the cabinet above my desk to get some more. He was sitting there with his laptop open and a live web-cam shot of …of….(I’m trying to find a delicate way to express this. Hang on a minute.)
It was a picture of ….let’s just say I saw all the way past Christmas way into the New Year. Let’s just say it’s amazing the level of detail a web-cam affords. I had no idea. Let’s just say I don’t even know my own particular anatomy that well, and I’ve had it pert near fifty years.
*sigh*
Serious Creep Out Moment.
I got out of there at the speed of light.
Ten minutes later I see him leave through the front door. See ya.
Yeah. See ya.
****
Did you think it was over?
***
A couple of minute later, my little Antonino is on deck for maintenance, and he came around to take out the trash. He got to the trash can in my area, and I heard him start swearing and there’s this….odor. ICK.
“C’mon ovah heah, Miss Netta. C’mon ovah heah.” His voice is shaking.
Someone urinated in the trash can. And it was stenchous. Srsly. I’m gagging just writing this. There’s only one person that was back there. It wasn’t smelling like this when I clocked in. We do the math.
Now I am in Full Creep Out Mode, and Antonino is so mad he’s almost hopping up and down with it. Oh, is he mad. He tells Buddy the whole story, and Buddy is pissing hot. They want to kick his ass, not just for the urine or the cam shot, but because I’m seriously Freaked. Buddy assured me that no one is going to mess with me, because he’ll put the hurting on him PERSONALLY. I think I feel a lot better.
****
I get through most of my shift, but I keep thinking about all of this, and it’s like stepping in a cold, repulsive hairball, over and over. I don’t even pay attention to the drunk, leering bowlers (my eyes are up HERE, asshole) or the idiot that threw his key at me, or even the very nice gentleman that told me I was a sweet person. At one o’clock the fires seem to be out, and Miss Thang called to say her son is very ill and she can’t cover her shift.
Oh, jeez. Okay. No, don’t call Gem. Is he okay? We talk symptoms and kid stuff, and I more than understand, it’s no big deal. I’ll take half the shift and the Weird Chick (yes, still weird, but I think I’m getting used to her) will take the second half. (The girl’s an animal – she’d work 24/7 if she could. Heh.) Then Miss Thang asks what’s wrong, she can tell something’s wrong, and I’m telling her, because she needs to know, too. She’s horrified, but not surprised and we talk about that.
I hear her Beau in the background (as she’s repeating this to him) yelling, “Who’s messin’ wit mah White Momma?!” and I have to laugh.
….to be continued….
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
Read on. You’ll see what I mean.
****
Saturday was rough. There were over thirty people due to arrive; I looked at schedule and saw that Miss Thang was on. She’s been battling a cold lately, and I knew that many check-ins would wig her out, so I pre-blocked the rooms, made out all the paperwork and had it ready to roll by the second hour of my day.
Good thing. By two-thirty there were only eight reservations left. Miss Thang was more than grateful when she came on; I do believe I was her favorite person for the moment. :)
But I was beat to death and beyond, and I knew Sunday was going to be a bear because all these (very nice, and very drunk, for the most part) tournament bowlers were going to be out early.
Over fifty of ‘em, as a matter of fact. OY. Gem was out of town for the weekend for her mother’s birthday (YAY!) and there was no way in hell I was going to let anything interfere with that.
When I clocked in, the Weekend Guy wasn’t even close to ready to close out his shift, but I didn’t think much of that. It’s like that every weekend; he’s always on his laptop. Same as today. I heard him mumbling something about “She’s almost ready,” but I didn’t think much of that either, because I’m going to be seeing about a hundred people today and I’m solo.
So I’m running off my reports, and he walks over and says, “You almost had a visitor at 5AM.” He’s a big guy – over six feet and hefty.
I snapped my head around and said, “What?!” I’m thinking, who the hell would come up here at that hour? Nobody I can think of, without someone being dead.
He said it again, looking at me out of the corner of his weasely eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Well, I was up there near your room delivering papers, and I thought….”
You ASSHOLE. “Only if you want to die.”
He’s snickering. I’m dead serious. And I’m starting to freak out a little. Because the truth is, if he had knocked on my door, I would have opened it. Do you see?
This doesn’t sink in right away, you understand. It slinks in, cold and nasty and slimey.
He got his shit together, and told me he had to finish up something on his laptop, and he was off the clock and could he go back to my desk?
Whatever. I’m busy. I have over fifty rooms to turn over. And they’re leaving early.
So he left, and I’m up to my armpits in it. I ran out of staples, and went to the cabinet above my desk to get some more. He was sitting there with his laptop open and a live web-cam shot of …of….(I’m trying to find a delicate way to express this. Hang on a minute.)
It was a picture of ….let’s just say I saw all the way past Christmas way into the New Year. Let’s just say it’s amazing the level of detail a web-cam affords. I had no idea. Let’s just say I don’t even know my own particular anatomy that well, and I’ve had it pert near fifty years.
*sigh*
Serious Creep Out Moment.
I got out of there at the speed of light.
Ten minutes later I see him leave through the front door. See ya.
Yeah. See ya.
****
Did you think it was over?
***
A couple of minute later, my little Antonino is on deck for maintenance, and he came around to take out the trash. He got to the trash can in my area, and I heard him start swearing and there’s this….odor. ICK.
“C’mon ovah heah, Miss Netta. C’mon ovah heah.” His voice is shaking.
Someone urinated in the trash can. And it was stenchous. Srsly. I’m gagging just writing this. There’s only one person that was back there. It wasn’t smelling like this when I clocked in. We do the math.
Now I am in Full Creep Out Mode, and Antonino is so mad he’s almost hopping up and down with it. Oh, is he mad. He tells Buddy the whole story, and Buddy is pissing hot. They want to kick his ass, not just for the urine or the cam shot, but because I’m seriously Freaked. Buddy assured me that no one is going to mess with me, because he’ll put the hurting on him PERSONALLY. I think I feel a lot better.
****
I get through most of my shift, but I keep thinking about all of this, and it’s like stepping in a cold, repulsive hairball, over and over. I don’t even pay attention to the drunk, leering bowlers (my eyes are up HERE, asshole) or the idiot that threw his key at me, or even the very nice gentleman that told me I was a sweet person. At one o’clock the fires seem to be out, and Miss Thang called to say her son is very ill and she can’t cover her shift.
Oh, jeez. Okay. No, don’t call Gem. Is he okay? We talk symptoms and kid stuff, and I more than understand, it’s no big deal. I’ll take half the shift and the Weird Chick (yes, still weird, but I think I’m getting used to her) will take the second half. (The girl’s an animal – she’d work 24/7 if she could. Heh.) Then Miss Thang asks what’s wrong, she can tell something’s wrong, and I’m telling her, because she needs to know, too. She’s horrified, but not surprised and we talk about that.
I hear her Beau in the background (as she’s repeating this to him) yelling, “Who’s messin’ wit mah White Momma?!” and I have to laugh.
….to be continued….
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
Read/Post Comments (5)
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