the strange planet inside my head
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stick a fork in me
wow.
that's all i can say about tonight. W O W.
you know it's coming, right?
i would LOVE to stop bitching about my job, but i just can't help myself. it's like picking at a scab. you know you do it too, most of you.
there's a lot of things i like about my job, seriously. i like the parade of people, and i like that most of our guests are long-term, and you can get to know them better. i don't mean the stories of the addict ex-husband, or the girlfriend with the ticking biological time clock, or things of that nature, there should be a limit (i hear it all, anyway,) but hotels are unique. the GC and i discussed this. both of us hear the most outrageous stories you wouldn't believe were true in a million years. total strangers will come to the front desk, and tell you the most intimate details of their life. without provocation or invitation. believe me when i tell you, there's enough going on in an evening that i would never miss NOT hearing about your impotence problems with your wife.
you name it, and i bet i've heard it. breakups, makeups, and hookups. job stress, marriage stress, financial stress. i've met pilots, academics, manual laborers, coke dealers, flesh-peddlers, and geeks. the religious, the non-religious, the families and people who travel more than they're home. i've met a LOT of different people. they all have a story, and a lot of them find an anonymous front desk clerk at a strange hotel a safe haven to dump some emotional baggage.
why is it so safe? i don't know these people, and chances are i'll never see them again. there's no risk, you see. who am i going to tell? and why would i? i think these people might not have anyone else to tell these things to, and since they'll likely never see me again, what's the harm? to them it's a release.
it can be quite wearing and hard to keep up.
you just never know, do you? what goes on behind the front desk of a hotel. you just never know.
****
the newest girl was training another new girl today when i arrived. unsupervised, because today was the Big Cookout and everyone from the GM to the Ops manager to the new Front Desk manager (A, who else?) was scurrying around getting ready for that.
i walk back to the laundry room, and oh my fucking heavens to betsy. here we go. AGAIN.
two people on all GODDAMMNED DAY, and not one load was finished. the dryer was overpacked, and so was the washer. that was it.
so, the newest girl bopped out right away, and the new girl is sitting there picking her cuticles. i clocked in and started on The Pile.
she came back about three or four times in the first hour, asking questions, which i answered. first of all, the reason i worked a first shift yesterday was to train this girl. she called off. you just wasted eight hours of my time. you're not wasting one more second. the front desk is yours, i told her. i have to get this laundry caught up.
in the next hour, she came back several more times. on one occasion, she wandered in eating a bag of tater chips. she said, do you want me to help with the laundry?
i looked at her and said, y'all had all damned day to do the laundry. too late now. go run the desk.
she wears her phone on her hip and it's also a mp3 player. it's playing jesus music.
there's an open bible on the front desk. highlighted.
*sigh*
****
at ten to six i went up to the desk to check over the reservations. i found a discrepancy (well, several of them, in fact) and sent the girl to check a room. we were sold out, and i needed that room.
it was dirty.
fuckmerunnin.
gotta have it. so i went and cleaned it. i asked the girl to stay, and she said she would. she would be late for her bible class, but she'll stay.
so that was good.
she even folded six towels when i was gone.
****
Miss S. and i had a long talk tonight, and i laid it out. she said she'd pay me time and a half for tonight, and i appreciate that. my Gal Pal had seen me cleaning and told Miss S., and Miss S. saw the before and after of the laundry. but this shit has to stop, i said, i can't take much more. i'm OLD for chrissakes. and it's not fair.
she wants me to be happy.
yeah. so do i.
****
i don't trust her, but i do like her. ironic, ain't it?
****
that's it for me. two tylenol, lights out, and cya later.
Stuck for words? Visit WordWebbing, spinning words for any occasion.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
that's all i can say about tonight. W O W.
you know it's coming, right?
i would LOVE to stop bitching about my job, but i just can't help myself. it's like picking at a scab. you know you do it too, most of you.
there's a lot of things i like about my job, seriously. i like the parade of people, and i like that most of our guests are long-term, and you can get to know them better. i don't mean the stories of the addict ex-husband, or the girlfriend with the ticking biological time clock, or things of that nature, there should be a limit (i hear it all, anyway,) but hotels are unique. the GC and i discussed this. both of us hear the most outrageous stories you wouldn't believe were true in a million years. total strangers will come to the front desk, and tell you the most intimate details of their life. without provocation or invitation. believe me when i tell you, there's enough going on in an evening that i would never miss NOT hearing about your impotence problems with your wife.
you name it, and i bet i've heard it. breakups, makeups, and hookups. job stress, marriage stress, financial stress. i've met pilots, academics, manual laborers, coke dealers, flesh-peddlers, and geeks. the religious, the non-religious, the families and people who travel more than they're home. i've met a LOT of different people. they all have a story, and a lot of them find an anonymous front desk clerk at a strange hotel a safe haven to dump some emotional baggage.
why is it so safe? i don't know these people, and chances are i'll never see them again. there's no risk, you see. who am i going to tell? and why would i? i think these people might not have anyone else to tell these things to, and since they'll likely never see me again, what's the harm? to them it's a release.
it can be quite wearing and hard to keep up.
you just never know, do you? what goes on behind the front desk of a hotel. you just never know.
****
the newest girl was training another new girl today when i arrived. unsupervised, because today was the Big Cookout and everyone from the GM to the Ops manager to the new Front Desk manager (A, who else?) was scurrying around getting ready for that.
i walk back to the laundry room, and oh my fucking heavens to betsy. here we go. AGAIN.
two people on all GODDAMMNED DAY, and not one load was finished. the dryer was overpacked, and so was the washer. that was it.
so, the newest girl bopped out right away, and the new girl is sitting there picking her cuticles. i clocked in and started on The Pile.
she came back about three or four times in the first hour, asking questions, which i answered. first of all, the reason i worked a first shift yesterday was to train this girl. she called off. you just wasted eight hours of my time. you're not wasting one more second. the front desk is yours, i told her. i have to get this laundry caught up.
in the next hour, she came back several more times. on one occasion, she wandered in eating a bag of tater chips. she said, do you want me to help with the laundry?
i looked at her and said, y'all had all damned day to do the laundry. too late now. go run the desk.
she wears her phone on her hip and it's also a mp3 player. it's playing jesus music.
there's an open bible on the front desk. highlighted.
*sigh*
****
at ten to six i went up to the desk to check over the reservations. i found a discrepancy (well, several of them, in fact) and sent the girl to check a room. we were sold out, and i needed that room.
it was dirty.
fuckmerunnin.
gotta have it. so i went and cleaned it. i asked the girl to stay, and she said she would. she would be late for her bible class, but she'll stay.
so that was good.
she even folded six towels when i was gone.
****
Miss S. and i had a long talk tonight, and i laid it out. she said she'd pay me time and a half for tonight, and i appreciate that. my Gal Pal had seen me cleaning and told Miss S., and Miss S. saw the before and after of the laundry. but this shit has to stop, i said, i can't take much more. i'm OLD for chrissakes. and it's not fair.
she wants me to be happy.
yeah. so do i.
****
i don't trust her, but i do like her. ironic, ain't it?
****
that's it for me. two tylenol, lights out, and cya later.
Stuck for words? Visit WordWebbing, spinning words for any occasion.
Check out TSB for the most legal fun you can have with your clothes on.
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