Multiple Times A Day

Why U No Quit?

The hotel has finally settled down after a heavily trafficked evening. My shift had a couple of unusual circumstances, to say the least. Though the number of check-ins accounted for only about one quarter of the hotel’s capacity, I think my left shoulder is now in enough excruciating pain that I can say I’m tense. Sometimes I forget that it is, indeed, possible, to have some type of guest issue in nearly every transaction.

There has been an influx of international guests the last couple days. The wonderful thing about this convention is that most of these guests come from English-speaking countries, so the language barrier is never severe enough that I can’t get the gist of what they’re saying. However, these guests, although excellently fluent in English, have arrived with a lethal combination of jetlag and years experience in the cut-throat field of marketing/advertising. The hotel is buzzing with these VIP executives.

My list of grievances could go on for eternity at this point. At the end of an evening like this, I am finally so beaten down and defeated that I begin to think that I am only projecting my own neurotic delusions onto these strangers. I used to think that I wanted to study sociology or psychology, but having thousands of intimate encounters with “the mighty public” has most certainly changed my mind.

Today, I’ve learned that many people, from Germany, Singapore, or The Netherlands, will attempt to bully you into submission if they mistake a moment of polite hesitation for downright stubbornness.

Today I’ve learned that people from India, Brazil, and Australia will relentlessly interrupt you to ask for things you’ve already given them.

Today, I’ve learned that people, no matter how articulate their English or how refined their education, how purposefully refute the use of “please” or “thank you” or answer you when you’ve asked how they’re doing.

Today, I’ve learned that attractive men, from all over the world, will smirk, make eye contact, and lean in really close when they’re attempting to manipulate you for something they want.

- - -

I know. I'm asking myself the same thing.

WHY U NO QUIT?

Sex Offenders

So I’ve never lived in a neighborhood where there is a very concentrated clutter of “red dots,” or registered sex offenders, until I moved out of my parent’s house. My boyfriend and I moved here a little less than a year ago to this city’s east side, which like most American metropolitan cities (has anybody else noticed this?), are where all the coin laundry, pawn shops, liquor stores, and taco trucks are. Yeah. We live near the airport and everything.

We’re on the “other” side of the freeway, so there aren’t really elementary schools over here. It’s just a sea of apartment complexes, duplexes, and community college housing. My boyfriend and I actually live in the nicest complex in the area. It’s gated and on top of a hill. The parties on the weekends aren’t too loud and the only thing behind the building is an open field, power plant, and VA hospital.

We live on the side of town where all the red dots are. The other day we received a postcard in the mail with a sepia tone picture of a grim-looking fellow on the front, squinting slightly and full of shame. It was an menacing warning that he, a dangerous sex offender, had moved into the neighborhood, complete with all his personal information.  Full name, home address, date of conviction, crime. It said he was convicted of the rape of a minor. A six year old girl.

I sort of wish they still made these people go door-to-door…you know…so I could castrate him with a dull butcher knife and paint him in tar and feathers.

No, seriously.

This story has something to do with my hotel, I promise.

Coincidentally, I spoke to a colleague just days after who acted as an informant with some highly sensitive dirt of my boss. Most of us at the front desk have written him off as a closeted homosexual. It’s already a well recognized cliché that men in hospitality are predominantly gay. Nobody really has a problem with that. And my boss is really only half creepy. He speaks with an articulate lisp and always reassures us that his interest in misogynistic hip hop (which he plays while working), fast cars, and women. We all kind of just feel sorry for him.

So yeah. My boss is actually a registered sex offender. One of the bellmen randomly Googled his name and he appeared on the national registry of sex offenders. Photo included, wearing a suit that looks like the ones he wears to work (how novel!).

I look at him a little differently now.

It's a little off-putting. I thought the bellmen were supposed to be the creepy ones.