A lot of stuff has happened.
I just thought to myself the other day that it had been a while since I posted anything. Lo and behold, it has in fact been an entire month. So here’s (sort of) what’s happened.
I am now on my regular schedule at my new job. Over a span of two weeks it works out that I’m three days on, two off, seven on, and two off again. I wish that was a little more regular, but I switch out between having Thursday and Friday off and then Saturday and Sunday. This is to give the guy who covers my shifts weekends, as well. It’s fair. I really can’t complain about sitting at a computer, behind a desk, by myself, in the dark, and getting paid for it. I mean it’s basically what I would be doing anyway. I do like working overnights. There is a fair share of drunks and belligerent, sleep-deprived people, but overall it evens out.
Speaking of drunks, I have a story.
A few weekends ago (maybe a month ago now?) we had a group of golfers in for a tournament. Let me preface this by saying that golfers are THE WORST guests. They’re demanding, entitled, and damn near impossible to reason with. It is also worth noting that our 3-11 shift is responsible for setting out all of our dry breakfast things, including cereal and fruit, and all of the serviceware, like plates, etcetera. Anyway, I’m sitting at my desk, about 12:30, 1:00, and two guys come in, both with coffee cups, obviously drunk. One asks my night watchman if there’s a trash can in the lobby. The night watchman points him back to the breakfast area, where there are two. Both guys wander back there, and the night watch leaves with laundry as per usual. After a minute, the guy who had asked about the trashcan wanders through the lobby and down the hall to his room. The other guy, I notice, is still bumbling around my breakfast area, but I can’t tell what he’s doing because all the lights are out, I’m nearsighted, and he’s about 100 feet across the room. I give him the benefit of the doubt, assume he’s putting more sugar in his coffee or messing with his phone. Just as I get up the gumption to ask if he needs help finding something, he stops whatever he’s doing and wanders down the hall, I presume, to his room.
Not two minutes later, he comes back to the desk and says to me, “I don’t know what my room number is.” I ask for his last name so I can look up the reservation. He gives it to me, and I realize that he’s the one checkin I still have left to account for. I hand him the registration card, ask for his signature and vehicle information, run the credit card we have on file for him (because I’ll be damned if I have to ask any more questions or spend any more time with this guy than necessary) which thankfully goes through, give him his keys, and direct him to the room. I neglect to tell him about breakfast, dinners in our dining room, or our brunch offer, all of which he would likely not have remembered anyway. As soon as I hear the elevator doors shut, I get up and go to check out my breakfast area.
As I walk into the kitchen to turn on the lights, I notice an apple on the floor which has had one or two bites taken out of it. I turn on the lights, then grab a napkin to pick it up and throw it out. There is a spoon on the counter next to an empty individual peanut butter container, which has peanut butter all over it. I use another napkin to pick up the spoon and take in to the sink and throw out the container. Then I notice that our entire basket of peanut butter cups is empty, which confuses me, so I start looking more closely.
Turns out this guy has taken every single one of our peanut butter cups and shoved them into the slots in our toasters, and then, and this is the kicker, poured what looks like half of his coffee into the toasters, as well. I’m angry at this point. I pull all of the peanut butters out of the slots and throw them out, because who knows where this asshole has had his hands, and then carefully unplug the toasters and carry them back into the kitchen to clean them out to the best of my ability. I manage to get most of the coffee out of the slots and clean out the crumb trays and the underside of the toasters, but leave them in the kitchen for our breakfast attendant to look at when she comes in. Then I call the girl on desk at the hotel and recount this nonsense to her. She is floored, and apologizes for my having to go through that. I write up a short report on the incident and leave the guy’s name and room number for my manager.
The toasters turned out to be no worse for wear. When they were turned on, they smoked a bit as they burned off the remaining coffee from the heating elements, but didn’t spark or short. Our manager also reamed the guy and charged him $50 for damages. He got his dues, I feel. But that’s the worst thing I’ve, thus far, had to deal with. Our owner told me that everyone has something crazy like that happen to them when they first start working nights, and if nothing else it is an interesting story.
I turned 22 a couple of weeks ago. It was a fun night. Cat got a pizza and a giant cookie which we shared at Woodland Park, and as per birthday tradition, she asked me a series of questions before I was allowed to open gifts. Things along the lines of “What is something you would un-invent?” and “Is there anything you wouldn’t do for a million dollars?” She got me nice things. She didn’t have to.
Afterward, around 8:30, we went to the Gaslight. We both got a cider, but because it was my birthday mine was free. Then one of our mutual friends bought us both a shot, and a while later one of his friends came in and bought us another shot. At 9:30 she went to work. I went to the Mug to finally have birthday drinks with Justin, a year overdue. On the walk over, I had the most traditional drunk girl problem ever, and one of my shoes broke. The elastic holding a strap in place popped out of its stitching.
Once I got to the Mug, I wasn’t there for five minutes before I was three drinks in. Justin bought me my first shot of Jameson, which I have learned is a thing I could drink all the time, and Cole, who was also present, bought me another shot which I didn’t catch the name of. Then I had my standard Jack and Coke. After a bit some guy Justin knew bought us birthday cake shots. I have no idea what’s in them, but a sugared lemon was involved. Then my cousin Kate showed up, and she bought me a Lemon Drop. Another Jack and Coke. Another Jameson (with four other people I didn’t know). I tried to sit and metabolize for a while, but it seemed like no one would let me stop drinking. At some point I had a glass of water. I believe there was another Jack and Coke, and finally Justin pulled me down to the end of the bar with a friend of his who bought me a Three Wise Men. He and Justin argued about what to put in it. It ended up being Jack Daniels, Jim Beam, and Old Grand Dad. At this point I was so drunk I couldn’t really taste anything anymore, but whiskey is my drink of choice anyway. I pounded it back and slammed the glass back on the bar. Justin shouted, “Look at that! She didn’t even flinch!” He was proud; his friend was impressed.
At this point it was about 1am, and I was done with the booze (even writing that last paragraph made my head hurt) – I had another couple glasses of water, forced upon me by my ever-diligent older cousin, and we left by what must have been 1:30. Time was passing very slowly at this point. I managed to walk the block from the Mug back to my car at the Gaslight in four-inch heels without so much as stumbling, even though I couldn’t see straight and my head was swimming. It took us a minute to get our driving plan straight with Justin’s girl Crystal, but I made it back home by 2am, took two Tylenol, and slept for five hours. I woke up to pee, ate something, drank some more water, and went back to bed at 9am for another four hours. I never got sick, but the headache lasted a solid 24 hours, and I think that’s just from not rehydrating properly.
Aside from all this not much exciting stuff has really happened. My car got some body work done. I just found out today that the exhaust at least needs repaired, and at most needs replaced, but I’m not too concerned about it. I may have picked up a new crafty hobby, but I can’t talk about it until after Cat’s birthday because I spent about 8 hours doing said crafty hobby to make something for her. The end result was much better than I had anticipated, so I’m excited about it.
Oh, and I started writing a book. I’m about 5,000 words in, which sounds like a lot, but trust me, it’s not. That’s just barely through the first point I have on a list of points that’s about three pages long. I don’t want to share too much yet, but here’s the first line:
Alicia was always told, “You’ll know when you meet The One.” And she knew something, she just wasn’t sure what.