My sweet beautiful hotel is located in a small kinda city. We’ve got dozens of stoplights, a little satellite campus, a bunch of strip malls, and some really, really good greasy Chinese/American food. But, as a little front desk girl at a little hotel in a little city, I like to keep tabs on the other little hotel girls and boys in the area. At least once during my shift I do call-arounds. I give a ring to each hotel, say my hi’s and how-do’s to everyone and then check up on my gossip.
Good gossip, though.
Work gossip.
“How many rooms you sell tonight? What rate are you selling? Any creepy locals hopping around? What kinds of freaks did you have to deal with? Do you accidentally call Sean at the ****** Inn John sometimes too?”
Tonight’s freak story from another hotel is sure to be a personal favorite:
Krissy: “So this chick comes down to the desk all pissed off saying that there were a bunch of guys dressed in black costumes and that they were hiding under cars in the parking lot last night. She wanted to know why we let that happen. Then she starts yelling and saying that there was also this one lady dressed up in a rat costume hiding under cars and standing in from of her room door all night just starring at her. And then guess what she did!”
Me: **snort, giggle, snort** “what?”
Krissy: “the bitch passes out in my lobby as she continues to scream about this rat lady! Oh yeah, John called,”
Me: “Sean, you mean Sean”.
Krissy: “Yeah, Sean called and said that the English ladies are back in town”.
And this is when I got a lot less giggley and just mostly scared.
The “English Ladies” are a mother daughter couple that travel from little old England—the very old part of England—a few times each year to visit family… or kidnap unsuspecting victims to make into stew. Despite the fact that some claim we’re speaking the same language, they’re impossible to understand. Every other word out of their mouths seems to be about something pornographic. Now, I’ve seen these ladies for a few days at a time on a couple of different trips spanning over the last two years, and each time I see them—at night, earlier that day, the next morning, four months later, etc—they’re always wearing the same thing! Same! It’s like somehow they’ve got English clothes and only one America outfit. But that outfit has to last them over about a two week stretch. Ew.
Last time they were in town I found myself in my little sexy baby blue kitten heels and my itty bitty skirt outside in the rain trying to heft their cow-sized luggage into their turtle-sized car. All this while listening to a 90+ English bag holler “blah blah blah in the ass blah blah fuck blah blah titties blah!” I translate this to “life with your legs, not your back.”
And I told Krissy tonight that if they come back to her, we’re sold out.
Have an insult, I hear it’s good for your heart-- like red wine and dark chocolate.
http://unquietmind.com/insult.html
