Ever Wonder How A Bellman’s Day Begins?

A young female guest on the street with a Tom Baker-era Doctor Who hat and scarf.

Two ultra-horny middle-aged guests furiously dry-humping in the foyer of the hotel’s employee entrance.

A faulty punch clock. (Gotta love modern technology, right?)

Two housekeepers trapped in a laundry bin. (Don’t even think about it; you’ll hurt yourself.)

An intense argument between two maintenance workers that threatened to erupt into an all-out battle at any moment.

A lost wallet, bursting at the seams.

Two  new, over-friendly housekeepers that wanted to “chat” – for what seemed like forever.

All before I donned my uniform.

Welcome to my world, kids.

He’s still The (Gallifrey) Man…

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Even A Quiet Murdoch Monday Has Its Moments.

My shift today has been as vacant and desolate as Kim Kardashian’s conscience.

However, that doesn’t mean it’s been completely boring…

GIGGLY GIRL:  We’re so glad to be here! We’re from London and we love it here! Thanks for helping us with our bags!

Bear in mind, this young blonde waif from London Town punctuated every single sentence with a giggle so girlish, it would have melted Hitler’s heart. Every. Single. Sentence.

Her Asian boyfriend was an easygoing lad who was just along for the ride. He let her dominate the conversation (a tactic that I’m certain applied to every aspect of their relationship), with more giggly pronouncements focused on her love of Canada, Niagara Falls, the hotel lobby, the elevator and even yours truly.

“I don’t really know you, but you seem like a superb bellman!”

I have to admit, the girl had great taste.

ME:  I have to say, sir, you’re a lucky man.

GG:  He knows that! But why do you think so? (In between giggles, ‘natch.)

ME:  Well, most people are fatigued, thirsty, hungry and cranky when they first arrive, but not you! In fact, you’re overflowing with joy. Bursting, even!

Her response was blogging gold.

“You really think so? You should see me in the sack!

Fortunately, I’m not easily rattled.

ME:  Well, I’m sure you have a wonderful style, miss, but I’m not sure how I’d react to giggling in the bedroom. I’d be too worried you were giggling for other reasons! If you know what I mean!”

Her love just adopted an awkward smile and put his head down. The poor devil. She, however, didn’t miss a beat.

“Oh I’m sure you wouldn’t have to worry about that! You’re a tall one and you know what they say about tall ones, right?

That rattled me.

ME:  Yes! Yes, I do… and they’re right!

But not for long.

Fortunately, at that point we all laughed. We left the elevator and arrived at their room. They tipped me. I returned to the quiet – and mind-numbing – calm of the lobby. End of story. Until the next call, that is.

Well, I’m off. Time to go home and enjoy a brand-spanking-new episode of Murdoch Mysteries. See you in the lobby, kids…

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BEST. POST. EVER.

THE HOOK’S BEDROOM: 2:30 am.

I awoke, dizzy, feverish and uncovered. Desperately, I yanked and tugged (at the covers… perverts) until the wife relented – an hour later. An hour after that, our daughter wandered in, overtime by an asthma attack. She recovered nicely – eventually – and drifted back to Morpheus’ embrace. (Incidentally, he’s the only male allowed to embrace my daughter – for now, at least.)

THE HOOK’S BEDROOM: 5 am.

I drift back to sleep.

THE HOOK’S BEDROOM: 7 am.

The alarm buzzes, shattering the morning calm. What follows are the thoughts that ran through my mind following the clarion call to work.

“If I can only reach the alarm, I’ll be good.”

“If I can only fall out of bed – quietly -  I’ll be good.”

“If I can only fall down the stairs – softly – I’ll be good.”

“If I can only reach the downstairs bathroom and begin changing into my ‘civvies’, I’ll be good.”

“If I can only strip off my pajamas, get my long johns (which won’t leave my body all winter) off and put fresh boxers on without falling over before putting my long johns back on, I’ll be good.”

“Please don’t let me fall over, God. I refuse to die in my bathroom like the King of Rick ‘n Roll.”

“If I can only shave, brush, wash and do a five-point-inspection without vomiting, I’ll be good.”

“If I can only pack my lunch and walk to work with a bed leg and a feverish body without falling into a ditch, I’ll be good.”

“Wait a minute, there are no ditches on the way to work!”

“If I can only make it to my locker and change into my uniform without going down like a Redwood, I’ll be good.”

“Okay, I’m dressed like a bellman. Now if I can only act like a bellman for eleven hours, I’ll be good.”

Wish me luck, kids…

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A New Post (sorta) From The Hook!

So here’s the Saturday morning deal, kiddies:

I was working on a Saturday morning post that spun out of an encounter I had with two sex kittens in one of the hotel’s north tower elevators (don’t get your heart racing just yet, kids, my uniform stayed on), but then something occurred to me. Sure, this tale has all the ingredients necessary for blogging gold.

  • Two young nubile females, overflowing with an innate promiscuity that makes the average porn star – or Kim Kardashian – look boring.
  • Dirty talk.
  • Dirty talk in public.
  • References to that little-read, barely publicized tome, Fifty Shades of Grey.
  • A total lack of social graces, courtesy of the aforementioned girlie duo.
  • Sex.
  • Yours truly.

I bet you’re salivating at the thought of reading this twisted tale, aren’t you? Well, as much as I hate to disappoint you, my buds, I have no choice. You see, while many of you are working feverishly to complete NaNoWriMo, I’m 6,000 words away from finishing Book Two of my life story.

But here’s the thing: I’ve been thisclose to the finish line for months.

But I’ve been blocked.

Like a fat kid on an all-cheese diet.

That has to stop, my friends. And so, I’ve decided to finish my tale of naughty talk in a Niagara Falls elevator as soon as I can today and chuck that sucker right into Book Two.

Sorry.

Hopefully, I can whip something together for tomorrow, but we’ll have to see, won’t we? Truth is, I’ve just had two days off and I’ve been feeling like something Godzilla threw up over Tokyo. (You really can’t go wrong with a Godzilla reference, can you?) I’m back at the Bell Desk now and while the material is literally unfolding right in front of me, I need to be responsible and claim some of it for a different medium.

You understand, right? Thanks, I knew I could count on you. That’s why we get along smashingly.

Only old-school Godzilla for this cat…

See you in the lobby – sooner or later, friends…

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Never Forget.

I don’t know what today holds for me – or any of us, for that matter.

But I know this: This day and every day of freedom we have enjoyed – and taken for granted – has been paid for by others. Our freedom has been paid for by men and women who left their lives behind, donned uniforms and set foot on foreign soil, never knowing if they’d ever see home again. Our freedom has been paid for…

In lost time.

In innocence.

In blood. Rivers of blood. Humanity has spilled enough blood to wash our society away.

But we have endured. We have survived. We have carried on, building lives that fulfill us and distract us from seeing the ghosts of those who have died so that future generations could continue living.

But they are they are there.

Always.

My grandfather was not a decorated soldier, but he fought. He was a boy when he joined the Polish resistance during the Second World War. He saw his friends executed, their bodies burned in the street. He fled Poland and eventually arrived in Germany as the war was reaching its bloody climax.

Grandpa may have inspired the phrase, “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

My grandparents met in Germany. My grandfather was a security officer for the United nations at a temporary holding camp for prisoners of war.

My grandmother, a nurse at a Nazi war hospital, was not.

Theirs was an unconventional romance to say the least. But I’ve always loved the fact their love sprouted from the horror of war. Never mind the image of a lone flower on a battlefield. Lovers thrown together by battle, that to me, is a testament to the resilience of humanity. My grandfather survived the war but he never really returned from the battlefield. He drank to forget. He tried to wash the rivers of blood away with alcohol. He tried to forget.

But I never will.

I have little more to offer.

Enjoy the day, my friends. Savor your freedom, today, and every day that follows.

For your freedom has been bought and paid for at an unbelievable cost. A bloody cost. A cost many of us would hesitate to pay. Those of us who aren’t true heroes, that is.

We romanticize veterans. We elevate them. But the truth is, they were simply men and women who sacrificed everything of value simply because their country asked them to. How many of us can say we have that courage within?

I hope we never have to find out.

To the ghosts of the Fallen, to my grandfather, I say this.

Thank you.

 

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31 Things I’d Rather Do Than Serve A Hockey Family.

BEFORE WE BEGIN:  To be perfectly clear, as a bellman, I have no qualms about serving, well, anyone. However, there is a small percentage of parents whose children play the great Canadian sport of hockey that make my skin crawl from my skeletal frame and slink into the shadows.

Yes, as one would imagine, its quite a sight.

This ranty list is directed at these individuals. Their behavior is reprehensible. Their minds are a maelstrom of obnoxious put-downs and incoherent declarations. In short, they make my life a living damnation, though thankfully, only temporarily. 

This is for you… you poor – yet rich – deluded bastards.

FUN FACT:  As I was writing this post, a trio of hockey dads approached:

#1:  Can we have one of those wheelie-thingies for our bags?

ME:  Well, sir, we don’t give the wheelie-thingies out, but I’ll be happy (not really) to help you. We’re a full-service property.

#2:  AW, FORGET IT!  (He was so loud, my fillings shook.) WE DON’T NEED ANY HELP1 WE GOT IT!

#3:  YEAH, WE’RE GOOD!

ME:  YEAH, WE DON’T NEED NO STINKING BADGES!

Silence and perplexed looks abounded from all three.

ME:  Sorry, I got caught up in the moment.

Isn’t serving the public just delightful at times? And now, on with the show…

31)  Shave Rob Ford’s back.  Yes, he has cancer. But cancer patients don’t want special treatment (well, yes, they want special treatment from the medical profession, but not others), so I’m going to rag on Ford as I would anyone else that has behaved like a drunken, drugged-out buffoon for the last four years.

30)  Walk into a packed comic con full of nerds and announce “I FULLY SUPPORT BATFLECK!”

29)  Live with ten of those nerds in anyone of their mom’s basements for one calendar year.

 28)  Sit in a room with any Kardashian for sixty minutes – and not strangle them for the good of humanity and future generations.

27)  Mind-meld with David Lynch for a full minute.

26)  Tell my wife about my love life, pre-marriage.  Such as it was.

25)  Volunteer as a wrangler for William Shatner’s hairpiece.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the Shat as much any geek, but his hair is almost as great a tragedy as Donald Trump’s “natural disaster.

24)  Allow Wolverine to give me a prostate examination – with his bone claws.  I’ll say it for you… NERD!!!

23)  Eat haggis.  Admittedly, I don’t actually know exactly what that is, but it sounds icky.

22)  Drink a flask of anything that was brewed by rednecks.

21)  Make a buddy movie with Kevin “Mr. Wonderful” O’Leary.

20)  Live with the cast of Jersey Shore for six months.

19)  Give up bacon.  Many of you are screaming “NOOO!!!” at the top of your lungs right now. It’s okay… let it out.

18)  Allow myself to be stuffed and added to The Bloggess’ menagerie.

17)  Walk around Harlem with a “Honkys rule!” t-shirt.

16)  Give out my home address to everyone on Twitter.  Even those individuals who have people buried in their basements.

15)  Walk up to Vincent Pastore (“Big Pussy” of The Sopranos), and call him an actual pussy.

14)  Sit quietly and write this damn post.  Seriously, lists are hard, y’all.

13)  Give up my cart to a hockey family.  If you really know me, you’ll realize the impact of that statement.

12)  Dress up as Wonder Woman – period.  And yes, I realize that image has ruined all of you for life.

11)  Shoot myself in the foot with a wooden bullet.

10)  Undertake another post like this one.  Seriously, lists are hard, y’all.

9)  Work an entire shift in in my Superman boxer shorts.  We‘re already down the rabbit hole, anyway…

8)  Tell my wife I just started following Bree Olson on Twitter.

7)  Star a career as an adult film “actor”.  Let’s face it, most people assume “The Hook” is a reference to my junk anyway.

6)  Serve teachers.  Seriously, teachers are horrible guests. They make bad hockey parents look human.

5)  Walk up to a pack of hockey parents and announce, “Field hockey is the only real hockey worth following!”

4)  Take out several mortgages on my house to bankroll a series of action movies featuring myself and Ned Hickson.

3)  Borrow money from a guy named “Lenny the Loan Shark” to bankroll a series of action movies featuring myself and Ned Hickson.

2)  Live in a van down by the river.  I miss Farley…

1)  Hand my laptop over to my wife… without deleting the browser history.

All right, I’m knackered.

See you in the lobby, kids…

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Why I won’t — and can’t — be funny today

The Hook:

I feel like a hack beside this man. All kidding aside, you MUST read this.

Originally posted on Ned's Blog:

image I stand in the slightly cracked doorway of my son’s room, studying the sliver of his face illuminated by the dim light spilling in from the hallway. He’s 15, and just a year younger than the two teens who died earlier this morning. On the floor next to his bed is his cell phone, seemingly discarded, just below a dangling hand.

The one with the baseball scar on the knuckle.

It’s not until I notice the moisture glistening around his eyes, and see the tear edge hesitantly down his cheek, that I realize he’s only pretending to sleep

His phone buzzes and lights up momentarily as someone’s grief is expressed in a Tweet. I glimpse a screen that scrolls endlessly with disbelief. Outrage. Sadness and pain. Classmates, friends and family trying to comprehend the incomprehensible…

It began with my fire department pager buzzing and shrieking a little after 7 a.m…

View original 467 more words

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