The Hook Faces An Old Enemy….

I’ll say it again: titles are hard. At any rate…

I recently found myself surrounded by dozens of scantily-clad (very much so!) young ladies sporting wild hairstyles and wearing make-up reminiscent of Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome.

A man my age would usually have to go to a “gentleman’s club” for such entertainment; all I had to do was don my uniform and sit at my desk. Unfortunately, the entertainment in question wasn’t actually entertaining at all, just the opposite, I’m afraid.

Much like the armies of Mordor descended upon Middle-earth (am I a geek or what?) my humble hotel was overwhelmed by a powerful force bent on crushing anyone who dared to stand in its way.

Hundreds of cheerleaders – and their dark masters known as “cheer moms” – were in town to face off against one another. Again. And God help anyone cursed enough to be in the line of fire.  That having been said, I’m sure most “cheer families” are decent, fun-loving folk.

I just haven’t been fortunate enough to have served those people.

THE SCENE: An already crowded elevator. The doors open and ten French cheerleaders embark. The decibel level reaches a point my hearing cannot process. Until they leave five floors later, I literally can’t make heads or tails of the conversation.

The little old lady and her husband beside me wait a moment and decide to sum up the situation by posing a question to The Hook.

LITTLE OLD LADY: Do you have a daughter, young man?

THE HOOK: Yes, just the one.

LOL: Is she a cheeleader?

THE HOOK: No, she’s a musician and writer.

LOL: Good! Beat her if she ever picks up a pom-pom! We’ve been watching them and these bitches are out of control!

You gotta love old folks; they can get away with murder. I still can’t believe I didn’t fall over laughing. In all fairness, though, the problem did not lie with the the hordes of fifteen-year-old cheerleaders at all – you can’t blame a scorpion for being a scorpion – but rather their creators.

The very next day I arrived at a room and found myself confronted by the angriest “cheer parents” I’ve ever encountered.

ANGRY MOM: We’re not ready. You can just leave the cart, right?

THE HOOK: I can return if you need some more time, miss.

Bear in mind, the mom in question had already been informed of our protocols when she called to arrange luggage pick-up. Nevertheless, she was quite put out by my answer. She was in the middle of a major eye-roll when her husband consoled her and took over. I assumed he would be the voice of reason.

I’m an idiot.

ANGRY DAD: Take a seat, buddy, (I was standing in a hallway) we’ll let you know when we’re ready to roll!

With that, he grabbed my cart and began to roll it into the room. I reached out and with one quick movement, grabbed hold of the cart, abruptly ending its movement. Angry Dad just looked at me and silently surrendered when I explained the dangers of rolling a bell cart into a room where it will no doubt collide with and damage furniture.

THE HOOK: Just let me know when you’re ready and I’ll bring out the bags.

Pretty clear instructions, correct? Apparently rage supersedes reason (who knew?) and so my new best friends carried their bags out one.. at.. a.. time, prolonging the process as much as possible.

Did I mention they let the door slam after each and every trip? Truly charming.

Eventually I made my way downstairs and met Angry Mom and her two quiet kids – I can only assume they had been scared straight – and spent five very tense minutes waiting for Angry Dad to pull  the “Angrymobile” around. All I had to do was get through the loading process and my ordeal would be over. Piece of cake for a seasoned veteran, right?

Yeah, right.

ANGRY DAD: This fucker forced me to back up!

This was Angry Dad’s proclamation after the doorman asked him to back his vehicle up; he was parked too close to a vehicle with a wheelchair ramp. I honestly don’t know if Angry Dad understood the circumstances, but he was certainly aware of the fact his two kids – not to mention the doorman in question – were standing right in front of him when he went off. Again.

Angry Mom started spewing curses and complaints as well, but she lowered the volume and urged her partner-in-crime to do the same. I simply stood by – at a safe distance, far from the blast zone – and waited until they were done. I then grabbed my cart and prepared to dash back to the relative safety of my cage/desk.

But Angry Mom had other plans for me.

“Thank you for your time.” she said through pursed lips. I can honestly say I’ve never received a tip from a guest who appeared to hate me with the white-hot intensity of a thousand suns. So at least the day contained a milestone as well as misery and shame.

To sum up, I bear no ill feelings towards cheerleaders; the underlying problem is a sport that forces young girls to impersonate hookers/strippers. As for their parents, most (roughly 80%) are normal and sane, just a little misunderstood. As for the 20% I recently dealt with, they not only gave the sport of cheerleading a black eye, they beat it, hogtied and violated it, and left it for dead by the side of the highway.

But at least they did it with plenty of spirit.

#4 WITH A BULLET!

That’s right, folks, the latest column is available for your viewing pleasure… Enjoy!

BEFORE WE PART WAYS YET AGAIN…

June 9. 2012 10 A.M – 7 P.M.
Scotiabank Convention Centre
Niagara Falls. Ontario. Canada

For full details, click here, fan boys and girls!

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