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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No Fancy Titles, Just One Man’s Opinion.

So as you know, I use my infinitesimal slice of the interweb to take my revenge on stingy hotels guests and to rant and rave about my job and life in general. Sure, I’ll sometimes get sentimental or reflective, but for the most part, this is the place to go if you want to laugh at one man’s temporary misery.

But there’s another side to The Hook.

There has been something gnawing at me for years now. An event from my past that occasionally surfaces to momentarily distract me from my daily. Life. I ponder it. Weigh its importance and push it back down with the dark things that bubble and scream under the surface of my mind, such as it is. This has been the cycle for years and I was content to leave the status quo alone.

Then this happened.

Jian Ghomeshi: The story so far.

I’m sure there are many of you out there who aren’t familiar with this debacle, but those of you who are must share my concern for the debate this has sparked concerning workplace harassment and most disturbingly, the stigma attached to reporting a sexual assault.

By all indications, Ghomeshi’s behavior has been left unchecked for decades;  Media outlets and the authorities are continuing to investigate and are receiving allegations dating back more than 20 years, when Ghomeshi was a member of the band Moxy Früvous. 

What bothers me most is how easily a situation like this divides the sexes. I’ve read of and observed some furiously bitter engagements over the last week and it just all seems so… pointless.

Wee need to come together and eradicate the type of “Old Boys Club” that allows predators to stalk their prey under the surface of daily life. Since his firing, Ghomeshi had been dumped by crisis communications firm Navigator; publicity company Rock-It Promotions; his publisher; his agent; the musician Lights, whom he managed for 12 years; and the Polaris Music Prize jury. But what of his victims? How will their lives be impacted, not only by the trauma they’ve suffered but by the fallout and attention of this scandal that appears to have barely begun to gain steam?

And at last, my friends, we’ve reached the point of this little rant.

What I’m about to discuss isn’t a play for sympathy or attention. I don’t care about being Freshly Pressed or going viral. I’m not concerned with being retweeted a million times. I simply want to address Ghomeshi’s victims and the millions/billions (?) of other individuals out there who have been raped. And yes, I’m going to use the word “rape”. Not “sexual assault”. That term is clinical. Cold. Impersonal. That term was invented to make newscasters, prosecutors and others feel more comfortable discussing the most personal, horrible act that one can have forced upon them by another.

To anyone who has ever been raped, I have this to say.

You are not alone. Though on one level, no one can ever fully understand the exact nature of your specific violation, there are others out there who have been rendered helpless. Others who have been stripped of their humanity. Others who have been thrust into the dark, seemingly never to feel the light in their hearts again.

You are not worthless. You will be able to experience and give love again. The act of rape is inhuman and therefore should not impact your life as a fully-realized person of value in society – even though it certainly feels that way.

 You have a voice. It feels as though it has been silenced, but that is only true if you refuse to vocalize your pain, your anger and your shame. We live in an age where our voices can be head across the gulf in a matter of seconds. Your heart will break as you do so, but you must reach out. You must tell others what you have experienced, if only once, to one person. If you do not, then you will truly be lost.

You can live a full life. Horribly, there are countless acts of violence and degradation committed against individuals every second across the globe. This is a frightening statistic, yes, but it is also an empowering one. To me, it means that no one is truly without brothers and sisters who share their pain and are willing to band together – if they only willing to acknowledge each other.

My name is Robert Hookey. People call me The Hook. As a young boy, something unspeakable happened to me. But you know what?

It doesn’t really matter.

I have a spouse of twenty years who knows everything about me and doesn’t care. (Well, the nerdy stuff drives her around the bend, but the darkness is irrelevant.)

I’m not worthless. (Financially, I  certainly am, but not in every other way that matters. And yes, my humor may seem out of place, but we each have our own coping mechanisms, don’t we?)

I have a voice. Which as you know, I use quite regularly.

I have a full life. My past hasn’t impacted my ability to experience a fully-realized life, in and out of the bedroom. I have a great kid who has already exceeded her father’s accomplishments. My past has never forced me to contemplate suicide or crawl inside a bottle or needle. As I’ve said, it rises to the surface on occasion but I can live with that.

And so can you.

One last thing before I click the “publish” box - which is among the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, truth be told – my personal feelings may anger some who feel the world isn’t as cut and dry as I make it appear to be. I’m only one man with an opinion which I’m sharing in the hopes of helping others. I’m no expert. Take my words for what they’re worth and move on with your life.

That is all. Good day.

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In My World, Even A Quiet Day Is Far From Uneventful.

The hotel is deader than my writing career, but it’s never boring.

Meet Anthony. He’s one of our senior managers. Anthony is a great guy and as you’ve probably surmisd by now, he’s Italian. How Italian is he, you ask? He’s so Italian, he makes The Sopranos look like Frenchmen.

A:  (Everyone calls him “A”. Shut up.)  Hey, Hook, what’s up?

Thrilling so far, right.?

ME:  Just having lunch.

Can you handle the pace?

A:  What’s up with lunch?  You got a burger there?  Where’s that burger from?  That looks like a great burger there.  Where’s it from?

ME:  Which “Q” would you like me to provide an “A” for first, Anthony?

A:  What?

ME:  Never mind. I’m having a double burger from the King.

A:  The King?

ME:  Yeah, to us mangiacakes, that’s short for Burger King.

A:  You people are so weird!

ME:  You don’t know the half of it, buddy.

A:  So what are you having again?

ME:  A double burger.

IF you’re sensitive to cursing… STOP. READING. NOW.

A:  A DOUBLE BURGER? SERIOUSLY?

My apologies for the bold and all-caps. Nothing else would do his reaction justice.

ME:  Seriously. I wouldn’t lie to you. A double burger.

A:  FUCK OFF!  You’re lyin’, Hook! What are you eating?

ME:  (Laughing mildly.)  A double burger.

A:  FUCK OFF!!

ME:  I’m serious. It’s a double burger.

A:  FUCK OFF!!!

ME:  (Laughing hysterically now.)  If I choke to death in this backroom…

A:  Stop jerking me off! You’re not eating a burger with two freakin’ patties! That’d be crazy! What are you eating?

ME:  Seriously? (Exhaling.)  It’s a double bur-

A:  FUCK OFF!!!!

ME:  Fine. Have it your way. It’s a plain old, one-patty burger.

A:  Was that so hard, Hook?

ME:  Actually… yeah… it was. I’m knackered!

A:  You’ll be fine. Hey, why don’t you put this in your blog!

ME:  You think anyone will believe it?

A:  Sure! Just don’t make me look like a douchebag!

ME:  I promise I won’t deliberately make you look like a douchebag, Anthony.

See you in the lobby, kids. I’ll be the one eating the double burger. Seriously.

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For Ann. (And Everyone Else, I Guess.)

Halloween 2014 was a major blow-out, both personally (VampireLover informed me we received four trick-or-treaters this year) and professionally. (My gratuities were truly scary, kids.)

The Halloween from Hell fell on a Friday and Saturday was equally dismal at the hotel, so I wasn’t expecting much from this morning’s check-out crowd.

And they did not disappoint. Or rather, they did. But I was expecting that, so it’s okay, I guess. I mean, not really, but…

For those of you still with us, I’m going to move onto the entertaining portion of this post.

Some of my eagle-eyed followers (I’m speaking to you, Ann), will recall this tweet:

I just encountered the kitty in question and let me tell you, kiddies, she was definitely the cat who got the cream – and then some!

USED KITTY:  Pardon me, sweetie, but do you know what day it is? I’m pretty messed up!

ME:  No problem, miss, it’s Sunday. Lose a day, did you? And your clothes?

Yep, she was still in her ratty kitty cat costume. Her make-up was caked on her weathered face and her black hair looked like something an actual feline coughed up. She was a sight, for certain.

Tori Black as Catwoman (who else?) in Batman XXX

UK:  (In a giggly, whisperd voice.) Nah, I had this on when I checked in with my boyfriends! I haven’t left the room in two days!

ME:  Yeah, I can see your tail is a little worse for the wear.

UK:  (Reaching into her oversized purse and producing a crumpled tail.)  How did you know my tail was messed up?

ME:  That’s not the tail I was referring to, miss.

UK:  (After pondering my statement for a moment.)  Oh, you! You’re a sharp one, Mr. Bellguy!

ME:  Call me The Hook. Everyone else does.

UK:  You’re HILARIOUS, Hook! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to vomit.

ME:  No problem, go cough up a hairball and we’ll see each other later.

UK:  (After nearly doubling over with laughter.)  YOU’RE HILARIOUS!

And that’s all I have for today, kids. Happy Sunday, everyone.

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It’s The Morning After… Now Get The Hell Off My Lawn, Kids!

Sorry about that. The inner-old-man I channelled during the three months I spent stuck on the porch last summer escapes every so often…

Let’s continue, shall we?

The various decorated-by-each-department-pumpkins in the lobby are already rotting and attracting fruit flies.

The streets are being cleaned of vomit and feather boas and assorted costume leavings.

I stepped over the ood beer/alcohol bottle on my way to work.

Decorations are already hanging low on more than one home.

There was an unconscious Red Riding Hood in the lobby an hour ago who appeared to have been rode until she turned red. (Love the imagery? I’m a gifted mad genius.)

Incidentally, what’s the deal with Red Riding Hood anyway? She appears to be gaining momentum over French Maids, the “Sexy Ebola Containment Suit” (yep), Slutty Cop and even Naughty Librarian. Are men – and many women – really that attracted to the “lost little girl on her way to Grandma’s house” concept?

Scratch that… another Red just stumbled through the lobby, her hood barely clinging to her bustier, which is barely clinging to her petite, yet-defintely-ample chest. I think she lost her fight with her Big Bad Wolf – which actually means she won. The contents of her basket of “goodies are clearly visible; grandma would be shocked by the booze and the sheer size of Red’s “little still-buzzing friend.” Guess her… “eyes” (?) are bigger than her stomach. Or something like that?

 Never mind my pondering.

Happy Morning-after Halloween, kidddies…

 

Posted in Hotel Life | 20 Comments

Happy Halloween… You Maniacs.

Well, it’s that time of year again.

The walls between worlds have grown weak, allowing all manner of darkness – and dark things – to walk this dimension.

But you know what’s really scary to a bellman, kids? I’ve been here for hours and I’ve yet to do a single call.

The lobby is empty.

My pockets are bare.

They’re playing Justin Bieber in the lobby.

I really am in a custom-made Halloween hell…

See you in the lobby, friends… I hope.

Here’s a little seasonal TJ Lubrano to set the mood…

Hook FB Peek Quick Halloween TJL 2013

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