HOOK’S NOTE: Balance is vital to a happy existence, friends. And so after a year of struggling to adapt a format on this blog that will please everyone (especially Big Brother) I’ve decided to carry on a proud tradition carved out by the men in my family for generations…
I’m giving up.
I’ll write 5x5s. I’ll write about the barely-operational roller coaster that is my life. And I’ll even write hotel stories – on occasion.
So let’s lead off with a tale that unfolded a few years back…
The two young girls – giggling all the while – threw themselves at the guest elevator doors as they began their circuit-directed dance towards one another, barely squeezing their tightly-wrapped, nubile, twenty-something forms through in the nick of time.
They were Laverne & Shirley for a new age; a towering brunette in uber-naughty librarian glasses, a form-fitting Fifty Shades of Grey sweater that left nothing to the imagination (wasn’t that sweet of her?) and impossibly-tight leather pants and her bubble-headed BFF, a statuesque sun drenched blonde in a wet-t-shirt-ready white blouse that was woefully insufficient to withstand the chill in the lobby air (but I imagine she planned it that way), and a pair of faded blue jeans that one can only assume she literally grew into, that’s how snug they were.
CHERYL (THE NEW AGE LAVERNE): Boy, we just made it, Meg! OW!
The action, which had barely begun, came to an abrupt pause when Cheryl leaned back in the elevator – and smashed her head against the glass display case containing hotel advertising. To her credit, she collected her wits – such as they were- and carried on carrying on.
CHERYL (AGAIN): That entrance was as tight as you used to be, Meg!
MEG (THE NEW AGE SHIRLEY): CHERYL! You take that back, you whore!
CHERYL: No way, you slut! Remember, I’ve heard things… you dated my stepfather!
MEG: We really didn’t “date”.
CHERYL: No that’s right. You just let him go all Fifty Shades of Grey on you while he was separated from my mom.
MEG: It wasn’t that bad…
CHERYL: He used my mom’s scarves to blindfold you and tie you to saw horses in his garage.
MEG: Yeah, well, there was that.… but after that, we stayed at my place! And it was only four months. That doesn’t even count these days.
CHERYL: Fine. But it totally does. Anyway, you tramp, I saw your phone buzzing what did the boyfriend want?
MEG: He says he misses me and he wishes I came with.
They were fascinating to watch; buzzing back and forth towards one another in a metal box that wasn’t up to the task of containing their kinetic energy. They truly were a product of an age more concerned with instant gratification than long-term growth. These chicks had more Red Bull and Diet Coke in their system than hemoglobin. But enough commentary, back to the action!
This was one of those days you thank Dog you didn’t go to work high…
CHERYL: He went to Vegas. With his buddies. He doesn’t want the dirty chick he’s banging tagging along. He can pay a hooker up there to do almost everything you do, but without the drama.
MEG: HEY! He said he wishes I came with!
CHERYL: What’s he going to say? “I really love you but all my buddies are getting hookers and even though you do girls too, I hate to be left out so I really have to leave you with Cheryl in Niagara Falls while I do some nasty overpriced bitches here in Vegas, okay?”
MEG: (Head down while pouting.) He said he wishes I came with.
After a nanosecond of pondering, well, whatever girls like this ponder, Meg rewound her memory.
MEG: Hey, what do you mean ‘He can pay a hooker up there to do almost everything you do, but without the drama.?”
CHERYL: You gotta admit, you do things most hookers would charge extra for.
MEG: Like what?
CHERYL: Let’s see…
As Cheryl dredged her memory banks, Meg began to wise up – slightly.
Too late. The list, in all its naughty glory, began to verbally unfold.
CHERYL: French kissing… anywhere, anytime. Threesomes. X-rated cosplay. Bondage. Double penetration. Girl-girl…
MEG: That was with you!
CHERYL: So! It still counts! Where was I ? Oh yeah… Beer bottles in your hootchie. Butt plugs… in your butt AND the boyfriend’s… And… I guess that’s it.
That wasn’t enough?
MEG: How’d you find out about the butt plugs? I never told you that!
CHERYL: For some strange reason, Mark told Brett, who told me.
MEG: While you were blowing him under his desk?
MEG: While you were blowing him in the parking garage?
MEG: While you were blowing him on the pool table at my parents’ Christmas party last year?
CHERYL: NO! Your parents never found about that, did they?
MEG: No way! Well, I think my mom did.. but she didn’t say anything directly about it. I think it turned her on to watch!
CHERYL: (Giggling all the while.) That’s gross! (After another moment of pondering. I swear, you could actually hear the gears grinding in her addled, Kardashian-obsessed brain.) Well, actually, your mom is pretty hot for a cougar! Especially since she got her boobs done!
MEG: HEY! That’s my mummy you’re calling hot! But I guess you’re right! Is it strange I love her new boobs? I mean, I really LOVE ’em! But it’s not weird ’cause they’re not actually her boobs, right? They’re from a factory? (Finally, she paused to exhale slightly before exploring this bizarre topic further.) Hey, I wonder if they model the implants after any celebrities? My mummy could be walking around with Kim Kardashian’s boobs!
CHERYL: You’re a freak! But you’re probably right, your mom could be walking around with Kim Kardashian’s boobs!
I don’t know if it was the mention of the goddess Kardashian, the lack of fresh Red Bull in their systems or a sudden – and temporary – surge of reason, but it was at that moment that the ladies finally realized they weren’t actually moving. I mean, they were moving, like two caffeinated gerbils to be precise, but the elevator wasn’t.
And that, kids, is when things got truly chaotic.
The girls started freaking out, hitting the doors, the wall, they pretty much hit everything but the buttons you push to make the elevator move. And that’s when a voice rang out.
“Just push a button, ladies. Then we’ll start moving.”
CHERYL: Where did you come from?
ME: My mom, originally. Most recently? The Bell Desk.
MEG: You’ve been here the entire time?
ME: I’m afraid so. I’ve been standing here behind the luggage on my cart. You’ve both looked at me several times.
(I know what you’re thinking, but only an idiot would’ve interrupted the greatest elevator convo of all time.)
CHERYL: Well, yeah, but I didn’t even think about you being here! I mean… I knew you were here, but I didn’t think about you being here! You know what I mean, right?
MEG: I get it, Cheryl!
I blog corrected.
CHERYL: So which button do we push?
ME: That depends.
CHERYL: On what?
ME: On where you want to go, ladies.
MEG: (To her partner-in-crime.) Well duh! (To me.) Still can’t believe you’ve been here the whole time!
CHERYL: You said “hole”.
MEG: Shut up, slut! But seriously, Mr. Bellguy, what’s the deal? Are we that ignorant?
CHERYL: You are.
MEG: I said shut up, whore!
ME: The truth is, ladies, I was all set to go up on my own but you hopped in at the very last minute and the elevator sometimes resets itself when it shakes…
ME: Easy there! To be fair, ladies, it only shook a little. And after that, I just decided to let you go. To be frank, watching the two of you in action is soothing. Like watching goldfish. Who curse and talk about sex. A lot.
CHERYL: Well, we do curse a lot.
MEG: But you haven’t watched us in action! Not really! We’re something else in action! We –
CHERYL: That’s enough, Meg!
MEG: What did I say? He already knows our full sexual histories!
CHERYL: Yeah, right. We’ve barely scratched the surface! He hasn’t even heard about the time you made out with your cousin, Sally! For money! In front of a bunch of rednecks!
MEG: SHUT UP, WHORE! And she’s not really my cousin!
Of the three claims made in that statement, Meg was most concerned about the familial connection? These chicks were gold. Pure gold, Jerry!
CHERYL: But you did make out with her.
MEG: (Her head down.) A little…
CHERYL: A little?
MEG: (Her head and voice raised.) OKAY! A LOT! WE MADE OUT A LOT! ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?
ME: Not as happy as Sally was, I bet.
As one would expect, the girls froze for a moment before breaking into a fit of girlish giggling followed by raucous laughter. And as the laughter subsided, almost as if on cue, the elevator reached the girls’ destination. The doors opened and… nothing. The ladies stood still.
I’m damn smooth, aren’t I?
ME: Uh, ladies? Time for you to get off, I believe.
I know what you’re thinking and you’re right. I’m an idiot.
MEG: Time for us to get off? Why, Mr. Bellguy, we hardly know you!
CHERYL: That’s never stopped you before, skank! And his name isn’t “Mr. Bellguy”! It’s Robert.
ME: (Holding the doors open. As much as I wanted this disaster to continue to unfold, I had to maintain a professional decorum. To a point at least.) Actually, you can call me The Hook. Everyone else does.
MEG: “The Hook”? Is that ’cause your junk is curved?
Yep. I’m an idiot fr not seeing what Stevie Wonder could have detected.
MEG: Sorry! I’m sorry. Is that ’cause your penis is curved?
ME: I’m really going to have start rethinking my nickname…
CHERYL: Don’t do that, Hook! It rocks! My friend’s just a horny idiot!
MEG: Take that back! I’m not an idiot!
ME: As much as it pains me to say this, ladies, you need to be on your way. I have places to be –
MEG: And people to do?
CHERYL: That’s your bag, tramp!
ME: (Sighing while simultaneously chuckling.) Girls…
CHERYL: Fine. Looks like playtime’s over, Meg.
ME: Somehow I seriously doubt that, ladies.
MEG: Does this mean you’re going to come by our room later, Hook?
ME: (Without missing a beat.) As intriguing as that sounds, girls, I’ll have to decline your kind offer, I’m afraid.
CHERYL: But why, Hook? You know my friend’s a huge slut!
MEG: (Also without missing a beat.) I really am!
ME: I love my wife and…
MEG: She doesn’t have to know. We sure won’t tell her!
As I’ve already made abundantly clear, the most important aspect of my job is my ability to read people. With my outspoken attitude, I would never have survived a week in this rat race of a business without being able to gauge who was going to “get” me and who wasn’t. That having been stated, I was certain my response was going to fly with these not-so-broke-girls.
ME: As I was saying, ladies, I love my wife and most importantly… I love the fact my testicles are still attached to my body.
BOTH: (In a synchronous giggly tone.) YOU’RE HILARIOUS!
MEG: Give him some money before we get off, Cheryl!
ME: But I haven’t even helped you, girls.
MEG: Who cares? You’re HILARIOUS! And you bellguys need money, right? For porn, booze and Canadian weed?
I couldn’t argue with that logic. And that, my friends, is how I wound up with a kick-ass tale and a tip – all by standing still in an elevator. It really is true, the Universe will often provide all a man needs.
See you in the lobby and guest elevators, kids…