Not Quite Silent Sunday: Summer’s Here!

Yes, summertime has arrived in Niagara Falls, people.

You know what that means, right?

If you don’t, allow me to illuminate you. For a bellman, summertime is “Go Time”, baby! The pace can be furious – sometimes right after you punch in – and it doesn’t let up until you head home, covered in sweat and wobbly from the knees down. And of course, there’s the mental cost of dealing with the busy season’s crop of travelers. Granted, I have a blog to help me vent but I still have to let loose in the service areas and elevators.

I literally cannot imagine what I’d do without my friends in the blogosphere. You listen read my bitchfests posts faithfully and allow me to relieve the pressures of the job without having to bother the wife or visit a website whose name ends in “tube”. 

You rock, folks.

And that’s why I know you’ll understand when I tell you that the summertime pace means you’ll be seeing a little less of me over the course of the next few months.

Admit it, some of you are cheering right now, aren’t you?

Oh, I’ll be around. I’ll blog whenever time allows and I still have a post or two scheduled. But overall, The Hook will be too busy paying the bills to be online as much as usual.

I know, I know, you’re crushed, but you’ll survive. Like I told the wife on our honeymoon, “It may not be easy, you may not care for it, but we can get through this, trust me.”

See you in the lobby, kids… just not as much.

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The Hook’s Purge: Things I Hate.

Hate shared is hate no more.

Or something like that.

Today, kids, I’m going to cut loose – not that I don’t do that anyway – and regale you with a list of all some of the things that drive me around the bend. I’m doing this for several reasons.

  1.  It feels good to share.
  2.  Purging negativity publicly has actually made me a better person in real life (especially at work) , and it feels equally healthy to do so virtually.
  3.  Lists are great when a blogger is as blocked as a fat kid after he leaves  an all-you-can-eat cheese buffet.

Uh, I’d really appreciate it if you could ignore that last one…

So here we go. A list of thing I hate. By Robert Hookey. Also known as The Hook. (Told you I was blocked.)

1)  Guests who check in with dogs whose leashes are so tight the pooch looks like a Smurf puppy.  I know you want to keep them close by, people, but no one likes a dead doggie.

2)  People who use words like “strategical”.  The English language has taken a beating in recent years and these individuals are not helping.

3)  Social media trolls.  When it comes to Twitter, I’ve been blocked more than a dirt road during flood season – but only by morons. I’m referring to virtual presences who hate for the sake of hating. They can ruin your day and in some cases, your entire life.

4)  Terrorists.  I hate those guys.

5)  Travelers who don’t know what to call a luggage cart.  Rollie Thingies. Portermobiles. Monkey Bars. (Yep.) Wagons. I get it, folks; you don’t get out much. There’s nothing wrong with that, but surely you’ve seen a film or a TV show that feature a hotel. Or maybe you’ve had a conversation with someone that is slightly more intelligent than you. Which, I’m assuming is pretty much everyone. Either way… come on!

6)  Abusive spouses.  I once met a guest who actually bit his girlfriend’s nose while they were at the Concierge Desk. Sadly (not so much) his car was mysteriously keyed, the words, “Wife Beater” carved into it, at a local restaurant he visited minutes after checking out. Such a shame… but not really.

7)  Guests who have no idea where their room is.  They’ve come from around the globe but they don’t have the sense to ask directions to their room? Then they expect me to help them out when they can’t even give me the name the reservation was booked under? #NotKreskin

8)  Male travelers who call me “Boss”.  I’m not even the boss at home, never mind the hotel.

9)  Cougars who assume my manhood is curved because my name is “The Hook”.  Yes, there have been male guests who’ve made this assumption as well, but it’s somehow creepier when cougars do it while sliding in closer to me in the lobby, the room or worse, a crowded elevator.

Which brings me to my next point…

10)  Cougars who feel me up and assume my rigid rubber doorstop is my… you know.  I’ll admit, it’s hilarious – but not when it’s actually happening to me.

11)  Cougars who feel me up.  Period. I’m as red-blooded and willing to go the extra mile for a gratuity as the next bellman, but I’m also married, so please, ladies, don’t squeeze the Charmin so aggressively.

12)  Steve.  If you knew Steve, you’d understand.

All right, I think that’s enough, don’t you? Too much purging can leave a guy feeling hollow. Besides, I don’t want to spew too much Haterade. Don’t worry, be happy, right?

anigif_enhanced-22444-1424380215-18Apparently Kristen doesn’t care for Haterade either…

See you in the lobby, kids…

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Typical Stats From One Of My Atypical Days…

The work can be tedious at times, but the life of a bellman is anything but boring.

Well, actually, it can be boring – but never for long. The truth is, my days fall into patterns of long stretches of inactivity that are broken up by:

  • Check-outs. (I start in the mornings so my days seem topsy-turvy.)
  • Check-ins.
  • Guest deliveries.
  • Internal deliveries.
  • Being a flying monkey for conference guests.
  • Internal BS. (SO much internal BS.)
  • Snacking.
  • Lunch breaks. (Bellmen are like Hobbits; we have several meal breaks.)

Let’s look at a few stats from a regular day that is truthfully, anything but.

One Shih Tzu that has to be woken up (followed by a symphony of growls), lifted off my bed – which is no longer my bed – and carried downstairs so she can do her morning business.

One teenager that is even more difficult to wake. It literally takes thirty minutes to get her up and even then, she looks like a well-put-together-super-smart-but-still-zombified-teen.

One wife that is an absolute joy to wake up in the morning. (To be clear, the wife reads my blog on occasion. Enough said?)

One ten-minute walk to work with lovely scenery like dead squirrels, stray cats, bleary-eyed fellow workers and the roar of the Falls to awaken my senses.

One rundown from the Midnight Bellman on the previous evening’s shenanigans. Such as…

  • Who got locked out of their room while naked.
  • The latest hooker hi-jinks.
  • Who got locked out of someone else’s room while naked.
  • How many noise complaints broke the silence of a mostly-slumbering guest population.
  • The latest inter-departmental hook-ups throughout the hotel in offices, vacant rooms, service areas, bathrooms, the darkened pool area and pretty much anywhere two people can copulate. (You’d be surprised just how many areas fit that bill.)

Two pieces of toast in the “Staff Caff” before the day truly begins to burn. (Yes, I really know how to live.)

At least one bus tour, encompassing at least forty bags, forty-odd guests (emphasis on “odd”), one exhausted driver and on more than one occasion, one nuttier-than-squirrel-poop-guide.

Take last Wednesday for example.

Five buses of Japanese travelers departing at six-thirty in the morning.

Sixty-one rooms.

Ten Japanese tour guides – who were actually nice as Japanese pie.

One African-American tour guide who was a dead-ringer for Drake. Seriously. (How he ever hooked up with a Japanese tour group I’ll never know.)

Three hundred pieces of luggage, which all had to be sorted so guests could identify them and take them to the appropriate bus – which amounted to a potential nightmare.

Five hundred bottles of water. (Apparently the Japanese fear dehydration more than Godzilla.)

Five cases of chips.

Six cases of mini-chocolate bars.

Luckily, the entire operation went smooth as silk.

I know, I was surprised as you no doubt are.

Freundschaftspins-Kanada-Japan

To be clear, though, the front of the hotel looked like the Fall of Saigon as each bus arrived.

There were cabs and police cruisers to move (I’ll explain soon) and clueless tourists to save.

Yes, tourists often walk onto the street instead of crossing at designated points. This can be fatal when buses and other vehicles are pulling in and out of traffic at a breakneck pace.

As for the police cruisers…

Imagine a lobby filled with piles of luggage similar to this but with several more piles and hundreds of Japanese travelers.

cropped-photo.jpg

 

Now imagine a small army of EMS personnel, police officers, and fire fighters cutting though the middle of the chaos with a gurney as one of them works furiously to revive a woman that had been claimed by a heart attack. 

As life thrived all around her, a sixty-nine-year-old woman slipped away.

As is sometimes the case, none of the tour guides took notice of the rolling scene. The woman was loaded into the ambulance. The fire fighters left and the officers left their cruisers parked outside – and caused a major traffic snarl when the buses arrived – and began their investigation.

By the afternoon, the hotel had settled back to normal.

And then the lobby began to flood.

tumblr_m3vz48zrVQ1rp1dmlo1_500

Like the Titanic.

After thirty-minutes of hair-drenching chaos, the water was turned off and the clean-up began. In time, another crisis had passed.

Life at the hotel continued as ever.

Another extraordinary day in Niagara Falls that really wasn’t that extraordinary at all. Not in my world.

See you in the lobby, kids…

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Human vs. Machine…

As a bellman I handle a lot of sex toys.

Fortunately, they’re in suitcases, boxes or bags. Usually. Recently, I made contact with (I have to admit, I had to resist the urge to use the phrase “hooked up”) with a few individuals on Twitter (Bunny and Karen) who are advocates of self-pleasuring devices like the Sybian. These enlightened souls have inspired me to take a closer look at the coital devices I see so often and their impact on the male psyche. 

Actually, I don’t think sex toys should be seen as a threat by any member of the human race who is willing to put in the effort to please their partner. Still, the following list is worth exploring for entertainment value alone. Hopefully you see it that way too…

We’ll use the Sybian as an example. Here are what I see as Pros for a device like the “Big S”.

 1)  The Sybian will never forget a birthday, an anniversary or any special occasion. For that matter, it will never stand you up. Talk about the ultimate attentive partner.

Sasha-Grey-Goes-From-Sad-To-Cute-Laughing_408x408Why so glum, Sasha Grey? Oh yeah, your lover let you down.

2)  A device doesn’t fall asleep right after it orgasms.

And to that point…

3)  A machine doesn’t orgasm… so there’s no clean up. I know that’s the ultimate bonus for many ladies. I won’t get into the icky details but let’s face facts, sex is a messy endeavor; if you can achieve the “YEEESSS!! without the “EEEWWW!!!”, you’re golden.

4)  The Sybian never snores after sex.

5)  Technology gets right the point without all the sometimes-clumsy foreplay.

6)  You never have to worry about bad breath with the Sybian.

7)  Once the a device finds your sweet spot (or to be exact, once you help it find your sweet spot), it never forgets it. Ever.

8)  Until science really gets going, devices can’t slap you in the ass and call you, “Sweet Cheeks!” (However, if you like that sort of thing, please disregard.)

9)  The Sybian won’t divulge all your sexy secrets to its buddies on social media or in person at the local watering hole.

10)  The Sybian is the best listener you’ve ever had coitus with.

11)  Technology can never piss you off so much you don’t want to sleep with it anymore – unless it breaks down, of course.

12)  The Sybian will never cheat on you with that girl from work that you hate with the intensity of a thousand white-hot suns.

13)  You can cheat on the Sybian without feeling guilty. For example, if you want to try a Sybian of a different color, who cares?

14)  Technology is virtually impervious to the aging process. You can’t say that about your current lover, can you?

15)  The Sybian doesn’t need to take a break during lovemaking.

16)  The Sybian is always in the mood.

17)  A machine’s CPU will never wander during sex.

18)  The Sybian will never disagree with your choice of “sexy soundtrack” to accompany your session. Play all the Janet Jackson you want, baby!

19)  Devices like the Sybian allow you to set the pace. You want to slow down or speed up? No problem!

20)  The Sybian will never stop loving you. Literally.

I’m not sure there’s much of a point now, but let’s look at the human machine, shall we?

1)  A human may very well forget those special days – but at least they can make it up to you. A sex toy can’t buy you flowers or take you out for a nice meal and dancing.

2)  A human can learn to not fall asleep after sex if you hit them enough times.

3)  People can learn to be thoughtful enough to clean up after icky-sticky sex. (Violence really can save a relationship if applied properly.)

4)  Foreplay – if administered expertly – rocks.

5)  Pre-coital breath mints can work wonders.

6)  It may take some patience, but your lover can learn to navigate their way to your sweet spot if they’re willing to be a little selfless.

7)  I slapped the wife in the butt once. It did not go over well. People – even males – can learn from their mistakes.

8)  The aging process isn’t so bad. I’m actually a far better lover now than I was as a teen. It helps to have a real person to practice with…

9)  Breaks during lovemaking can actually enhance the experience. Dehydration is the enemy, my friends.

10)  I don’t care what’s playing in the background; I’ll fool around to whale song as long as I get to fool around! Yeah, I’m a guy through and through. What of it?

11)  Being pissed off at your partner isn’t the worst thing in the world. Angry sex can be pretty damn awesome. Period.

12)  Again, people can change. They can become more attentive, respectful of privacy, they can love deeper and they can embrace decency. They can evolve. They can learn to focus, even while wheezing and groaning like an animal. They can learn to be the best lovers they can – if they truly love their partner.

Technology is wonderful. (It’s brought us together, right?) But in the end, it’s the human touch that brings the greatest satisfaction. Not that devices like the Sybian aren’t great for those moments when the human touch isn’t available. In fact, there are many individuals out there who are living more fulfilling, richer lives because of technological advancements like the Sybian.

So let’s hear for tech.

See you in the lobby, friends…

GIF-Dancing-dance-excited-firework-happy-joy-Katy-Perry-GIFKaty loves tech! Do you?

 

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5×5 With The Hook: Shantelle Bisson.

Shantelle Bisson is a rare bird.

Chantal-Craig

She is a genuinely-decent soul who was willing to make time to answer five quirky questions from a hack like me. She has an exceptionally-chipper, ridiculously-kind social media presence. By all accounts she’s one of the best moms in the Multiverse. (Her three daughters are as stunning and decent as their progenitor.) And in general, she’s just a nice person. Think about it; how many people can you say that about and really mean it?

I know what you’re thinking, and yes, I do love her but no, I can’t marry her. This guy already did…

Yannick-Bisson-from-bio

To be clear, she married the male not the yam…

But today isn’t about her mammal spouse. (Apparently he plays some turn-of-the-century detective on a CBC show I have a passing familiarity with.) It isn’t about her progeny. (Though credit where it’s due; all her daughters are exceptional human beings.) Today we celebrate the gift from the Heavens – or one of Heaven’s subsidiaries – that is Shantelle Bisson.

Sure, it’s too much, but it’s my blog so shut up. There are literally a million things I could say about today’s victim guest, but many of them would result in the following consequences:

  •  I’d get thrashed by a turn-of-the-century detective.
  •  I’d get thrashed by my wife.
  •  I’d get thrashed by Shantelle for embarrassing her.

So since I bruise easily, we’re going to merely cover the basics, though truthfully, nothing about Shantelle is basic. She is the original enigma wrapped in a riddle, placed in a box with a question mark on it, encased in a block of query cement and dropped to the bottom of Inquiry Lake. And yes, they have query cement. Let’s move on, shall we?

You’ll find her listed as Chantal Craig on various websites, but she mostly goes by Shantelle, which is actually her given name. She used Chantal while acting (yes, there’s literally nothing this woman isn’t capable of), because “everybody spelled it like that all the time anyway, and it just made my life simpler.” She responds to both monikers, though.

Born on an island inhabited solely by Amazons, she fought hard to win the mantle of champion and left paradise behind to battle tyranny in Man’s World.

Wait, that’s Wonder Woman. What the hell do I know about Shantelle?

She has a great sense of humor (something I admire deeply) and in her own words,

 I don’t offend easily, unless, you know, fans send me their favorite photos of my husband in various stages of undress, or their fave videos of him making out with women who aren’t me…and if people go after my kids.  Then you get a side of me you don’t want… ha…ha…ha…

Unlike many folk who have reached a certain level of financial success, Shantelle believes in giving back to the world. From her bio:

Shantelle also gives back to her community; she chaired her first solo endeavour supporting Sheena’s Place in March 2012.  Co-chaired the Purple Party for Childhood Cancer Canada in November 2013 and November 2014.  She supports Camp Ooch through fundraising and visiting with the kids at camp in the summer.  She also sits on the Silent/Live Auction board for Bridgepoint Hospital, and was the M.C for their 2014 annual Gala, Fandango.

What else? Oh yeah… she’s a gifted scribe whose first major project is a little tale of a woman on a journey of self-discovery, entitled, Black Picket Fence.

50a967cc31e3dad6174ca50f9452b17cI’ll say this… the chick can write.

To be honest, we’ve only scratched the surface. I’m man enough to admit it’s going to take a more capable scribe than myself to do justice to Shantelle, so let’s get to her As to my Qs, all right?

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ONE)  As a good Canadian girl, what’s your favorite Canuck delicacy?  

This is real easy!!  A real good poutine!!

201473-poutine

HOOK’S NOTE:  I was certain she was going to go with “grilled Ontario moose”.  I’m an idiot.

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TWO)  It’s a well-established fact that you love you some rock ‘n roll; name a song that always evokes a strong reaction (memory, urge to rock out wherever you are, etc.) from you.  

Not fair!!  I have soooooo many that make me react in this fashion… but number one has to be Billy Idol’s “Rebel Yell”, followed real close by “Pour Some Sugar On Me” by Def Leppard and that’s followed really, really closely by “Her I Go Again” by Whitesnake!

See, told you I couldn’t pick just one…

 break

THREE)  I try to ask my victims, I mean subjects, the questions people really want the answer to; have you ever killed a man? And if so, where did you hide the body?

Thank you for asking me this question. The answer is of course no, but so often while on a road trip or hiking in really remote areas I always mention my fascination with why people (of the murdering variety) get caught to Yannick. There are so many really good places to hide a body, like an abundance of them.

Like right now, as I type this I’m watching miles and miles of the Mojave Desert range slip past my window and I’m thinking,

“Drive in there 15, 20 miles, leave a body and it will be dust before anybody even thinks to check there!”

Now I bet you didn’t expect such an in-depth answer, did you?😉

No, but now we all now to never, ever, ever piss you off, Shantelle.

Ever.

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FOUR)  Writing is a wonderful outlet, but the publishing game can be a nightmare! Why have you entered this arena voluntarily? 

Because I am mentally unsound.

You read it here first, folks.

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FIVE)  What was your worst hotel experience? (As a bellman, I’m fascinated by travelers and their travels.)

Oh!  Once I listened to a friend who suggested we book our family trip for our eldest daughter’s 21st online. We found such a charming boutique hotel on the Left Bank; three rooms, breakfast included, great rate. When we arrived we discovered it was sandwiched in-between two shops. The “Check-in Desk” was literally built into the wall and folded up and down to allow the clerk in and out.

Breakfast was was held in “the Lower Level”, fancy name for a musty basement. The elevator would fit one person at a time.  

When we arrived to our “suites with courtyard views” as described in great detail and with photos on their site, at the end of the narrow, dim hallway where our three rooms were, we were instead greeted by a flashing lightbulb. It was très creepy. In fact, our eldest said,

“Doesn’t seem like we’re going to make it out of here alive…” 

We figured we were just being snobs, so we pressed on, unlocking the “Master Suite” is when it became obvious that this place wasn’t for us, never mind the “price break and the free breakfast”!

The headboard was resting against the mattress rather than the wall.

The “courtyard view” was in fact staring into dumpsters that serviced all the stores and hotel.

We left our luggage in that room and even though we had flown all night we walked Paris for the better part of four hours looking for another hotel that could accommodate a family of five.

On Valentines Day. 

Thank God Yannick’s first language is French, otherwise we might have had to take our lives in our hands by staying at the little non-hotel hotel!

4054775_inside-purple-party-2013-29-photos-of-purple-_14ace515_mTold you Shantelle does good work – with a little help from Yannick, of course.

And on that fun – and a little scary – note, we’re done, friends. Many thanks to today’s guest, the lovely and thick-skinned, Shantelle Bisson.

See you in the lobby…

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A Little Hump Day Humor From Your Pal, The Hook.

Sometimes all I get are the briefest of glimpses into the lives behind the hotel room doors.

But sometimes a glimpse is all I need.

Hotels, like every ordered system, have their own hierarchy. With the exception of management, Front Desk Clerks sit at the top; they send out directives to Housekeeping, Concierges, and of course, Bellmen. For the most part, though, I don’t receive many orders from the Front Desk, which is good.

I don’t respond well to orders unless they’re phrased properly.

At our particular slice of hospitality heaven there are individuals known as Journey Ambassadors who make deliveries to guests while touring the property to ensure travelers have everything they need. (Boring stuff, I know, but trust me there’s a point in all our futures.)

There are times, however, when the JAs (like the lingo?), are otherwise indisposed and so it falls to the Bellman to pick up the slack. In short, the bellman is everyone’s bitch. But I’ve learned to live with it. Now, me being me, I tend to respond to instances like this in a calm, professional manner.

“What the hell do you mean I have to deliver breakfast vouchers to a room?  Our guests are usually too drunk to wake up before noon anyway!  Where the hell’s the Dogforesaken JA?”

And then I usually find something that won’t shatter to toss across the Luggage Room. Or I threaten to Russell Crowe a Front Desk Clerk with a phone. And yes, I really am a joy to work with.

Actually, people love it when I lose it. Although to be honest, I’ve lost my edge since my father-in-law passed before my eyes. Death will do that a guy, I guess. But as regular readers know, under the right circumstances, I’m still willing to say just about anything to anyone at any time.

In other words, I’m a hotel manager’s biggest conundrum: an award-winning employee with the most selective filter in the hospitality game. And so when I arrived at Room 4051, breakfast vouchers in hand, a potentially-volatile situation could’ve erupted, especially when you hear about the situation in question.

I recognized the occupant of Room 4051 instantly; a regular guest from Texas, he was a ginger mountain of a man who had a penchant for three things that he coveted above all others:

Food of the highest quality.

Drink, in great quantities.

Women, of high quality and apparently, in great quantity.

Yes, it seems my Texan friend was feeling especially randy on this particular afternoon. How randy, you ask? Well…

He ordered himself five hookers.

Two Asians. One was tall (for an Asian). One wasn’t.

One Beyoncé clone.

One vanilla princess in the “Olivia Newton-John as Sandy” style.

And a single Persian beauty.

rs_560x415-150619111902-1024-spice-girls-lbd_copyJust imagine a less classy version of this motley crew…

Now, you’re probably wondering just why this guy would want his breakfast vouchers delivered right before he was about to begin a session of his own personal United Nations, right? Me too.

ME:  Sir, I have to ask… just why would you want your vouchers delivered right before you begin your own personal session of the United Nations?

Told ya.

RANDY TEXAN:  What can I say, buddy?  I don’t want to be interrupted during…

ME:  Your “United Orgasms of Benetton” marathon?

That little gem left him speechless (though, to my credit, he was still smiling), so I took my leave of his soon-to-be-forever-contaminated suite and headed out. 

Happy Hump Day, everyone.

See you in the lobby…

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Told You We’d Be Revisiting This Topic Soon…

There have been many disturbing travel trends in Niagara of late.

  • More toothless hookers than I’m comfortable writing about.
  • An upswing in the number of drunken moms on Sunday morning.
  • More cheap people in one city at one time than the laws of nature should allow.

And finally…

People that call for their luggage to be delivered…. then begin having sex, even though they know I’m going to be arriving at their room before they finish. Well, at least I assume they know they won’t have time to finish before I show up. Then again, some people can start and finish a coital encounter in a single elevator ride, so…

At any rate, it’s sad to say but after almost twenty years in the hospitality biz, I’ve gotten used to hearing guests have sex through a thin wooden door. To be clear, the guests aren’t actually having sex through the door… but I can hear them through the door… forget it.

All this wonderful prose was intended to get us to the moment I arrived at Room 2708 at six in the evening on an otherwise uneventful Wednesday night. Despite the unmistakable soundtrack of grunts and groans, I knocked. (I didn’t have time to wait while these folks finished building the Beast With Two Backs. Plus, I’m kind of a jerk that way.)

And so I knocked again.

And I knocked again.

Eventually, my head hurt too much to continue, so I went to the hallway courtesy phone and called the room.

No answer.

I began to walk away when the door opened. There he stood: a twenty-something, remarkably-toned Bruno Mars wannabe with a grin that would have made the Cheshire Cat green with envy. He was sweaty and gasping for air (naturally). Am I leaving anything out?

Oh yeah… He was pitching a tent.

And no, he wasn’t camping. To be uncomfortably clear, he was clearly (he was asking a lot of the fabric of his track suit ) having sex even though he knew fully well that I was going to be knocking on the door – especially after he had called the Front Desk to order his bags.

MMgZUmpBut for some inexplicable reason he began to have sex anyway. And so there we stood: Me, the hapless bellman who had to decide which path to follow in terms of dealing with Him, the very over-excited guest. Since we’re talking about me, I’m sure you know which path I chose, right?

HIM:  Hey, Boss! How you doin’?

ME:  Clearly not as well as you, sir! Where would you like the bags?

What happened next came as no surprise to me. The gentleman wouldn’t let me set foot in the room (i.e. the Den of Sin), preferring to take the bags from me at the doorway. I’ll readily admit, I handed over those bags like Barry Allen on Red Bull; I sure didn’t want to linger in that room any longer than necessary. Finally, all that remained was a garment bag.

HIM:  I’ll take that, Boss! (Looking around the room.) But where can I hang it?

Yes, he actually said that.

You just know I wasn’t going to let that one pass me by, right?

ME:  Well, the closet’s around the corner, sir, but if you’re in a pinch (nodding down towards his… you know), I’m sure you could figure something out…

He looked down.

He paused while looking at his still-protruding “L’il Guest”.

He turned beet red.

HIM:  Uh, yeah… sorry about that, Boss! We were..

ME:  You clearly were, sir.

At that point, his raven-haired “girlfriend” emerged from the back of the room. Not that it really impacts our tale, but she was one of the most obvious hookers I’ve ever seen- and she was barely dressed, but unmistakably dressed for sex. To be honest, though, I didn’t give her a long look. (I swear! Not that it didn’t take a lot of willpower.) Besides, after everything I’d been though, I didn’t care about a mostly-naked chick; I had to get going.

And clearly, so did he.

82aee9a298c5df271cba89855c52b098ME:  Well, if you won’t be requiring anything further, I’ll take my leave of you, folks…

HER:  Oh, you sound so classy! Doesn’t he sound classy, honey?

HIM:  Uh…

To be fair, the blood had rushed far, far from his brain. Hopefully, that explains why he began to move veryclose to me in order to hand me a tip – and make a final request.

HIM:  You won’t tell anyone about this, right, Boss?

ME:  (Moving far, far away while remaining completely deadpanned.)  I have a blog, sir. But I keep the details murky to protect the guilty.

HIM:  (After a nanosecond of pondering.)  Oh! That’s okay then!

I love humanity.

See you in the lobby, folks…

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