DISCLAIMER: This edition of You’ve Been Hooked! contains salty language.
To say the least.
I’ve substituted the traditional “F” word with “fire truck” – as per my daughter’s request – and I hope this is acceptable. If not, you can go read about the healing properties of bubble wrap or some other crap over at The Book of Awesome!
So our “idiot doorman” – it will make sense later – calls me out to a truck. They had requested a colleague of mine, but he was on a call, so they got The Hook. Lucky me.
This woolly mammoth of a man peels himself out of the front seat while the rest of his inbred clan slithered inside. He lumbers over to the back door, looks at me and proceeds to prove why people hate rednecks.
WOOLLY MAMMOTH: “You’re flying solo? Where’s what’s-his-name?”
THE HOOK: He’s on another call. I’ll do my best, sir.
WM: You sure?
THE HOOK: Absolutely! The doctor says my meds are designed to last all day!
WM: (Unmoved by my Canadian humor) That’s good!
So he begins to hand me bag after bag of actual luggage (I was impressed so far!) and then he just stopped…
He waved his wife over from the lobby and began to melt down – BIG TIME!
WM: How many fire truckin’ bags of food do we need?
He was quite upset by the large number of plastic Wal-Mart bags they had packed.
WOOLLY MAMMOTH’S WIFE: There are a lot of us!
WM: I don’t care! I’m fire truckin’ sick and tired of lugging all this food around! Look at all this! How’s it going to fit on the cart?
I would have interjected, but they wouldn’t have listened anyway.
WMW: I’ll take them!
WM: Fine! Here’s one!
He began to fire bags at her. And how!
WM: I got it!
WM: And another one…
WM: And another one…
WMW: Bring it on, baby!
And so it went for about six bags! I honestly thought the was going to clock her! Finally, they stopped; he lumbered back into the truck to park and the wife took off inside, leaving me to begin writing this post.
I had no time for that though; another guest was waiting for me at my desk…
CONFUSED GENTLEMAN: Your fire truckin’ doorman is an idiot!
THE HOOK: Okaaay…
CG: He had me park in the garage before I unloaded my bags! Now we have to walk all the way to the garage and back!
At that moment, this guest was speaking for every bellman I’ve ever worked with! Overall, he was pretty cool though. His complaints about the hotel echoed my own and he was a decent tipper, and I have to give credit where credit is due.
He was certainly better than this next gentleman….
An upscale African-American – who was actually as black as Bill Cosby – he had a clan of ten, with fourteen bags! He ignored me at first, choosing to go right inside and check-in without receiving a tag for his luggage, but check-in time is always hectic – even without a huge family – so I’m used to such behavior.
We eventually met up at the room… where he stiffed me. I could have sworn Bill Cosby had money, but oh well…
Turns out Fate had chosen my previous guests as harbingers of doom; there were agents of evil poised to descend on my little slice of Heaven…
Teachers were on their way.
I was “fortunate” enough to serve the first arrival and he had a few items for The Hook to slug around…
- Eight cases of beer.
- Four cases of pop; “soda” to my Yankee friends.
- Three cases of water.
- Three cases of wine. I never realized how much alcohol stimulates a teacher’s mind...
- Various coolers and clamatos.
- And no tip for The Hook!
And so it goes with teachers.
But as cruel as Fate appears to be at times, you can’t declare a day a total loss until the display on the electronic punch clock says “Thank you, Hook!”
Okay, the clock doesn’t actually say “Thank you, Hook!”, but I’m The Hook to all of you, so let’s just call this poetic license and leave it at that, all right?
At any rate, my day actually ended with Bill Cosby returning to my desk with a nice, crisp clean twenty-dollar bill… and a big smile. The smile was great.
But the $20 was much nicer.
ON A PERSONAL NOTE…
Scotiabank Convention Centre
Niagara Falls. Ontario. Canada
For full details, click here, fan boys and girls!