I miss all the good stuff – I truly do.
VampireLover and I were roused from our sleep in the middle of the night by the warning buzz of my father-in-law’s oxygen machine; the power had been disrupted briefly by an ice storm set upon Southern Ontario by a vengeful Mother Nature. (Let me tell you, folks, judging by the devastation I passed on my way to work this morning, this chick was pissed at someone.)
And so after I stumbled about in a zombie-like daze while the wife set my father-in-law up with a spare tank until the power was restored (Which, coincidentally, happened right after we got back to bed. Thanks Mistress Fate; you chicks obviously stick together.), we went back to sleep – for an hour. I then rose again and headed off to work. It should be noted that I was slightly behind schedule.
And in this instance, timing is everything.
“You just missed it, Hook!”
There are certain phrases that strike fear into my heart, friends. Phrases like:
- “My husband has all the tip money.”
- “We have a timing issue.”
- “This week’s comics have been delayed.”
- “Daddy, this is my boyfriend… Snake.” (Okay, that one hasn’t happened yet, but who knows, right?)
- “You just missed it, Hook!”
And what did I miss, you ask?
Well, since you’re such nice folks, I’ll tell you.
It seems two young brunettes, of Irish descent, no less (accents are cool, especially in certain circumstances), approached the Valet Desk this morning and requested their vehicle. They were told they would have to wait, but since they had beaten the Sunday morning check-out rush, they’d be on their way in no time. “No problem!” they said.
They then proceeded to make the most of their time.
By making out.
Right in front of the Valet Desk – which is across from the Bell Desk – and the attendant.
And they did it five minutes before I arrived at my desk.
Apparently they really went to town too. In the words of one of my colleagues: “They were leaning against the desk as they devoured each others tongues as if to say ‘You can’t have this!’, boys!'”
After leaving for coffee, one of the young ladies approached our desk a few minutes later, when I was present, of course, and requested her keys.
“You couldn’t wait five minutes?” I asked, as she stared at me, wearing a puzzled look across her young Irish face.
Five minutes. That’s all that separated me, the guy with the blog, from witnessing what was apparently quite the spectacle.
Oh well, one thing about the bellman biz remains immutable.
There’s always tomorrow.