Hyperbole aside, March Break is an oxymoron that strikes terror into the hearts of hospitality workers like myself. I love my job, but on days like today I hate people.
Yes, I’m a complicated man. Accept it. I have.
The demands of my station prevent me from expanding upon this message, my friends. I will say this: I arrived at mt desk at 9 am – and the onslaught has merely slowed, not ceased as of this writing at 4;13 pm.
I have been spit upon, cursed at – I didn’t hear language like that on my honeymoon, never mind in the middle of a hotel lobby – screamed at in at least six distinct languages and generally abused for little reward. And it’s only Sunday.
Never mind Lamont Cranston’s alter-ego, The Hook knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men.
I’d love to spend more time with you, my friends, but I don’t even have the minutes to finish this