Well, the holidays are upon us, a time for sharing, caring and plenty of travel tales from yours truly.
Unfortunately, I’ve been distracted writing, editing and obsessing over Book Two, serving travelers to my fair city and oh yeah, being a dad and husband, to spend time tending to the blog.
Still, I’m willing to do what I can.
To that point…
My day at the hotel began like any other, dead quiet and still, much like Kris Jenner’s mindscape. Then I was called to a family suite that had been converted to a temporary howler monkey habitat. That’s when things got interesting.
I’ve been married for twenty years next year, kids. I’ve survived college in Etobicoke. I’ve dated girls that would turn a straight man screaming to the other team. I serve a traveling public that sometimes fears and hates me every day and I have done so for almost two decades. I’ve even read Ned Hickson’s book – and you should too.
But I’ve never seen a trio of literal wall-crawling, Red Bull-chugging, Cheeto-eating, screaming-until-their-voices-are-raw, lamp smashin’, bed leapin’, law breakin’, sanity- challenging, overpowered and under-medicated rugrats like the three I encountered this morning. Needless to say, I’ve had my share of close calls with crazed toddlers over the years and so it takes a lot to phase me.
But these little monsters phased me.
They were created in perfect succession; a year and a few inches separated each of them and yet, they were in perfect sync. The boy led the way and his two female siblings eagerly followed in his destructive footsteps. Of course, the parental units were blissfully ignorant to their spawn’s collective rampage. They always are though, aren’t they? Some parents spend fifteen seconds making babies… and a lifetime ignoring them afterwards.
But back to the toddler madness. I was in the room for a full two minutes before all Hell really broke loose. The boy gave me a very strange look, much like a cheetah eyeing a gazelle. And then…
“HEY, SIR! GOTCHA!”
He ran straight up to me… and sacked me.
Men, feel free to wince and cover your groin. Ladies, feel free to chuckle – but not for long. Personally, I’m taking a bit of pride in the fact the little monster had a big target…
As for the aftermath of the run-by sacking, let’s just say the little guy fit nicely in his father’s suitcase and leave it that, shall we? To say anymore would be to court death – or a at the very least, a visit to HR.
See you in the lobby, kids…