All right, I’m back.
At work, I mean. It feels strange to state, but life must go on. And so I’m back amongst the hookers, corporate drones, hardcore gamblers, sweet old ladies that smell like cheese and dead flowers, hockey families, nice people with no apparent issues, old men who long for the “good old days when everyone appeared to be normal for the good of society and America!”, Middle Eastern families with hearts of gold, Red Bull-addicted tweens, philanderers – amateur and serial – cougars of all shapes and sizes, big tippers, Irish lesbians, non-hockey families, wannabe Dance Moms, Canadian actors, giggly Asian teens, the odd American actor…
And Ned Hickson.
I’m back, but I’m not back. I’m not the man I was, but I’ve made my peace with the circumstances that have led me here. A wise man doesn’t resent his past, he treasures it, for each step leads us to the present. And beyond the present, my friends, lies the future.
And in the future, anything is possible.
As for the present, well, as it turns out, the hotel is immutable. The names and faces may change, but the story/song remains the same.
People are capable of anything, and observing them outside of their personal domain/habitat is a poor man’s adventure/entertainment.
First Call of the Day: I found myself waiting in the hallway as my guests worked out some morning stress with a healthy bout of “I’ve been a bad, bad, girl! Punish me!”
Oh, how I’ve missed the life of The Hook.
At any rate, there was no point in knocking when it was hilariously clear my guests weren’t in any position to answer the door (seeing as how they were too busy exploring other positions), and so I waited. Fortunately, from the sound of things, the end was in sight. Don’t feel pity for me, though; there was a young man who found himself locked out of a room down the hall who proved to be a terrific comic foil. Use this image to fill the gap in your minds…
And so I enlisted my new young friend in a mission, one that involved two whiter-than-Brooke-Shields seniors who were waiting for the guest elevators while disapprovingly staring at the little guy with all the warmth one would expect from a pair of diehard racists. “L’il Hook” approached the couple and asked:
“Yo, old cracker-as crackers! Where the white women at?”
Mere words cannot do their reaction justice, friends. As for my little buddy, his uncle showed up and claimed him soon after. He “had a helluva time making the white people wet themselves”, and my guests finished up soon after. Everyone won. Well, the ancient racists didn’t, but who cares about them, right?
In that brief moment, I was back – and it felt good.
For the first time in a month, I’ll see you in the lobby, kids…