A bellman’s life isn’t always a tightrope walk over a pool of piranha. There are long stretches of inactivity that can try a man’s soul to its core. Seriously, the downtime will rot your brain faster than a back-to-back viewing of every televised appearance of the Kardashian and Robertson clans.
But that’s not to say things are always boring. Just take this conversation, one of millions I’ve taken part in while sitting at my desk during the madness that is the check-out period.
ROCKIN’ RONNIE: (Yes, we actually call him that. He’s a bass player from the days of ole time rock ‘n roll.) All these people and no one wants a bellman? What’s wrong with these douchebags?
ME: If I had to guess, and I do, I’d say they were douchebags, and douchebags are inherently cheap.
ROCKIN’ RONNIE: Yeah. Oh sorry, Hook! You wanted to stop using that word, didn’t you?
ME: Me not using the word douchebag or a variation thereof while serving the traveling public is like asking a cheetah to refrain from devouring a gazelle that drops dead right in front of it. It simply can’t be done.
At that moment, a young lady with body paint for pants slunk across the lobby as her weaselly “boyfriend” – whose name was most likely John – dragged ten bags behind her.
ME: (Slapping Ronnie on the arm as he recorded a room number on our log sheet.) Look at the legs on that swamper! They’re like two pieces of black licorice!
ROCKIN’ RONNIE: (Checking said swamper out) The lobby’s jammed and you spotted her? Don’t miss a trick, do you, Hook?
ME: It’s a gift.
Our colleague, Spoda (as in: “I didn’t know I was spoda tip you!”), who had been watching a trailer for the Johnny Knoxville flick Bad Grandpa as we yammered on beside him found himself so overwhelmed by the raw acting ability of the star (?), he began to convulse with laughter. Within a minute he was forced to flee to the back room as tears streamed down his face. His hasty exit caught the attention of one of our less progressive guests…
REDNECK OF THE YEAR: Why is there a crying black man running through the lobby?
ME: It’s his way, sir.
REDNECK OF THE YEAR: You gotta keep those boys on a short leash.
ME: We tried that, sir. He keeps gnawing through it.
REDNECK OF THE YEAR: Oh… well keep trying, boys.
ME: We’ll do our best, sir.
And that was just five minutes.
See you in the lobby, kids…