“What’s So Great About Being A Bellboy?”

I may be the boldest bellman since Tim Roth in that ridiculously-awesome final scene of Four Rooms… but credit where it’s due: most of the time I’m merely reacting to the madness around me.

And that madness is brought to the hotel by travelers of all shapes, sizes, philosophical leanings and millions of other distinctions, kids.

Take the half-dressed, blonde-in-a-bottle, teenage girl (a mini-skirt and a barely-there top are fine for a Canadian winter… if you want to turn blue in minutes, that is) from California (where else?) who took issue with one of the answers I provided to one of her mother’s many questions.

Cougar Mom asked if I enjoyed my job. My answer was, well, typical of my rather unique mind, I suppose.

“Are you kidding? It may be frustrating as hell, and I have to sometimes launch into a rant in the service elevator… and my blog… but no two days are the same. I’ve met some incredibly-cool people and it’s allowed me to provide for my family and even buy some comics every once in awhile. What else could I ask for?”

Cougar Mom’s offspring wasn’t happy with that answer. At all.

“Seriously? You actually like having to carry people’s bags for money? I don’t get it! What’s so great about being a bellboy?”

Well since you asked – you little bitch – here we go:

 1)  It’s never boring – ever.  The phrase, “There’s never a dull moment” has never been more applicable. Sure there are many weekdays in the winter that contain so much mind-numbing boredom that a bellman will often consider other lines of work – and maybe even doing a line or two – but then Mistress Fate will step in and send another mini-adventure/blog post my way.

Where else could I find such a collection of motley characters? Stephen King may be the master of horror, but his characters are works of fiction, where mine are all-too real. And while some of them should be committed, I have to thank them for coming into my life and challenging me, forcing me to confront truths about myself and allowing me to be the best Hook I possibly can be.

2)  My co-workers are, well…  I used to work with a guy, a housekeeper who was a budding filmmaker. He made video rants/opinion pieces covering a wide variety of subjects; he chose locations like his bedroom, back yard and of course, empty rooms in the hotel.

Where he was shirtless.

And he discussed subjects such as pedophilia in a very… unique way, shall we say? (You had to see the videos.)

Yes, I’ve no doubt disturbed you, but hear me out: this guy is an extreme case but the fact remains, life behind-the-scenes at a hotel is filled with just as many kooky characters as it is unbelievable guests. Many of these people are actually decent, hard-working folks.

And some of them are just plain nuts.

By the way, the Vegan Housekeeper? Some of his videos have appeared on Tosh.O and Daniel Tosh even sent him to California to interview other vegans.

This is a good time to move on, right?

3)  I rub elbows – but nothing else – with celebrities.  O.J. Simpson. Air Supply. Detective William Murdoch himself, Yannick Bisson. Gaga before she was super-nova hot. Several of The Sopranos “crew” (actors, I mean). Wayne Gretzky. Pink (though no one was allowed to address her or breathe the same air). Gillian Anderson. Even DJ Jazzy Jeff (who was kind of a jerk). I’ve interacted with all of them, though I rarely write about it out of respect for their privacy and my need to remain gainfully employed.

Celebrities are just as wonderfully dysfunctional as the rest of us – more so in many cases – but we worship them like gods these days so people get all giddy when I mention them, hence their inclusion here.

4)  I get paid to carry luggage around a luxury hotel while encountering situations that are literally stranger-than-fiction.  What’s not to love?

5)  I fancy myself a writer.  And a writer needs something to write about or his creative juices back up. Trust me, you don’t want to see me when I’m backed up. It’s scary.

Loved that part, didn’t ya?

The point is, a writer/blogger/tweeter/hack couldn’t ask for a better collective muse than the thousands of individuals on both sides of the counter at a hotel in Niagara Falls. I’m a lucky bastard. Period.

Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m glad the little peroxide princess – and uber beyotch – went there. Told you there’s always something worth writing about, didn’t I?

See you in the lobby, kids…