(Yes, I realize it’s Friday. Shut up.)
“Why Sunday? What makes that day so special, Hook”, you ask?
Well, as I write this, it is my first day back since the Staycation from Hell. “What made it the Staycation from Hell, Hook?” Boy, you’re awfully inquisitive today. Here we go, though…
Why My Staycation Was Obviously Designed By Satan.
I scheduled a tooth extraction for two days before my time off was to begin.
Said tooth extraction took THIRTY MINUTES of my life. I’ve had a tooth pulled before so believe me when I tell you that a basic, simple, by-the-book extraction should take nowhere near thirty minutes.
But when The Hook is in the chair? Well then, you just know the tooth will be fused to the bone and the dentist will have to call in a back-up dentist who immediately realizes the jaw will wind up being fractured once the tooth is removed. Which it was. Sadly, I retained the ability to speak so the wife was out of luck…
Speaking of VampireLover, she was an absolutely marvelous Staycation nurse. Wearing the little outfit I secured for her was out of the question but otherwise, she rocked.
I honestly have no idea how people who are suffering from actual illnesses manage it; I spent the first two hours post-extraction in total agony. I couldn’t even sit still, that’s how bad it was. Finally, the Tylenol 3s kicked in and I began to relax – a bit. I’ve spent every day since then battling waves of throbbing discomfort and breath that could take down a rhino.
To make matters worse, I developed the flu to go along with my pain. That was truly lovely. The upshot for VampireLover was having our bed to herself – along with the dog, of course. She’s actually bumming now that I’m back where I feel I belong.
At any rate, the healing process is well underway (still feels like someone took a cheese grater to the inside of my mouth, but you can’t have everything) and either way, my time off has expired so I’m back in the trenches.
Whether I like it or not.
And now onto today’s offering: a quick synopsis of the folks I’ve served on my first day back. I’m going to present you with archetypes rather than specifics. (I’ll spend less time in HR as a result, hopefully.)
ONE) Hockey Families.
These folks make me wish I was back in the dentist’s chair. Almost.
Honestly, I’ve shared my feelings on these particular clans before – but I’m going to do so again so buckle up.
Hockey families are cut from the same cloth as the Kardashians. In other words, they’re selfish, rich-but-ridiculously-cheap, rude to “the help” (but I’m used to it so I remain unaffected.) and generally miserable for no good reason. Everyone assumes hockey kids are the problem and I’ll admit the little devils are natural disasters in mini-human form, but…
It’s their parents that make me shiver from the soul outward.
These people should know better. Hockey Dads especially cream my corn; here’s a group of grown men whose aggression and palatable rage are often unchecked and often consume all those unfortunate enough to be in their path. Hockey Dads scream at their families. At strangers. At hotel employees. And of course, at game officials.
Hockey Moms aren’t too bad, truth be told. They’re usually neglected by their crazy spouses so they’re very flirty, which ain’t bad at all.
Bear in mind that there are many fine, upstanding hockey parents out there.
But those folks are boring and so Fate never puts me in their path.
TWO) Corporate Drones.
Those of us in the hospitality industry view Corporate Drones like porn stars view condoms: No one likes them but they’re necessary for our survival.
Most companies don’t have the foresight to train/caution their staff against acting out while on retreat and so many of the conventions/conferences I serve are filled with animals in suits and sensible outfits; tearing their surroundings and each other apart without fear of consequences. Sort of explains why Corporate North America is in the state it’s currently in, doesn’t it?
Today alone I may or may not have seen:
- Two regional managers who decided to “switch” assistants. (And from what I could tell, not just on a professional capacity.)
- A female drone who was so drunk she actually vomited into her suitcase in the room. She then looked at me and said, “Can you take care of that for me, sweetie?” I walked into the room, straight up to her bag, zipped it up, placed it on the cart and handed her a Tic Tac.
Don’t tell me I don’t have exceptional customer service skills, folks.
THREE) Gypsy Bridesmaids.
No, I didn’t cross over into a TLC network show, I actually served three gypsy chicks who were part of a wedding party. Or maybe I didn’t? Only The Shadow knows what I’m actually up to these days.
It’s better for everyone this way.
As for the hypothetical gypsy chicks in question, they each looked, dressed and behaved the part. To a tee. They were plastering make-up on like they were mobsters burying a stool pigeon in a field somewhere by the docks. Yes, I paint with words, thank you for noticing.
The tallest of their number brought out a hair straightener from the room and just glared at me for a moment.
“I don’t want to melt any of my bags… can you touch this and tell me if it’s too hot, sir?”
My hypothetical response was as professional and succinct as ever.
“Yeah, right! Let’s err on the side of caution and just stick it with the hot side facing up, all right?”
She thought about a moment. I swear you could actually hear the gears grinding…
“That could work!”
And that, kids, was my hypothetical day in a supposed nutshell. The maybe highlights, at least.
See you in the lobby, kids…