Funny Story

SO, funny story via HGI.

I was doing housekeeping (like I do) and I get called into the office to listen to a 'really upsetting' message. And as we both listen in (myself in curiosity, my manager in complete outrage,) I hear a Mr. 'M' regale us with the tale of his stay.

He claims everything seemed all right. He was satisfied with everything until he discovered that the mirror in his bathroom HAD NOT BEEN CLEANED! *gasp* It LOOKED clean, there were no SPOTS to notice, however, when he left the relative safety of his steaming hot morning shower, he was aghast to find that there were, in fact, traces of filth.

Do you want to know how he knew? I'll tell you.

As he stepped out of the shower and into the steamed up room, the condensation on the mirror made way for something that had been written by a previous temporary resident of the room. It read...

"I am watching you."

And as My manager looks at me with the face that says, 'That is the worst possibel thing I can think of THIS DAY, and you better come up with something to make it right'... I do my damndest to suck back th elaughter that wants to peal forth from my lips, and I tuck back the edges of my mouth so they don't form a goofy grin.

Because honestly - THATS just funny.

Oru

Too busy for...

Many things, unfortunately. It's that time in my life when things start to fizzle faster and faster, the stove is on high and the pan just started popping. I'm a bacon slice baby, and I'm frying up quickly.

Whatever that means.

But I have less time. Less time then in High school, where a snow day would warrant random excursions to a neighbor's house to build snow creatures. Less time to stay on the phone with a friend for an hour having an actual talk. Less time to play that game thats been sitting over my Xbox for months. Less time to read the stack of borrowed books I was lent weeks ago. Less time to FINISH the one book I HAD started reading.

I have less time to my own thoughts and more time taken away to drive to work, work, do chores, clean, ache, and get angry. Less time to sleep. Less time to snuggle.

I have less time to just stop. Stop everything and look up, admiring the clouds and how the ptterns across the blue of the sky resemble rabbits, or oceanscapes, or dragons or wolves or birds or flowers. Less time to wait until the sun goes down and watch the many hundred shooting stars that bless me and mine with their magical glimmers of hope. Less time to make wishes. And less time to make wishes come true.

So you know what? I should make time.

....Is it too late for another New Years Resolution?

Oru

All work and no play...

....makes Oru money.

However, it also steals away from time for myself. Which, on most occasions I wouldn't mind, simply because I will be bringing in a sizeable paycheck. (Thursday I will pay this months loans!)

However, through some fortuitous circumstances I am unaware of, this week's schedule has been sized down, just for me! I have three days in a row to myself, without parentage present and time to tidy up my room, (I'm thinking a writing nook, whadda you think?) hang out with friends, (I'm thinking the introduction of alcohol among us could be fun, right?) and more time to sleep in. (Hallelujah!)

The only thing that is currently grating on my nerves (And I mean this in a miniscule sense, of course) is how long the day has already begun to drag. On a usual day, I would have a bit of a rush during breakfast hours, get my work done, shmooze with guests and chat with kitchen staff. Then of course I would peruse the acceptable websites from the front desk computer, and if I felt up to it I would then revert to here, My trusty blogspot. However.... I find myself without something to do. So here I am.

Perhaps I shall research fun things online and report them here. Interesting zombie news, or perhaps fun pranks or home-videos. Those are always fun.

Anyway, sorry there wasn't anything particularly enlightening today - I need to shed this boredom before I can really kick it up old school.

~Oru

Pet Cemetary. Except NOT.

Another day at the Hotel: my new job. Front desk clerk and proud to be a part of the HGI TEAM. I wear my nametage with self-importance, and wield my all-access key card like a champ. Normally, I am in control of my actions. I take my orders, complete them, and stand waiting in the wings for a phone call, a reservation to make, or a complaint to smooth over.

Except there's something very strange today. Today - I wasn't supposed to be in today until noon, well afetr any morning checkout drama were to occur. I was supposed to be a mid-shift cover, a helping hand, not in charge of all of it. And of course - the schedule changed.

As it so often does.

And here I was, 7 am, standing behind the front desk. And a woman comes up to me and says:

"Did you know that there's a dead cat in your parking lot?"

With horror in her eyes.

I blink, confused and say, "What? No, I had no idea! I am so sorry, I'll call animal control -"

"NO." She insists, leaning against the countertop, a slightly frantic gleam to her wide eyes. "it's a kitten. It's EYES were gouged OUT."

I blink again. I almost don't understand what she wants me to do about it. "Oh no, thats horrible!" I manage, honest disgust on my face for the atrocity at hand.

"I know. You should call someone. Thats animal abuse." She nodds, affirming her own belief.
I nodd too. because I know she wants me to. Then she goes off.

Things progress. I ask if the maintenance guy could check it out, see if it looks like it was actually GOUGED or if it was picked at by birds - knowing full well that the eyes are the first thing to go when you're talking roadkill. The maintenance man assures me - some sicko probably did it. Group of jerk kids maybe. Sure. But of course. It would never JUST be roadkill.

My life isn't that simple. So I report it to the police. they say they will send over an officer to check it out.

Then we hear, (the front desk clerk covering breakfast hosting this weekend,) from the phone line. A bizarre, rappid beeping noise. As I check the digital screen, I see "911 call" pop into view and blink. And of course, while this is going on, a man who barely speaks English is trying to convince me that their breakfasts should be complementary. He and his 'coh-leez'. Or then 'coo-leegz'. Which I translate to Colleagues. Because I am apparently a genius.

I discover, after dishing out coupons for no good reason, that it was room 315 that had called 911. The lady who told us to call the police. Which, being the obedient little front desk clerk, I had already reported. And as the 911 dispatched officer strolls into the place, he gives me a sympathetic smile and goes on up to soothe the nerves of the animal rights activist.

Not to say I had no pity for the creature. It was a kitten, after all. Tiny, and skinny, and without eyes. But there's only so much I can do. And I saw nothing happening out there, so I could provide no insight to the events leading up to the feline's demise. There was no unmarked van squealing from the parking lot, masked villains chucking the battered kitten-corpse out of the sliding door. Trust me. I would have noticed.

It's my job.

So after some more phonecalls, (manager, police, manager, front office manager, manager, police (to cancel police), biohazard removal, front office manager and then manager,) I take a breather. The maintenance man and one of the busboys from breakfast go to clean up the deceased in question, and make use of the biohazard baggies supplied to us through whichever hotel supplier we got them from. Then they put the baggie in a box, and the box next to the dumpster. And there it sits.

And when I think it's all over, 315 calls down.

"Hi... is this the girl that came to talk to me before?"

I think a moment, remembering vaguely that the hostess/front desk clerk had gone up to make sure she was all right and try to reason a testimony out of 315. "No, she's actually back in the breakfast lounge, would you like me to get her?"

"No. Are you the manager? Who is the manager?"

In my mind, something twitches. "I'm afraid our General Manager is off the grounds today, is there something I can help you with, Miss.?"

She sighs. elaborately. Everyone who complains at a hotel sighs elaborately. They can't seem to help themselves. It's disgusting. Then she says, "Listen, I just want you to know... it ... well, I know it's someone in your hotel thats doing this."

As if this happened more then once. I reply with a pointed, "I'm sorry, excuse me?"

"...I mean, it had to be someone that KNEW that there were kittens in the dumpster. Right? I mean, you know what I'm saying?" She persisted.

Another something in my mind twitched. Huh. Sounds like SHE knew there were kittens in the dumpster. Isn't that strange? "...I understand miss. Would you like me to forward you to the General Manager's voicemail?"

"No, no. I'lll call ... um, after I leave."

I wait. I feel like she wants to accuse ME outright, simply because I was there. I felt as if she wanted to accuse ALL of us of participating in some horrific pagan ritual when no one was looking. Where we strapped the kitten to an iron cross, put on white hoods, chanted in latin, and ceremoniously removed the eyes. Of course, just before we put on ski masks, hi-jacked an unmarked van, and tore through the HGI parking lot.

After a moment of silence I allowed her to suffer alone, she threw something else in. Just because she felt she had to, "And don't give that guy my room number."

"...Excuse me? who?" I can't stop myself. Who is this woman talking about? The maintenance man who cleaned up the cat? The kitchen busboy that held the bag? The policeman SHE had called?

"...Just... don't give my room number to anyone else." Then she goes silent again. waiting. As if for a confession.

"...Of COURSE not." The tone is decidedly harsher then it should have been, I admit. It was... rougher. Perhaps the insult leaked in and I couldn't bat it away fast enough. Either way it was out. And then she merely told me to have a good one and got off the line.

And that was that.

Dead cats. Always causing trouble.

Oru

Memories Drift

Standing perched on one foot behind the front desk for hours on end often gets my mind turning. I need something to distract me from the way my feet are pulsating from the constant pressure my body pushes down on them. On occasion I will be gifted with a task that involves more movement then mindlessly shifting my weight - but unfortunately those times are few and far between.

So, I think.

I think about things that have held me together. Then I think about how those things inevitably tear me apart. To avoid an onrush of unecessary angst, I will change gears, and dwell on any good spots of light in my darkened little heart. Dispite the row of pristine flourescents being sumarily blown to pieces by an M16, (whose name I try my utmost never to utter again, though fail on occasion,) there are still little runners glowing down the hall, and every hundred feet or so someone will have lit a fire in a barrell, or mounted a wall-sconce to light their way.

I am somewhat of a maze to begin with. And the fact that the lights are out isn't making it easier for anyone else to get to know me. Get close to me, become my friend... And I feel that this is driving a rift between my memories, myself, and the real world surrounding me.

Time for a deep moment. Cover your ears and hum please?

I find myself, every once and a while, craving his voice. I wonder how he's doing and part of me hopes his family is well, and wishes to see them again. I know he doesn't deserve the dirt on my shoes, or the spit in his face, but for being in the light for so long, basking in it, enjoying the warmth... how could I not want it back? After being thrown headfirst into the darkness following the burst of rapid-fire, the shimmer of sparks, and then the inevitable silence?

Think what you want. It happens to everyone. I wish I could taint every memory of him with a doubt, but there were none. I wish I could look back and say, "I should have known. I should have been ready for this. I set myself too high." But everytime I try, I can only think good things, I only hear his laugh.

I wish I could hate him as easily as I have been able to hate other deserving parties in the past. But I am dismayed to see that it isn't as easy as I hoped.

So now my mission is to make new memories. Better ones, ones that outshine the sterile brilliance of an old love. I will break down the walls of this hall and let in the blinding sunlight of a new life, filled with genuine smiles, affection, and ties only to those who won't do me harm.

I've taken the apropriate steps. And now to have it completed.

I have chosen to accept this mission. The only thing - no self destructing message please.

I'm not that kinda gal.

Oru