Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Welcome to January, Bitches!!!

My blogging may become a bit more infrequent in the coming month, mostly because I'm working on a much bigger project that I'm hoping will be my ticket out of here. I'll elaborate once things are a little more concrete. All I can say now, is that it'll be a pretty huge risk for me, but the payoff would be amazing.  

In the meantime, we're in fucking January. Fucking January is the fucking month that makes rooms available at less than $60 per fucking night. As you can imagine, it's a frustrating fucking time for everyone in the service industry. 

As much as I'd love to post a daily diary about this nonsense, it would be totally redundant - Doorman takes 15 Brazilian luggages inside, doesn't get acknowledged, gets angry, pisses and moans. No one is tipping. I'm going home with less than $60 at least twice a week. I don't mean to hate on the bargain crowd, or the working-folk, or the fucking dirtbags who are staying here, but it's tough to keep a positive attitude when you're not making any money. Especially when these people, who are paying $58 a night to stay in mid-town manhattan, have the balls to be demanding. 

Here's a quick story than captures what I'm talking about: 

I'm working the 11am-7pm shift. Being that my normal 3pm-midnight schedule has me walking up at noon every day, I'm not used to leaving my apartment to a city that smells of breakfast and coffee. I order a bagel for the first time in forever at a local deli/barkey where we send guests who are looking for a quick bite. 

As I'm ordering my everything bagel, lightly toasted, with vegetable cream cheese, I see these two old British men agonizing over the menu, which is displayed over the deli counter. It's not a complicated menu. It displays breakfast items and prices. There's nothing adventurous to be seen.

British man # 1 - "What do you think?" 

British man # 2 -"I don't know. What are you thinking?" 

BM 1- "I don't know. I don't know if I want pancakes or eggs."  

BM 2- "I was thinking eggs, but pancakes sound brilliant too." 

BM 1- "Oh, there's a pancakes-eggs combo!" 

BM 2- "Well I just don't think I could eat that much!" 

Jesus Christ. It's breakfast, you fucks.

I already ordered, so it had no affect on me. I just thumbed through Instagram till my food was ready while these idiots deliberated over this oh-so-agonizing decision. When I'm around indecisive bozos like this, I can't help but wonder what kind of incredible salesmanship it must have took to sell them a car or house. 

I pay and move on with my day. Get to the locker room, scarf my bagel like a savage, down a XXX Vitamin Water, and throw on the ol' uniform. 

I walk outside, and the old veteran morning doorman, "Raul" greets me with a "good morning, shit-dick." When he talks like this, he's in a good mood. I respond with a "nice to see you, cuntface." After no more than five minutes of verbal abuse between two men who are bitter about how their lives turned out, the Old British Chaps come morphing over.

Raul- "How was it, gentlemen?" 

Apparently, the Ol' British Chaps were there on a recommendation from my "colleague". I love when people refer to our co-workers as "colleagues". When I was a teacher, I found that to be a pretentious word, and I was making a difference. We carry bags and open doors for people and abuse each other whenever we see a window of opportunity. If anything, we're drinking buddies, not colleagues. 

BM 1- "Well, the food was brilliant, but we won't be back." 

BM 2- "Yes, brilliant food. Just brilliant. But it wasn't what we were looking for." 

Raul- "Oh, no! What was wrong with it?" 

Every service-indusrty worker has a perfected "Oh, no!", when a customer has a complaint, which can easily be translated to "I don't really give a flying fuck, but go ahead, let's hear it." After twenty years on the job, Raul's was impeccable. 

The British Chaps make a collective dramatic-pause, as if they were going to share that they were mugged and raped by the employees when they finished eating. 

BM 1- "Well, the gave us plastic plates and silverware, and plastic cups for our coffee." 

BM 2- "Yes, yes. Everything was plastic." 

Really, dude? Really? 

I opt to stay out of it. They're his problem. 

Raul- "But the food was good, right?" 

BM 1- "Oh yes! The food was brilliant!"

BM 2- "Yes, yes! No complaints about the food! Just brilliant!" 

Raul- "Because you said you wanted something cheap and fast and good..." 

BM 1- "Oh, yes! But we didn't care for the plastic plates and forks. Everything was plastic." 

BM 2- "Yes, yes. We like to have real plates and forks!" 

I can't believe what I'm hearing. 

BM 1- "You know, we're British!" 

BM 2- "Yes, we're British!" 

Raul - "Oh, no! I'm sorry to hear that, gentleman!" 

Like the "oh, no!", every service industry worker has mastered the disingenuous "I'm sorry to hear that!". 

The two idiots go on their way, smiling like they thought we found their little grievance to be charming. Raul looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. After all these years on the job, he's become desensitized to this fuckery. No, no, no - I need to talk about this. 

Enter Doorman:

Doorman- "Are you fucking serious?!?! You're eating a $7 breakfast, and you're going to complain about the motherfucking plates and utensils?!?! Who the fuck do you think you are?!? Lord Grantham?!?! 'Oh, it was one of the best sandwiches I've ever eaten in my life, but they wrapped it up in wax paper instead of aluminum foil, so it's just a bad experience!' So, what happens when you pay $20 for a meal? Are you disgruntled if it doesn't come with a golden spoon and hand job at the end?!?! Where do these cunts come from?!?! And what the fuck did he mean when he said 'we're British'?!?! What, does he think that all of us blue-collar American idiots assume that every walking person from England is royalty?!? I guarantee you - I fucking GUARANTEE you - that those douche bags write a Trip Advisor review complaining about every little quirk about the hotel, completely disregarding the fact that he got it for a price that's significantly lower than my fucking rent. You know what I mean?" 

I'm paraphrasing that tirade, because in my rage, I may have blacked out for a moment. Raul just looked at me for a few seconds. 

Raul- "Who the fuck is Lord Grantham?" 

1 comment:

  1. I don't have your experience by any means but I have encountered people who fixate on one trivial thing to be negative about an entire experience. I just won the lottery! Oh, but the flashes from the cameras at the publicity event gave me a headache, woe is me. Yeah fuck those people.

    I hope whatever you are working on will allow you to get away from idiotic stuff like that, though I will miss reading your posts.

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