Beginning of my shift, young guy standing over me with his girlfriend. He looks pretty tired. "You look pretty tired," I say gently.
The guy shakes his head. "I tell you what, brother, I am tired,"is approximately what he said.
"Hey, me too, brother, but I'm here all night, so if I can make it, so can you," I say with wry resignation, slowly pumping my fist.
"Aright, man, well I'm up for it if you are,"he says, smiling a little doggedly. He and his girlfriend then go up to their room.
It's always fascinating to me to think about how two seemingly similar things can be pretty different depending on the circumstances. For instance, both he and I made pledges to stay up all night.
But while I was promising to stare blankly at a computer screen for 9 hours without crying, he was vowing to ceaselessly make love to a beautiful woman until the sun rose once more.
The same...but different.
~~~~~~~~~~
Also, I had to open bottles of wine for two different Romeos last night. I used the really cheap corkscrew that we keep at the desk, the one that looks kind of like a crackpipe. Both times, turning my back to them because I"m embarrassed to display brute strength, I popped the corks, spilled a little on myself, and handed the bottle back over. Then I sort of cocked my head, and said, "Good luck,"
And with both of them, I think there was something in the look I gave them that said, "You know I mean good luck in pleasuring your girlfriend, right?"
Saturday, February 16, 2008
Friday, February 8, 2008
Unknown man, not, as far as I could tell, Campbell Robertson of the Times, nor anyone from the Post, or the News or the Observer to my knowledge, on the rise of Clay Aiken, who's from my hometown and actually my old job at the YMCA, and is currently starring in Spamalot:
"It's a true rags-to-riches story"
"It's a true rags-to-riches story"
Funniest shit I heard all day
Young and wholesome-sounding woman calls me up to make a reservation.
Woman: "Hi, I'd like to make a reservation for the weekend of April 11th"
Me: "Ok, Miss, what kind of room are you looking for, one bed or two beds?"
Woman: "Two beds, please"
Me: "Oh, Miss, I'm sorry, but we're out of rooms with two beds for that weekend
Woman, flummoxed: "Oh. Poop."
Woman: "Hi, I'd like to make a reservation for the weekend of April 11th"
Me: "Ok, Miss, what kind of room are you looking for, one bed or two beds?"
Woman: "Two beds, please"
Me: "Oh, Miss, I'm sorry, but we're out of rooms with two beds for that weekend
Woman, flummoxed: "Oh. Poop."
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Fashion Week
It's Fashion Week in New York this week, and the place where they set up the tents where the people walk around and stuff, Bryant Park, is only a few blocks from the Hotel. So I was hoping that there'd be a lot of really beautiful models staying at the hotel who might fall in love with me. because if there's anything models appreciate, it's a good value. But we must not be publicizing our discount enough or something, because, sadly, there are no models staying at the hotel this week. (Update: One model came into the hotel today, but she was ugly. She was stupid, though).
There are a number of journalists, however, which is almost as good. Most of them are really nice. There's one guy, he covers fashion for The Pittsburgh Gazette, I believe, who has been staying here for years. Really smooth, snappy dresser, but also really nice and easy-going.
Sometimes, though, especially when they've been flying for the better part of a day, people, particularly writers, can feel a little entitled.
Two older women, mid-fifties probably, with bronzed, rough-hewn skin, came into the hotel in the early evening, after we had already given most of our rooms away. As they're heading to the elevator, after we've checked them in, one of them casually asks with slight concern, "It is a good room?"
Now, normally as a front desk attendant, it's understood that you're supposed to be as sunny and promotional as possible. But sometimes, out of apathy or torpor or sheer loopiness, you don't feel the need to answer with anything other than honest nonchalance.
"It's an OK room," said GWNTSLACD with a shrug.
"Just OK??" one of the women frowned with some outrage.
"Yeah, you know, not the best, but clean, a good-sized room."
"We reserved this room three weeks ago!"
(People say something like this all the time when they're not satisfied with their room. #1: I would say that the appropriate time to reserve a hotel room is about three months in advance; in New York, probably four. #2: We really don't care when you reserved the room. I mean, obviously I don't care, but it's really much more important how early in the day a guest arrives)
"Well, I hope you enjoy your room! Good night!"
"But...," sputters the woman, "but we are journalists!"
p.s. About ten minutes later, GWNTSLACD turns to me and says, "I wish I had told them, 'Yes...and we are front desk attendants. Nice to meet you!'"
There are a number of journalists, however, which is almost as good. Most of them are really nice. There's one guy, he covers fashion for The Pittsburgh Gazette, I believe, who has been staying here for years. Really smooth, snappy dresser, but also really nice and easy-going.
Sometimes, though, especially when they've been flying for the better part of a day, people, particularly writers, can feel a little entitled.
Two older women, mid-fifties probably, with bronzed, rough-hewn skin, came into the hotel in the early evening, after we had already given most of our rooms away. As they're heading to the elevator, after we've checked them in, one of them casually asks with slight concern, "It is a good room?"
Now, normally as a front desk attendant, it's understood that you're supposed to be as sunny and promotional as possible. But sometimes, out of apathy or torpor or sheer loopiness, you don't feel the need to answer with anything other than honest nonchalance.
"It's an OK room," said GWNTSLACD with a shrug.
"Just OK??" one of the women frowned with some outrage.
"Yeah, you know, not the best, but clean, a good-sized room."
"We reserved this room three weeks ago!"
(People say something like this all the time when they're not satisfied with their room. #1: I would say that the appropriate time to reserve a hotel room is about three months in advance; in New York, probably four. #2: We really don't care when you reserved the room. I mean, obviously I don't care, but it's really much more important how early in the day a guest arrives)
"Well, I hope you enjoy your room! Good night!"
"But...," sputters the woman, "but we are journalists!"
p.s. About ten minutes later, GWNTSLACD turns to me and says, "I wish I had told them, 'Yes...and we are front desk attendants. Nice to meet you!'"
{Blushing}
Just received a note written to me by a guest, a plump, rosy-cheeked, really sweet French girl who left yesterday. Apparently she asked Joey if I was Jewish when she gave it to him. She didn't remember my name, but I must have been massaging GWNTSLACD's shoulders when last she saw me.
(on the outside of the note) Mr. Massage
I'm leaving NY, so I write you these few words to tell you goodbye. I wish I accepted a date with you cause you are a very nice guy. I didn't accept because I thought you were laughing on me (I don't trust in me enough but I'm working on it). Email me and give me news about you, I rely on you! When I'll be back in NY, I hope we'll do something together if you are still OK. Take care."
Probably a little weird to be publishing that, but you wouldn't be coming here if you weren't a little bit of a voyeur, too, no?
Also, just to balance out the picture so you don't think I'm some flawless, charming Boy Scout, when I give the key to a guy or to a girl that I think is ugly (on the inside), I just sort of drop it in their hand. But when it's a hot girl I'm handing the key to, I sort of lay it in their hand so that my fingers brush against their fingers for a second. Usually, I think their fingers are cold and feel nice!
Creepy, right?
(on the outside of the note) Mr. Massage
I'm leaving NY, so I write you these few words to tell you goodbye. I wish I accepted a date with you cause you are a very nice guy. I didn't accept because I thought you were laughing on me (I don't trust in me enough but I'm working on it). Email me and give me news about you, I rely on you! When I'll be back in NY, I hope we'll do something together if you are still OK. Take care."
Probably a little weird to be publishing that, but you wouldn't be coming here if you weren't a little bit of a voyeur, too, no?
Also, just to balance out the picture so you don't think I'm some flawless, charming Boy Scout, when I give the key to a guy or to a girl that I think is ugly (on the inside), I just sort of drop it in their hand. But when it's a hot girl I'm handing the key to, I sort of lay it in their hand so that my fingers brush against their fingers for a second. Usually, I think their fingers are cold and feel nice!
Creepy, right?
Dasein: Poscards, bizarro edition
With 1 hour left on a 16-hour shift, this came in over the fax:
In small type at the top of the page: "Hallo Ladies and Gentlemann please be so kind and handover the Fax to Cathrin _____ Room 1015. Thanks for your cooperation"
In large, bold type, arching slightly across the page: Happy Birthday
Smaller, immediately below: Date 06.02.2008
In large, hollow letters across the page: Hallo Cathrin the best for you!!
Smaller type, immediately underneath: Viele Gute wunsche fur Dein neues Lebensjahr, wir hoffen das Du einen schonen Tag hast. (Translation: "Many goods wishes fur your new year of life, we you hope have that an already day.")
Then it is signed below, going clockwise: Papa, Patrick, Mama, Hone. To the right, separated by a vertical dotted line. is a paw print with "Amigo" written below it.
The mother just called, presumably to wish Cathrin a Happy Birthday.
In small type at the top of the page: "Hallo Ladies and Gentlemann please be so kind and handover the Fax to Cathrin _____ Room 1015. Thanks for your cooperation"
In large, bold type, arching slightly across the page: Happy Birthday
Smaller, immediately below: Date 06.02.2008
In large, hollow letters across the page: Hallo Cathrin the best for you!!
Smaller type, immediately underneath: Viele Gute wunsche fur Dein neues Lebensjahr, wir hoffen das Du einen schonen Tag hast. (Translation: "Many goods wishes fur your new year of life, we you hope have that an already day.")
Then it is signed below, going clockwise: Papa, Patrick, Mama, Hone. To the right, separated by a vertical dotted line. is a paw print with "Amigo" written below it.
The mother just called, presumably to wish Cathrin a Happy Birthday.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Yusuf = Larry Birkhead
I hesitate to pass this along, as at this point we may as well just rename this blog Sexual Hijinks of A Zealous African Man (SHAZAM!), but there have been startling, if by startling you mean utterly predictable, developments in the relationship between Yusuf and the mysterious African-Norwegian woman known only as dioubate2005.
When I first heard of dioubate2005, I assumed she was merely the latest, and certainly not the last, in a long line of pseudo-mistresses (conveniently for both parties, they're separated by an ocean). All I knew about dioubate2005 was that she lives in Norway and she really wanted him to send her some pictures of himself and his family. This didn't seem like a big deal to me because I had previously seen Yusuf keep in close contact on the phone with a number of women he had met in the hotel. But as we pieced together her email address over the past four weeks (Yusuf isn't terribly familiar with the internet, which probably explains his vitality), the tale of dioubate2005 grew much more intriguing.
Dioubate2005 has never stayed at the Hotel Idiotica. She has never met Yusuf. She has never seen a picture of Yusuf. Dioubate2005 is a friend of the wife of one of Yusuf's "20" brothers. Dioubate2005 has fallen in love with Yusuf, based solely on his sister-in-law's descriptions of him. Such is the power of Yu's mojo. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised; I suspect a few of you have fallen for the Brack Panther in spite of my caricaturing him. But let me ask you, have you fallen hard enough to send him checks for several hundred dollars every month?
Yes, apparently dioubate2005 has access to quite a bit of money. From what I can tell, she was a live-in nurse for a very old, very rich man, a widower perhaps, who has since fallen madly in love with her. He's opened the spigot, and the cheese is flowing pretty smooth, but, well, he "canno jugujugu," and so part of the flow is being directed my buddy's way, because, I mean, well Yusuf sounds pretty awesome.
"Have you send her my peeture?" Yusuf would always ask, and then we'd go through the photos on the computer. He'd always say we should just send one or two and then inevitably end up selecting nineteen or twenty, mostly of him lying on his elbow across some flat surface or delivering a jubilant high-kick, or close-ups of his face in some artificial fram, like teacher's bulletin board or a lavender, lacy heart shape. There were several shots of his kids and, sweetly counterproductively, one of his wife. he nixed the ones of him with other girls, GWNTSLACD, a pretty laundry woman named Tina. These finals would never go through, so finally I spent one night that Yusuf wasn't there painstakingly sending the pictures one at a time to dioubate2005.
The next time I saw him, I asked him how she liked the photos. His eyes got really wide, and he exclaimed, "Ohhhh, Sparkleeman! [he's started to call me Sparklyman occasionally. I have no idea why] She love it, Sparklyman, when she see my peeture, she scream [here Yusuf really does scream], 'Yuuuusuf, Ohmigod, you are so handsome, I see the peeture, I almost die!' [He tells me that now they are talking on the phone almost every night. I ask him what they talk about, and he indicates, rather unsubtly, that its more than just the weather.] Pretty soon I send her anudda peeture,"he says, miming a snapshot of his disk.
"You are a whore," says GWNTSLACD flatly.
I ask Yusuf what he likes about dioubate2005. "She's a very nice girl," he says emphatically. "Very nice. Also [this is from my notes], big everywhere, I like the big girls. [He jiggles his mouth and waves his hands rapidly back and forth] Bwwwwww, breasts. [he turns his hands up and jiggles them again] Buttocks, bwwwww. Bottom-big!"
So who does that make me? Bobby Trendy?
When I first heard of dioubate2005, I assumed she was merely the latest, and certainly not the last, in a long line of pseudo-mistresses (conveniently for both parties, they're separated by an ocean). All I knew about dioubate2005 was that she lives in Norway and she really wanted him to send her some pictures of himself and his family. This didn't seem like a big deal to me because I had previously seen Yusuf keep in close contact on the phone with a number of women he had met in the hotel. But as we pieced together her email address over the past four weeks (Yusuf isn't terribly familiar with the internet, which probably explains his vitality), the tale of dioubate2005 grew much more intriguing.
Dioubate2005 has never stayed at the Hotel Idiotica. She has never met Yusuf. She has never seen a picture of Yusuf. Dioubate2005 is a friend of the wife of one of Yusuf's "20" brothers. Dioubate2005 has fallen in love with Yusuf, based solely on his sister-in-law's descriptions of him. Such is the power of Yu's mojo. Maybe I shouldn't be surprised; I suspect a few of you have fallen for the Brack Panther in spite of my caricaturing him. But let me ask you, have you fallen hard enough to send him checks for several hundred dollars every month?
Yes, apparently dioubate2005 has access to quite a bit of money. From what I can tell, she was a live-in nurse for a very old, very rich man, a widower perhaps, who has since fallen madly in love with her. He's opened the spigot, and the cheese is flowing pretty smooth, but, well, he "canno jugujugu," and so part of the flow is being directed my buddy's way, because, I mean, well Yusuf sounds pretty awesome.
"Have you send her my peeture?" Yusuf would always ask, and then we'd go through the photos on the computer. He'd always say we should just send one or two and then inevitably end up selecting nineteen or twenty, mostly of him lying on his elbow across some flat surface or delivering a jubilant high-kick, or close-ups of his face in some artificial fram, like teacher's bulletin board or a lavender, lacy heart shape. There were several shots of his kids and, sweetly counterproductively, one of his wife. he nixed the ones of him with other girls, GWNTSLACD, a pretty laundry woman named Tina. These finals would never go through, so finally I spent one night that Yusuf wasn't there painstakingly sending the pictures one at a time to dioubate2005.
The next time I saw him, I asked him how she liked the photos. His eyes got really wide, and he exclaimed, "Ohhhh, Sparkleeman! [he's started to call me Sparklyman occasionally. I have no idea why] She love it, Sparklyman, when she see my peeture, she scream [here Yusuf really does scream], 'Yuuuusuf, Ohmigod, you are so handsome, I see the peeture, I almost die!' [He tells me that now they are talking on the phone almost every night. I ask him what they talk about, and he indicates, rather unsubtly, that its more than just the weather.] Pretty soon I send her anudda peeture,"he says, miming a snapshot of his disk.
"You are a whore," says GWNTSLACD flatly.
I ask Yusuf what he likes about dioubate2005. "She's a very nice girl," he says emphatically. "Very nice. Also [this is from my notes], big everywhere, I like the big girls. [He jiggles his mouth and waves his hands rapidly back and forth] Bwwwwww, breasts. [he turns his hands up and jiggles them again] Buttocks, bwwwww. Bottom-big!"
So who does that make me? Bobby Trendy?
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