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!'"
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
{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?
Monday, January 28, 2008
Hoop
The Hotel Idiotica was proud to play host a few weeks ago to the Lady Gators of Pine Manor College. A relatively obscure women's college outside Boston (obscure enough that all of my extra-Bostonian friends have never heard of it), PMC prides itself on being the most diverse liberal arts college in the country.
After reading reports of last year's games that spoke of sixty turnovers between the two teams as a source of pride, I didn't have much hope for the Lady Gators. Also, I thought the first two members of their team that I met were in middle school.
Herewith, a scouting report, based solely on my impressions and recollections from the front desk:
---Their uniforms, judging from their warmups, are green. Does anyone remember a successful team with green uniforms, besides the Boston Celtics, who once won 11 championships in 13 years and currently have the best record in the league?
---I first came upon the team as I entered the hotel for an afternoon shift and a few of their players were walking away towards the elevator. They had large asses, big booties. Large asses are good for getting rebounds.
---Their point guard, who looked like her name was Tasha, seemed a little wispy and indecisive, and also she looked younger than my little sister looked when she was twelve. I just can't imagine she's that strong with the ball. On the other hand, she did seem to have a good rapport with the girl I marked as their star player, who just seemed like she knew her way around a defense, when to take it to the hole and when to find holes in the defense for a mid-range game. Its always important for the star to have a good relationship with the girl who gets her the ball.
---One girl with a milky complexion had some type of piercing hanging from her lip, like a wishbone or something, and generally wants it to be known that she doesn't need nothing and she knows where the baggage room is, thank you. It's very likely that she does not possess any basketball skills, but she probably tries really hard to set a lot of picks and gets fired up too often.
Obviously the parts are all there, but you never know how its gonna translate onto the court until the ball is tipped. Well, I'm happy to report that the Lady Gators trounced the Brooklyn College Women (that's the actual name of their team) 68-57.
They got lots of rebounds!
After reading reports of last year's games that spoke of sixty turnovers between the two teams as a source of pride, I didn't have much hope for the Lady Gators. Also, I thought the first two members of their team that I met were in middle school.
Herewith, a scouting report, based solely on my impressions and recollections from the front desk:
---Their uniforms, judging from their warmups, are green. Does anyone remember a successful team with green uniforms, besides the Boston Celtics, who once won 11 championships in 13 years and currently have the best record in the league?
---I first came upon the team as I entered the hotel for an afternoon shift and a few of their players were walking away towards the elevator. They had large asses, big booties. Large asses are good for getting rebounds.
---Their point guard, who looked like her name was Tasha, seemed a little wispy and indecisive, and also she looked younger than my little sister looked when she was twelve. I just can't imagine she's that strong with the ball. On the other hand, she did seem to have a good rapport with the girl I marked as their star player, who just seemed like she knew her way around a defense, when to take it to the hole and when to find holes in the defense for a mid-range game. Its always important for the star to have a good relationship with the girl who gets her the ball.
---One girl with a milky complexion had some type of piercing hanging from her lip, like a wishbone or something, and generally wants it to be known that she doesn't need nothing and she knows where the baggage room is, thank you. It's very likely that she does not possess any basketball skills, but she probably tries really hard to set a lot of picks and gets fired up too often.
Obviously the parts are all there, but you never know how its gonna translate onto the court until the ball is tipped. Well, I'm happy to report that the Lady Gators trounced the Brooklyn College Women (that's the actual name of their team) 68-57.
They got lots of rebounds!
Postcards
Going to try to make this into a regular feature, mostly because it doesn't take any effort.
2 postcards addressed to Austria. They're pictures of the Empire State Building at sunset that say 'Sunset from the Empire State Building Observatory.' So they're pictures of the Empire State Building at sunset from the Empire State Building Observatory, which is a neat trick.
On each of the postcards, which appear to have been written by different people, the authors have drawn little stick figures sitting on the ledges on opposite sides of the building and staring out into the distance. On one of the postcards, a figure seems to be pointing and says "Here is California" The other faces the opposite direction and says "I wu coteola hom" (? German?)
On the other postcard, one of the figures exclaims (the speech bubble has sparkles around it) with a flourish of his arm "Austria ist diese Richtung" while his doppelganger sits on the other side and warns with a measure of caution, "Nein--Austria ist diese Richtung"
So the captions say something like "Austria is a red balloon," "No--Austria is a red balloon"
Is the state religion of Austria dada or something?
Online Translation Super Happy Fun Time Update: Apparently its, "Austria is this direction," "No, Austria is this direction" Ohhhhhhhh.
p.s. One of the cards is signed with two smiley-faces and one of them has glasses. Sprecken se cute!
2 postcards addressed to Austria. They're pictures of the Empire State Building at sunset that say 'Sunset from the Empire State Building Observatory.' So they're pictures of the Empire State Building at sunset from the Empire State Building Observatory, which is a neat trick.
On each of the postcards, which appear to have been written by different people, the authors have drawn little stick figures sitting on the ledges on opposite sides of the building and staring out into the distance. On one of the postcards, a figure seems to be pointing and says "Here is California" The other faces the opposite direction and says "I wu coteola hom" (? German?)
On the other postcard, one of the figures exclaims (the speech bubble has sparkles around it) with a flourish of his arm "Austria ist diese Richtung" while his doppelganger sits on the other side and warns with a measure of caution, "Nein--Austria ist diese Richtung"
So the captions say something like "Austria is a red balloon," "No--Austria is a red balloon"
Is the state religion of Austria dada or something?
Online Translation Super Happy Fun Time Update: Apparently its, "Austria is this direction," "No, Austria is this direction" Ohhhhhhhh.
p.s. One of the cards is signed with two smiley-faces and one of them has glasses. Sprecken se cute!
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Like a baby's buttered bottom
Had a little filly in here from West Virginia over the past few weeks. More of a thoroughbred, actually. Full-figured, but not overweight, with a really sweet personality and a beautiful voice not overwhelmed by a pretty thick accent. I guess normally I would have found it obnoxious, but she was really nice and pretty so I liked her.
She came in followed by a kind of creepy, older black man, who had a very round head and a deeply faded, multi-colored jacket. They sort of awkwardly said goodbye and then he left.
She was staying for two weeks, some kind of business thing, so we talked about that a little, flirted, made a little small talk, I said I was glad she was staying for a while and I'd definitely be seeing her a lot.
She pauses before she heads upstairs. "Is that normal?" she asks confusedly.
"What?" I ask.
"Y,know, fer them to meet ya at the train station and then take ya all the way back to the hotel?"
"Do you know that guy?"
"No"
"Then, uh, no, that's not normal"
"Hmm." she shrugs, and skips up off to bed.
~~~~~
Over the next few weeks she comes in and out and we greet each other warmly every time.
She's there when I come in with my new haircut, and I think even she's a little proud of me.
I smile wryly and she smiles broadly every time we see one another, and we've got a nice little rapport
~~~~~
Fast-forward to the night before she's leaving. She's heading out the door, and I don't remember how I found out, but she's about to go to meet the sketchy man who followed her here on the very first night! I casually ask her if she thinks this is a good idea, with an expression that said, 'I'm concerned about you but I think you're an idiot'
"It's alraht!," she protests theatrically, in a manner peculiar to Southern girls. "My freeiend tawlked to 'im, n' turns out he's a playwraht! And she's a New Yorker," implying that her friend would be able to see right through some flimsy scheme.,
"Oh yeah?" I ask curiously, "How long she lived here?"
She scuffs the floor. "Three months," she says begrudgingly.
"And where's she froooom?" I ask teasingly.
"Texas," she admits with a laugh.
"Alright then," I nod.
"So.... you don't think its a good idea?"
II make a face like I'm weighing her decision gravely, but don't respond.
"Awww...yer alwaays lookin out for me. Ev'rbody else's just makin' fun o' mah acceeent"
Now if there's one surprise benefit I've gotten from this job, it's the authoritative ease you get just from standing behind a desk. This quality is completely lacking in every other aspect of my life, but somehow, when I'm behind that desk, I turn into a smooth motherfucker. Unfortunately, when this quality deserts me, it does so spectacularly, and before I know it I've run off the cliff without noticing and now I'm blinking twice and looking down into a canyon. This was one of those times.
"But I love your accent," I say with genuine sympathy. Uh-oh. What to follow up with?
How about, "It's like honey in my ears"
She came in followed by a kind of creepy, older black man, who had a very round head and a deeply faded, multi-colored jacket. They sort of awkwardly said goodbye and then he left.
She was staying for two weeks, some kind of business thing, so we talked about that a little, flirted, made a little small talk, I said I was glad she was staying for a while and I'd definitely be seeing her a lot.
She pauses before she heads upstairs. "Is that normal?" she asks confusedly.
"What?" I ask.
"Y,know, fer them to meet ya at the train station and then take ya all the way back to the hotel?"
"Do you know that guy?"
"No"
"Then, uh, no, that's not normal"
"Hmm." she shrugs, and skips up off to bed.
~~~~~
Over the next few weeks she comes in and out and we greet each other warmly every time.
She's there when I come in with my new haircut, and I think even she's a little proud of me.
I smile wryly and she smiles broadly every time we see one another, and we've got a nice little rapport
~~~~~
Fast-forward to the night before she's leaving. She's heading out the door, and I don't remember how I found out, but she's about to go to meet the sketchy man who followed her here on the very first night! I casually ask her if she thinks this is a good idea, with an expression that said, 'I'm concerned about you but I think you're an idiot'
"It's alraht!," she protests theatrically, in a manner peculiar to Southern girls. "My freeiend tawlked to 'im, n' turns out he's a playwraht! And she's a New Yorker," implying that her friend would be able to see right through some flimsy scheme.,
"Oh yeah?" I ask curiously, "How long she lived here?"
She scuffs the floor. "Three months," she says begrudgingly.
"And where's she froooom?" I ask teasingly.
"Texas," she admits with a laugh.
"Alright then," I nod.
"So.... you don't think its a good idea?"
II make a face like I'm weighing her decision gravely, but don't respond.
"Awww...yer alwaays lookin out for me. Ev'rbody else's just makin' fun o' mah acceeent"
Now if there's one surprise benefit I've gotten from this job, it's the authoritative ease you get just from standing behind a desk. This quality is completely lacking in every other aspect of my life, but somehow, when I'm behind that desk, I turn into a smooth motherfucker. Unfortunately, when this quality deserts me, it does so spectacularly, and before I know it I've run off the cliff without noticing and now I'm blinking twice and looking down into a canyon. This was one of those times.
"But I love your accent," I say with genuine sympathy. Uh-oh. What to follow up with?
How about, "It's like honey in my ears"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)