When I arrived at work yesterday it had already been a bad day. Apparently a family decided it would be a good idea to have a hotel party for their children. These little brats had already puked in the pool, fucked up one of the computers in the lobby, and received 3 noise complaints. Unfortunately, I do not have a security officer who will do a damn thing, so that is frustrating. I tell him, “Go to the third floor, give them a warning.” I give him the room number. He goes up there, says he warns them, more complaints, more bullshit, the guard doesn’t do a god damn thing! Our front desk supervisor was the one to actually do something.The person I feel bad for is Scott, he had to clean the pool out. I love talking to him because his main response to everything is “I fucking hate this place.”
Reggie is turning into my therapist. I don’t know why it is easy to talk about my life with him. My childhood, my feelings on people, relationships, all very hard things, it seems I can talk to him about them. I think he is a good person, but despite that, won’t be able to understand me. Good listener though, worth knowing.
Not too much happened last night, very quiet for a Saturday. Just had a couple of unruly drunks ask me up to their room, didn’t go of course. It was funny though, their key had become demagnetized and it was their friend’s room but he was passed out. The rule is to not give out keys. So, Drunk 1 was like, “But I’m an EMT and firefighter! I wouldn’t kill anyone!” So I say, Sir, that just means you know about medicine and how to use an axe. Drunk 2 said, “Well, what about a marine?” I reply, Do I even have to say how easy it would be for you to kill someone? They ended up getting a key because the knew the room number, guy’s name, and had the demagnetized key on them. Then they called down asking for food and asking if I would hang out with them. Apparently they saw my sarcastic responses as me flirting. Why do guys get that confused all the time?
Also the police showed up for a domestic dispute on the 17th floor. We only have 11 floors. They had the wrong hotel. Good ole St. Louis Police Department.