Mmmmmmmmm Friday. Armies of weekend wankers swarming upon the hotel like a plague of locusts, and that’s a slight upon famine inducing locusts. Sorry, locusts. Locusts are more organized, have better manners, and have better taste in food.
There’s something about Fridays – being cut loose from the week and thrusting themselves into the weekend – that puts people in a fucking frenzy. Understandable, but for someone who’s weekend typically starts at 11pm on a Tuesday? Fuck you. I’m no more amenable to your acting a needy, arrogant twat because the horrendous traffic is putting your massage appointment (or – satire adjusted for current economic situation – your consumption of deep dish pizza) is being put in jeopardy. And of course when my shift starts – 3pm – is when guests seem to be whipped in to the greatest of froths. I swear our front doors somehow magically caffeinating each and every already agitated spazwit coming through them. But then that wouldn’t account for the very first phone call I picked up today, from Philadelphia, which only served to frame the rest of what was an archetypal Friday:
- Larry from Philly calls and before anything else wants to know about strip clubs in Chicago (in hindsight, I’m shocked this guy was able to refrain from saying “titty bars” at least once). He’s vetting what are ultimately the only 2 strip clubs near downtown to make sure they’re worthy of bringing his girlfriend. Great. And once I assure him we’re dealing only with places of the highest quality where lonely boners go to be teased, he inquires about getting a limo to take him and his girlfriend there. Ya know – gotta do it right. And when I tell him his options, he is sure to ask if they’re classy – “They’re not old, right? They’re nice? Classy?” A classy limousine is like a classy leopard thong. But I ensure that I will enlist only the finest of carriages to transport him and his vaginal punching bag to – and since Larry is splashing out tonight….FROM! – the house of $20, two minute dances that have more to do with pastie-obscured nipples than they do laps. Arranging such a high class operation requires a call back, and Larry tells me that when I do, he may be forced to be aloof because – although his girlfriend is fully aware they’re going to a strip club (he yelled to her while on the phone with me “BABE – WHAT TIME?”), the weinermobile was a surprise. And FYI – he asked, but $250/hour and a four hour minimum was too rich for Larry’s blood.
- While I’m on the phone with Larry, I’m watching the pockets of Minnesota Twins fans, in town for their first trip to Wrigley Field in eight years, navigate the lobby, the first built structure they’ve been inside in presumably the last 20 years without copious amounts of stained hardwood. Hey guys! Love your frayed ball cap bills and sandals! I suspect Wrigleyville apartments will suddenly find themselves 20% more rented after this weekend. Ditto for douchebag Wrigleyville bars – this could be like Muslim pilgrims stumbling upon Mecca after eight lonely years in the American League.
- Who’s next……you sir! A one way car rental to Cincinatti, Ohio? Great! Sure you wouldn’t rather just have me direct you to the nearest cliff to drive off of? No? Ok – dead man walking!
- Then on to the Eurotourist who won’t leave until he is 110% certain Magic Slim (“mah-jeek sleeeem”) is playing at Kingston Mines. I’m sure Magic Slim is looking forward to singing just to you, Fabrice. Can’t wait for the connection you guys will make when he’s wailing about losing his wife/job/life – definitely a metaphor for when you can’t find your kids the Nintendo DS game they want at Best Buy.
- Then the lady who wanted a birthday cake in her room upon arrival. The card should read “Happy Birthday Barb. Love, Jen” Great – shall I send up a pack of hockey cards, a softball glove, and 6 pack of Fruit of the Loom tighty whities as well?
- Next – couple who decided against having me order theater tickets before them because they’d end up being about $20 over face value. Eek! And the loudmouth fucking Boca Raton bystander who couldn’t stop telling them how great Jersey Boys is. I SAW IT IN NEW YORK!!!
- After that, the winner who had to know “the best” way to get to the Allstate Arena. Andrea Bocelli concert. Thank you for having me explain in regimented detail the intricacies of taking public transportation there, as well as devising a mindbendingly convoluted plan to catch a cab back (“yeah, I think walking 4 blocks to a Pizza Hut and waiting 30 minutes to catch a cab is a great plan”) and then revealing you have a car and are willing and able to drive.
- Finally the guy who said he had a really Dumb Question – “Can you bring wine glasses to my room?” Why yes! That is a dumb question! Not as dumb as you having the wine store, where you purchased your wine, open the bottle for you because you didn’t think a 4 star luxury hotel would have a corkscrew, but pretty fucking stupid nonetheless. Will you be calling us later with another Dumb Question like “are you able to replace the towels we’ve used with laundered ones???”
And that, my pets, was the FIRST FUCKING HOUR of my shift. Seven more to go! Plenty more fun after that – shitheads to need heart to heart talks on “REALLY GREAT restaurants” where they can wear man sandals (mandals – it was 70 degrees tops in Chicago today), and stroller pushing twits who demand “REALLY GREAT restaurants” they can bring their 2 year olds. Yes madame, may I suggest the Gilded Pacifier?!
I’ll leave out the bit where Larry checked in, douchebag uniform well intact (head to toe Ed Hardy – including Louis Vuitton-esque Ed Hardy bag), along with his Newport menthol spokesmodel girlfriend. And then harped on me to make sure the limo was on time. Then called me at 10pm when it arrived to say he’d be down for it in about 15 minutes. Then finally came down at 10:45pm. To get a band aid. And take two martinis back up to his room.
God can eat a bag of shit – I’m only thankful when Friday is over.