Damn It...

I'm in the mood to write... but I'm trapped at work babysitting hotel guests. Yes, I said babysitting.

For some reason at the hotel I work at, every guest turns into a five year old upon check in. Odd that you can figure out your $10,000 entertainment system at home, but here you can't even figure out how to hook up your DVD player. Or, you can whip up a gourmet meal at home, but you can't operate a waffle machine. Hint for that one, the instructions are on the waffle iron AND next to it, so apparently you forget how to read when you check in too.

Dear God, woman, you don't have to shower in your perfume before coming down in the morning. Maybe you should have just tried the regular shower instead of coating yourself in layers of masking scent which aren't working by the way. No, wait, let me guess, you couldn't figure out how to operate the shower either could you.

I know, vacations are tough but please be an adult. And if you're a parent, vacation means you're still a parent. I've said it before, I'll say it again... Do NOT expect me (or any other hotel staff) to watch your kids. After all, you don't know me. I could be a crazy nut who'd give them a ball and tell them to play in traffic. I'm not so you're kids will stay alive... maybe. 

And the plethora of lies down here is unbelievable. You stayed in the smallest most boring room we have because you're too cheap to spring for the nice room. But, oh boy, when someone calls you, you stayed in the presidential suite that we don't have and had a gourmet breakfast that I also haven't found lurking around here. That's great because you look like some big shot, but then I get the disappointed guest who comes through wondering why we don't have the things you mentioned. For Gods sake, just be truthful. The hotel is nice and comfortable, but I was too cheap to get the fancy room... is that so hard to ask?

So, back to the writing bug. Here I sit wanting to write on Fulfilled, but know the second I start I will face hundreds of interruptions that will just piss me off. And an author pissed off trying to write a happy ending is a very bad thing. Too pissed and I'm likely to drop a nuclear warhead on fantasy land and give it a horrible everyone dies ending. Honestly, who wants to read that. So here I sit ranting about wanting to write in between such silly requests as "Do you have a pencil... my daughter needs to do homework, but we only have pens..." (sure I keep an office supply store in the back) to the insane beeping of that earlier mentioned waffle iron... yes, the one with the instructions...

And I'm actually taking care of the breakfast area today, so I also have to jump up and constantly refill things... mostly because of those unsupervised kids running around. Hey, shortie, there's starving people all over the world AND this hotel, you better eat all that. OMG, you look like you're 7, did I just see you get and drink coffee??

Yes, I am convinced now that the world will end because we're raised our kids to be morons... and I'm speaking in the general term. I know there are still wonderful parents out there, raising kids to be responsible adults. But, seriously, you're outnumbered. Apparently, too many people thought having kids would be fun, a fashion statement, or a way to look good for the boss.... and now they don't know what to do with the things. They want to be liked so they turn into their kids' friend instead of a parent. And, seriously, what does a kid learn from that??

So, if you hear kids crying in the next twenty minutes. It's not because I was mean, it's because I had the ovaries to lay down the rules and stick to them. Yes, I'm such a meanie...

Prime example and the bane of my current work weekend. A man and his wife are staying in an expensive spa suite enjoying a romantic weekend... their two daughters?... across the hall unsupervised in a double room and I'm guessing they're both under 12. Really? Next time, get the babysitter.

Shaking her head in disbelief,
Jennifer