The Line

Over the weekend I attended a Halloween party. It was fairly enjoyable, even if some of us left early because things were getting out of hand. On the way home, I stopped and checked my schedule at work. Instead of the usual scheduled hours after my name, there was a swiftly-drawn line.

My initial reaction was confusion. What did this line mean? Was there a conflict? Would I resume work the next week? Eventually, I realized what should have been obvious: I was fired.

Or at least I had a hunch that I was. It was not until I called the hotel the next morning that I knew for sure. I tried calling my manager directly, but there was no answer. I tried calling the hotel’s number, but the call would not connect (I think they may have blocked my number). Eventually, I got through by using my home phone instead.

They fired me without even letting me know.

The actual reason for my termination is convoluted, but the basics are that I was doing things the way I had been taught under previous management. This was producing errors, apparently. No one told me that I was doing anything wrong. No one told me the new way of doing things. This happened twice and caused the management and owner a lot of problems. But they never told me I was doing it wrong.

The End of an Era

Tonight I had an issue while checking out a guest. I went to call my boss to remedy the situation, but was sent to voicemail. She then informed me via text that she has resigned.

I am disheartened, to say the least. My boss was one of the best things about working at the hotel. She is possibly the most positive person I have ever known, and always has such genuine enthusiasm for things.

She will be missed. I can only hope that work will continue to be a rewarding environment. If things go downhill, though, I guess I will be stuck in the same boat as everyone else.

Come to Philly for the Crack

I should be sleeping. I have to be awake for class tonight. But alas, I am out of melatonin. Since I am unable to sleep, I figure I can kill two birds with one stone by also being unable to write.

I have struggled to find something appropriate to blog about the past few days. It would make the most sense to talk about work, but it is my wish that this blog be something more than just a record of my spiraling occupational neurosis.

While at work, I did come across something that may be worth sharing anyway: I find Philadelphia accents indicate a constant orneriness. To me, it is as if the speaker is about to have an angry outburst at any moment.

There was a portly gentleman from Philadelphia in town for the university’s homecoming. While eating breakfast, he asked for me to change the channel on the breakfast area television to weather. Something about the way he said it made me feel like he was in a bad mood. I turned the channel from the usual (CNN’s Early Start) to The Weather Channel.

“No,” he continued, “I want to see the weather for here.”

His tone seemed to belie a certain impatience. I was flummoxed (it had been a long night for me). Eventually it was made clear that he wanted the local weather, but not before I felt like he was on the verge of getting mad.

Of course, he could have just been frustrated. One of several incidents that kept me busy that night was his toilet clogging. The plunger remained elusive, so the best I could do for him was to instruct him to use the public restroom. When you also consider how long it took me to realize that he wanted a local channel on, you have a recipe for an irritable guest. But to me, he seemed to be teetering on the edge of an unearned eruption.

After this, he asked to change the channel again. With my permission, he began tuning the TV to something else. He settled on a screening of Major League on HBO. The movie has some saucy elements, and HBO is the one channel we are never supposed to have on for precisely that reason. Yet, I did not say anything. I was afraid of upsetting the precarious balance of emotions within the man.

I know, I know, this makes me look bad. He had an excuse to be a little upset. Taking this into account, one might draw the conclusion that I simply do not like people from Philadelphia. This is not true. I love It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia and my godfather is from the city of brotherly love.

Just like how I'm not racist because of my black friend.

I maintain that even taking into account the circumstances, there was a rising inflection in his voice. It practically sounded like he was looking for a reason to get into an argument. I do not know how else to describe the effect his accent had on me.

Looking back, I am probably overanalyzing everything about this frankly unremarkable situation. And it is kind of boring. But dammit, I got a blog post out of it.

Potpourri I

I decided to combine a few post ideas that were not long enough into a single post. Why? Because I steal from C/K. I even stole the idea to start a blog from him.

One of my duties as a hotel night auditor is to print out the receipts for Choice Privileges customers and slip them under their doors. Traversing from one room to the next, quietly slipping receipts under doors, I wondered if this was what it felt like to be the Tooth Fairy. In any case, it has similarly creepy connotations: I am slipping things under other things for you to find while you are asleep.

Last night I not only read text in my dream, I made a play on words! I think I was looking at someone’s online username and they were an Olympic swim fan, because the word displayed was “Lochtepus.”

I have never heard that one before (only “Lochtess Monster”), so I am taking this opportunity to praise my subconscious’s cleverness.

CNN keeps referring to tonight as “debate night in America.” Because of the phrasing, I now have “Tennis Night in America” stuck in my head.

To bring things full circle, Ryan Lochte will be appearing in the final(?) season of 30 Rock. If anyone can make his stilted, wooden personality entertaining, it’s them.

30 Rock Soundtrack:

Amazon

Google Play

iTunes

All Aboard!

The model railroading bug has bitten me again! This time it is more of a localized rash than a full-blown infection.

Something I do not often share with people is that I used to be an avid model railroader. Well, more of an armchair model railroader. I did more reading, planning, and collecting than building. As a result, there are a lot of unrealized projects. In our basement, we actually have a train table that my grandfather custom built to go around in a ring, but currently it is being used for storage. I never placed anything permanently on it.

This is probably somehow connected to my habit of not finishing things.

I made a little bit of progress a couple of years ago, and intended to document my meager attempts with a blog. I started work on what is known as a “pizza layout,” a small setup, often around the size of a pizza box. I think resuming this project is a good way to dip my toe back into the water before attempting the daunting (but exciting) task of creating a large layout.

As for the large layout, I have been rethinking my plans. A large part of it was going to be a small town, and I realized I could make it a miniature version of the town from my “bad” story. But as I was in class, I my mind began to wander. What about something more fantastical? Steampunk and dieselpunk seem perfectly suited for model railroading (steam and diesel being the two types of locomotives). I think this could end up as a pretty cool layout. I use the term cool relatively, of course.

All of this does beg the question, should I be devoting time and energy to side projects and hobbies? I not only have classes to keep up with, but my current story begs for attention. (I have accepted it will not be done in time for NaNoWriMo, but whatever, I can use that time to write draft two.) Plus, I should probably clean my room soon.

I do not see a problem with working on the pizza layout. And I think I can justify this as a creative release, so long as it does not keep me from doing other things. Writing, school, and work should take priority.

The Looming Threat

I tend to feel inadequate at my job. I try my best to be courteous and nice, but always worry that I am not productive enough. One of my more pessimistic musings is that my niceness will serve only to make it a more uncomfortable conversation when I am eventually fired.

My boss tells me otherwise. It is possible that she is just being polite when I ask about my performance (she is an extraordinarily positive person), but it is more possible that I am just being down on myself.

Oh yeah, about my boss… I kind of maybe sort of broke her finger today.

She came in to relieve me of my nightly duties at seven this morning, and after some pleasantries were exchanged, she requested my assistance. In the process of emptying the dirty rags into the washing machine, the plastic garbage can that we pile the rags into got its mouth wedged in the industrial washer’s opening. It took some minutes of struggling, but with a loud pop, I removed the garbage can.

Immediately following this, my manager let out a sound of distress. I looked at her as she reacted to pain, eyes wide, for several seconds. Eventually she was freed. Though I could not see it from my point of view, her finger had gotten caught between the plastic and the metal.

When she showed me her finger, there was a deep indentation. No skin was broken, but I was nearly sickened by the mark, wincing as I imagined the pain. She has reported that she is okay and applied ice to her injury. She did admit, however, that her finger may be broken.

I apologized as best as I could, but I still feel bad about the accident. Hopefully everything will be alright—by the time I left, she was already in her signature good mood—but while reflecting dwelling on the incident, I could not help but think about how much I might be screwing up. This is a specter that haunts me. Sometimes when I am being self-deprecating I am aware of how ridiculous it is, but other times it more difficult to tell what is real.

I really should try to turn this worrying into something constructive and channel it into better workplace performance.

Flip Flop

Last night I was watching CNN while at work, as usual. On AC360's "Keeping Them Honest" segment, they featured Paul Ryan's criticism of an economic bill, which he later took advantage of once it passed.

I want to make clear that what follows is not an assessment of Ryan or his capabilities. It is generalization. That said: I find it frustrating that this is viewed as a bad thing.

Do not get me wrong—him lying about it after the fact is wrong. But he should not have felt the need to hide it. Why is it so taboo for a politician to change their mind as more information emerges or pertinent events occur? Why can't we accept a leader admitting that they were wrong about something in the past? Why can't Ryan take advantage of the new law while saying that he made a mistake opposing it, but acted based on what he knew at the time.

Why? Because politics in the United States has been overwhelmed by partisan views. Instead of people arguing for ideas based on their merits, they pick a side and stick with it, regardless of any future developments. The whole thing has the mentality of a sports rivalry. One side hates the other on principal.

As I said, this is not a defense of Ryan. It is more that this incident reminded me of my opinion which pertains to all politicians. Frankly, I have seen nothing to make me a fan of the guy.

This video sums up my views on politics in general:

Persistent Procrastination

I have other things
I need to be doing.

But this
is so much easier.

This poem
kind of sucks.

I am bogged down under some work. Or rather, I should be. I keep weaseling my way out of it. Now it is time to sleep again--I work the 11pm-7am shift tonight.

I have until the 27th to complete a few papers for a class I took earlier in the summer. It's a long story. It's embarrassing. I know I can do this, I just need to actually do it.

And of course, I get my most interesting ideas when I should not be working on my personal projects.

Fruit Whirls and Frustrations

Damn, I'm proud of this title. Unfortunately this is not going to be much of a post. But what could live up to such a headline?

I thought of the title while I was eating some spilled cereal at work. They're called Fruit Whirls and are a generic brand version of Fruit Loops, in case you could not guess. A guest once claimed that our hotel's circular fruit cereal was his favorite. They seemed suitably tasty to me.

As for frustrations, they are varied and probably not worth talking about. Frustrations is not even the best term to describe anything currently bothering me, I just liked the alteration.

Oh, and I freaked out briefly when I thought I may have irreparably damaged my phone while flashing from a custom ROM back to rooted stock. But thanks to the helpful folks at XDA, I'm back in business. Without them, I might have created a very expensive paperweight. Remember kids, try this at home if you like, but only after a adequate amount of research. I plowed ahead past the boundaries of my technical knowledge and took a big, foolish risk.

I guess I could now call this entry "Fruit Whirls, Phones, and Foolishness," but it does not have the same ring to me.

A Referral

Sometimes, I am a bad friend. I am habitually late for everything, which does not indicate a great level of commitment to the people left waiting for me. It makes me unreliable. Truthfully, I think I am angrier about my tardiness than they are.

I procrastinate a lot. Right now, I am typing away at a blog entry instead of changing the coffee pot. I should take care of that. I will be right back.

...

Back. Steam fogged my glasses as I poured aromatic, stale coffee down the sink that does not drain very fast. In the background, I can hear the commercial grade coffee machine squealing like the sound used in the Prometheus trailer (that trailer, while awesome, gives away too many plot details).

Where was I? Bad friend. Procrastinate. Oh yes.

When I learned of a close friend's blog, I was excited to read it. I bookmarked it. I bookmarked it again on my phone. And then I did not read it.

Only tonight, in the doldrums between the duties of the lowly night auditor, have I finally read it. And it is quite good. That was to be expected, but it's so good, I now have an extra bit of anxiety to feel next time I am brave enough to share some of my writing. Sharing a piece with someone who does not write is much easier, as they often will not know the craft well enough to recognize what a failure of a composition they are looking at.

Here is the blog, by the way.

How I Ruined a Honeymoon

I am not the most experienced person, romantically speaking. Until college, I suspected that I might be alone for my entire life. That specter has reared its irrational head a few times since then. I kind of suck at dating, if my recent attempts are any indication. The point is, I am not happily involved with someone. Could that lead to resentment inside my heart? A deeper, more poisonous version of when you see a happy couple and instead of feeling happy for them, are demoralized, or even disgusted? According to a groom last night, I do, in fact, harbor such feelings and actively sabotaged his wedding night.

I work at a hotel as a night auditor. The short explanation is that I man the front desk from 11 pm to 7 am. Usually the night shift is dead. Last night was more eventful—mostly drunk people wandering in and out of the lobby. There are also two wedding parties staying in the hotel (whether the drunk people can be counted among their numbers is unknown). I have worked nights of weddings before; often, couples will stagger in following the reception, with the bride and groom showing up last in the early morning.

Last night a newly-married couple drug themselves to the front desk. They were exhausted.

“Long drive?” I asked.

“No, a wedding,” they said, “we were married.”

“Congratulations.”

I then went on to apologize for the fact that I was having difficulty checking them in. I had to run to the fourth floor to check that their room was actually clean. After this, I proceeded to process their credit card. Bright red letters appeared on the screen: Credit Card Authorization Declined. The groom went out to their car to grab the credit card they planned on using—I asked him to do that just in case I had the wrong card on file. I didn’t. When he returned, I went through the process again and the card declined.

Oh, and I forgot to mention that I somehow downgraded them from a whirlpool room to a normal king room. We were completely booked and the system would not let me select the correct type of room. When I explained what had happened, they were initially alright with the situation.

“We’re tired. We just need a place to sleep,” said the bride, resting her head in her hands.

After the credit card declined, however, things became tense.

“Now I’m upset,” the groom said, raising his voice, “I had a room reserved. I reserved a whirlpool. And now…”

I wasn’t sure what to say. He went over to his new wife, who was sitting down at this point, barely awake. After a short while, I heard him saying, “This guy’s playing with us. This kid’s fucking playing with us.”

He came back over to the front desk and expressed his frustration. I tried to assure him that I was doing everything I could. There was simply no way the system would let me check them in without a form of payment.

“You’re ruining our honeymoon. You know that?”

The bride came over and tried to calm him down.

Internally, I panicked. I considered calling my manager aloud, hoping that this possible resolution would diffuse some of the hostility. The guy continued to insinuate that I was keeping something from them or refusing to do something that would easily remedy the situation, his eyes bulging out a little bit.

Eventually, after the bride explained that they had already been staying in the hotel under a different room and insisted that she was friends with several employees, I decided to give into their request and give them the keys to the room. The problem is that they are not in the system. Without a credit card clearing, they might have no viable way to pay the hotel.

I have a nasty habit of viewing myself as incompetent in many tasks. My perspective on how well I do my job is not immune to this pessimism. Did I ineptly mess up everything, then try to save things with a terrible decision, or am I simply looking for an excuse to feel guilty about something? I hope I do not get fired for doing this. But I felt bad.

I believed the groom when he said that I was ruining their honeymoon.