blowing off steam.

It's ungodly early on a Sunday morning, and I am at work blowing off the steam coming from my second cup of coffee of the day.  I like the way the surface of my milky brown beverage swirls inside the cup, but the phone rings before I am able to fully appreciate the wisps of vapor tickling the tip of my nose.

"______________, XXX speaking, how can I help you?  Oh, it's just you"

(For the sake of my current job and future career aspects, I will have to refrain from identifying myself or my place of employment.)

The person on the other end of the phone is my friend M, who works across the street at a different hotel.  We've learned to cope with our frustrating jobs by using the company phones to call each other during shifts... frequently.  On this fine morning I ask her how to make the adjustment from working weeknights to weekend mornings.  Her advice: "you'll just get used to it, eventually you'll get into the habit."  Um, thanks for nothing.

The one benefit of working mornings is that I have more down time, and fewer people in my face needing attention.  The truth is the hospitality industry is the business of placating; it's not simply a matter of fulfilling a customer's reasonable demands of shelter and running water and those really small bottles of generic shampoo, the front desk exists for the sole purpose of serving emotional needs.

My first human contact of the day is a guest I am sure I have seen before, but I cannot remember his name and it's greatly possible I am confusing him for someone else.  Mid 40s, easily clears 6 feet, 5pm stubble (at 7am, mind you) and the stench of last night's beer hanging on his dingy clothes.  He later informs me that it was ten beers, to be exact.

"I don't know who you are," he says to me as he stomps into the lobby, holding the door open letting in a gust of frigid air.  I am annoyed, the current temperature outside is hanging at a blustery 5 degrees and despite having left the thermostat at 72 degrees overnight, the lobby is struggling to remain at 63.

"I'm sorry sir, is there something I can help you with?"
He stomps across the length of the lobby and barks at me, before leaving with a danish in hand.  "You're new, I've never seen you before."

Truth be told, I have been here almost three and a half years.  Few things surprise me anymore.

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Face palm of the day (so far): Older couple, 50s at least, probably haven't slept in the same bed in at least two decades, they are as skilled at thinking as they are at walking which doesn't bode well for humanity (or my day at work).

"Where's the breakfast?"
"Right in front of you, sir."