The Tweaker and the Help

Have I mentioned how Sunday has really become one of my least favourite days of the week? Wisely, my supervisor has put me down for Sunday's because she wants the best on duty and that happens to be be...frighteningly enough. While I don't begrudge working a weekend day – over the summer, I was quite lucky to ONLY have to work a Saturday or Sunday because all the other housekeeping staff had to do BOTH days which sucks cause as you can imagine, those are the busiest, most work heavy days.

For me that means it's literally a feeding frenzy as people take to the first meal of the day as if it were their last, consuming enough coffee to choke....well....something really large, like whale. Oh and the juice they consume...and eggs...my god...who wants to travel with someone who's had five hard boiled eggs for brekkie? Not me! As if the feeding weren't enough, there's not only a lot of them, but they like to linger. Which really only stretches the feeding but otherwise, I don't care if they linger while i'm breaking down and cleaning up. Just don't get snippy with me when I politely inform you that the vacuum is loud.

Even in the off season, the weekends can prove to be busy – not balls to the wall like in the summer but just enough to irritate the soul. Mine started off quiet. Too quiet. Nobody was waiting for fresh coffee...which was weird. With breakfast all set up, I found myself with very little action going on and plenty of time to go between getting other things done and bs'ing with the morning clerk. I wondered if I'd hallucinated seeing a full parking lot and then it happened. They came, they saw, they started to feed. Luckily on the breakfast put out rather than on me.

I was wandering the room, tidying up when he came in like a sort of jovial super star, greeting people with a raucous “How ya'll doin'?” which was odd considering he walked around proclaiming to be a West Coaster....at least ten times that I could hear. Seems that was like pushing start and there was no pausing or shutting this guy up. He went nuts over the spread and pounced upon the waffles...well..more like, pounced the general area, talking nonstop about how he couldn't figure it out and just blabbing away, almost nonsensically over the person who was talking him through how to fill a cup with batter while in constant motion, kinda hopping on the balls of his feet at this point. I was by his side, directing how to pour it into the iron and flip it after closing. I thought I rather clearly stated that in a few minutes, it would beep to let him know it was ready. Disappearing into the kitchen, I heard his continued greetings, talking about the Raider's being on this afternoon, when's his waffle going to be done....the man would NOT shut up.

And then...he peeked into my kitchen and came bounding in, happily chattering away about how he's from the West Coast, the Raider's are on this afternoon, oh, and when's his waffle going to be ready...oh, and he's just peeking around to see what I have to offer. Honestly, I could feel that one last nerve I have on reserve just fraying right before my very eyes. (ok, we'll ignore the fact that it's disturbing and kinda gross that this nerve is where *I* can see it.) Peering into the freezer, he noticed the eggs and sausage and went all nuts with like....maniacal glee, “Hey, yo, are those biscuits? Can you fix me one of those egg things on a english muffin like at McD's?” came the question as he hopped around looking through my fridge before studying the coffee maker. Why I have these things is beyond the scope of this post but nonetheless, I politely explained I wasn't setup to do that kind of prep...not to mention...if I hand make one brekkie sandwich for someone, I’d suddenly have 20+ more people wanting one too.

So finally, his waffle machine goes off and he's bouncing around trying to pluck it free with his bare fingers before I point out the fork, which helps. A last round about the Raiders, where's the syrup, how about some butter and then....bliss! It was suddenly very quiet.

I saw this gentleman several more times over the morning – always cheery and bouncy...and vaguely greeting as if he'd never seen me before. And while I like cheery, in this industry – a cheery guest is generally a good thing. You know, so long as they're not happy cause the place is set to blow or they've taken a tv home. The hyperactive bouncing? It was a bit much for me.

So yes, while he was pretty nice and all kinds of cheerful – that boy was either tweaking big time or had a majorly undiagnosed Adult ADHD.

It kinda made my day.

AND inspired this post.

Boosh!

Holy Shit, Our Security is Atrocious

I meant to write type this up back in July when it happened but never managed to do. since I'm here in a waiting room, I should play a lil catch up...so go on and pretend a lil with mebthat this recently happened. As sort of addendum to the whole waiting room thing...I at least started there...and you know...days later....

Originally this post was going to be titled, "The Boys Are Back In Town" in homage to the girls homecoming. However Im feeling in a bit of a ranty mood and this new title is more appropriate.

I'd like to start by saying that I do think that we need to take precautions in regards to airport security. On the whole, TSA staff I've encountered have been professional and courteous and given the times when things have looked utterly chaotic (to me at least) they have preservered and appeared hard working. That being said, in regards to security checks, some things they do or require are absolutely crazy.

The other day E and I went to pick up the girls from the airport. Surprisingly, the AirTran counter was practically deserted...no line waiting!! The original plan was that E would find a comfy place down in baggage claims to chill and wait while I went to the gate to meet the girls. Turned out that we both could go and meet them instead. While I certainly can't complain about that, I do wonder why only ONE of us was allowed to go when accompanying the girls to the gate for their departure.

Seriously, have you ever been at a departure gate having to pry a crying girl off each one of your legs so you can shove them onto a plane and send them off to Grandma's? No?!? Me neither, thank god!!

Anyhow we get in line for security screening and you all know the drill - all metal, electronics, coins (mmm..does that even count as metal?  I guess it might) get stuffed in a bin along with any bags, entrails and of course...shoes.  This is all going to go through x-ray so everybody can freak out when the horse statuettes you packed in your carry on look more like guns than the well...tchatchkes they are.  My issue, of course, is the whole shoe thing.  While it squicks me out to no end to see all these people barefoot wandering around, it at least is not my problem if they contract some sort of foot funk from not having worn socks to the airport. *shudders*  Eww...I don't even want to think about it!

Those of you who know E, know that he gets around with a leg brace and cane. I just don't get why concessions cant't be made to those with certain medical devices cause like the rest of us, he had to doff his shoes (and thus brace) and exchange his metal cane for a provided wooden one.  I just think it's a little crazy to make a person with obvious mobility issues deal with even more issues by having them shuffle about on tile floors in their socks.

Am I being a special snowflake over this?  Maybe but it does go beyond the whole E experience. The woman behind us was in a WHEELCHAIR!  She not only was without shoes, but they made her walk through on stockinged feet...on what can feel like rather slippery tile!  Oy vey, I don't know i took a breath till she was back in her chair and E was on a bench waiting for his shoes.  I know it's not like it's a very far walk but I guess I believe that an ounce of prevention keeps us from a ton of shit and it really was worrisome for me witness this.

The situation really reminded me of when we moved overseas.  Of course we got pulled over for the "extra" screening they like to do.  What killed me back then was that the Diva was a baby - we were loaded down with her stroller and car seat for the plane.  It's a fact of life, yeah, I know. But why the hell did I have to coax my child to CRAWL through the x-ray thingie (You know, the part we walk through, not that i got to put her on a belt or anything *grins*) on a FILTHY floor to the waiting personnel on the other side? I mean Jesus fucking Saint Bart...what do they do for infants???

Anyhow...back to my lil tale here...We made it to the gate in good time AND their flight was 20 minutes early on its arrival.  Something I never considered till I actually experienced it was that in a post 9/11 airport, they no longer announce arrivals.  Of course, why bother - how many people are hanging around anymore waiting to pounce on loved ones and strangers as they exit the plane?  Not many, let me tell you.  It was seriously eerie...in a Hotel California sort of way.  You can leave but nobody ever shows up...I know...they do...just unannounced.  After all, I did - just a couple gates ahead from where the girls did.  Two years ago this month.