Time to celebrate Read Free Sunday (RFS) at The Diary.
It’s Sparrow, an average man passing an average life…
Saturday, September 11
Boy, it was chaos when yours truly reported for duty at the hotel…The lobby was hopping and ol’ Sparrow was peeved in fairly short order.
First, the back office was stacked with stuff: both rubber mats, the doggie bed, a pizza box, a bag of chips, a container of corresponding dip and an accordion binder…Then I go back to see if Amy made coffee and the floor in the back coffee room is really sticky…Amy said both circumstances are probably explained by the fact the front desk and back office carpets were cleaned today.
Then there was this wizard who was unable to find a luggage cart without nite auditor intervention…He had come and asked where one could be found and yours truly pointed and said near the first-floor entrance, adding there were generally some near each door…Well, Genius comes back to report there weren’t any by the first-floor entrance and his general bearing and tone indicated this problem could only be solved by me…All right, you can’t really complain about that, you’re here to serve so in good enuff spirits we walked around until we found a luggage cart…Then there was this and there was that and BOOM the next thing anyone knows it’s midnight and you’re just finishing up counting the drawers.
Which itself was a mess…Good gravy, it was like ol’ Sparrow had never counted money before and it wasn’t good for morale that all the currency seemed to be stuffed in there as if someone was about to flee.
When I finally do make it to the back office desk, even after everything is cleared off there are still crumbs from the apparent PM buffet and there are those 3-hole punch dots all over the place, too.
143 calls, too, explaining that her husband had paid for the room but she would appreciate it if we didn’t tell which room it was…This happened fairly early on actually, and Amy was still there and she would say that the husband is a drunk jerk and I nodded and told the lady her room number would not be issued to anyone without her approval…(I wanted to say without her express written consent, but this was no time to be flippant.)
I was hoping the husband wouldn’t drop by because it’s his room and if you’re paying for a room a point can be made that you are entitled to know which one it is…But taking everything into consideration, it would be best to honor the wife’s request…Ol’ Sparrow took this so seriously he didn’t email the folio to the guy because the room number is on it, of course…Had the husband dropped by and wanted to cause trouble, ol’ Sparrow would have been prepared, of course, but he didn’t which was ideal.
The big news is for the first time in a month there were new bags for the shredder…Now, these are not the official bags from the manufacturer, but general commercial bags from an appropriate supplier, but they fit great and it’s better than using those green, 33-gallon bags that you can never fill up all the way, so this is a win for the environment.
About 0130 there’s a call from a guy looking for a room…I tell him $175, plus tax, a bit high for slow season and yours truly was prepared to haggle in order to move some product but he said OK…He gets here tho and he and his woman are on something but I’m not Mr DEA and can’t really tell what, except it’s plain they’re acting slow and tired, so maybe they’re merely really tired.
Anyway, the guy pulls a debit card out of his pocket – which is really suspicious, by the by – and I ask for an ID and he doesn’t have one and he mumbles something about maybe it being in his truck…He goes out to look and comes back and says no.
Well, no ID, no room, especially when you’re pulling a debit card out of your pocket because you don’t have to be Joe Friday to wonder exactly where in the hell it came from…Plus, I check the card and it’s an Italian name ending in an “o” and this guy’s about as Italian as a tortilla…I apologize and say I don’t have a room for them and he says he’s calling his dad and he gets on his phone and soon enuff the actual owner of the card – who’s staying next door – is at there with ID tho if he’s the guy’s dad he was hitting on girls while still in diapers because they were more or less the same age…Plus there was no resemblance….It’s OK tho – and usually desirable – not to know the whole story sometimes…There was a guy with an ID and a credit card desirous of getting a room for two people…All right, far be it for ol’ Sparrow to interfere with that.
The knife got some solid usage this morning, with both new boxes of coffee and French vanilla creamer getting opened, but how many times French vanilla has been replaced compared to the half & half and hazelnut isn’t known, so there aren’t any creamer usage test (CUT) results to promulgate.
Sparrow’s Sleep Log:
0930 Saturday until 1230 Saturday
1630 Saturday until 2130 Saturday.
8.0 hours for the day and 45.0 hours for the week…I have some zero clue what brought on the split sleep session (SSS), but the fours hours between each was put to good use, with some solid reading and project work accomplished.
The Diary of a Nobody is a novel. All elements are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Anything else is a coincidence.
It was inspired by the 19th-century British novel of the same name.
Gaylon’s books can also be found at The Reading Salon.
