You just checked in to room 211. There's no way you could possibly know this because I was in my 'care bear with ADHD' mode, but I hate people sometimes. Seriously. I realize I am one of the whitest - and by that I mean
palest - people ever to live, but that doesn't mean I'm prejudice. Nor does it mean I'm ignorant. It does not mean that if you call me a prejudice bitch in Spanish I won't understand you. It also doesn't mean that I expect you to apologize for insulting me (because, really, that's expecting too much) when I politely tell you - in Spanish, since it's apparently your language of choice - how to get to your room, where the ice machine is, and at what time we serve coffee in the morning. What it means, sir, is that you are a bastard and yet I still have to be nice to you despite that fact because it's my job. By the way, I am not sorry I was unable to give you the downstairs room you demanded, because YOU'RE TWENTY-ONE YEARS OLD, NOT SIXTY! I've one, that's it, one room downstairs left, and I'd rather make you walk up one measley flight of stairs than have nothing downstairs for the lovely elderly couple standing patiently right behind you.
Thanks so much for staying with us! You have a nice night now!
Sincerely, The Front Desk
And this concludes my daily mental breakdown in which I wish I could shoot laser beams out of my eyes, thus ridding the world of one or two more rude people.
Current Mood: bitchy
Memories | 14 comments | Leave a comment