So the sewage container at work, (a built-in metal box of sorts, which collects the dirty dish water) is plugged up this morning. That means it has to be emptied of said water and repaired. The stench wafting up to the reception area is unbelievable. I’m literally stewing inside what I would imagine the bathroom in hell would smell like after Al Bundy took a turn in there. The only positive aspect of this smelly situation is that we don’t have many clients at the hotel this week. None of them will have to die in vain from blunt force nasal trauma.
Ah, routine…nature’s dejavu. It inundates my days with structure and purpose and ultimately I revel in the comfort of a daily schedule. It’s like a well-oiled machine: stopping for coffee in the morning, the drive to work, the daily work checklist to sift through, then lunchtime at home, an afternoon nap, a few errands, and ultimately dinner and good conversation in the front yard under the nighttime sky.
Surprises though can be refreshing. As reassuring as routine is, it’s nice to break the mold every once in a while; kind of like having extra jalapenos in a burrito – a nice little kick in an otherwise ordinary meal.
What constitutes a “jalapeno” in my world can vary from day-to-day. Finding a tiny little gecko in the house the other night – and proceeding to drown it in my toilet – definitely constitutes a routine kicker.
Post-mortem I was full of regret – why didn’t I just throw him into the back yard? Give him a chance to live its simple mosquito-eating existence? Am I really destined to be a gecko killer? But he got the best of me. I saw him slithering down the wall and all I could see was myself in bed at night, mouth agape (as it usually is when I’m sleeping), and little G-man quietly slithering into my open mouth. I couldn’t bear the thought of it.
I grabbed him with a piece of toilet paper, my grasp firm, and I dropped him in the toilet. I flushed. Success!? No, unfortunately for G-man he was still alive and trying to crawl out of the toilet bowl. His little tail, by this point dismembered from the rest of his body, was squirming rapidly, desperately trying to find the body it once belonged to. I shut the toilet bowl and tried to think. What do I do now? I can’t just put my hands in the toilet and pull him out of his watery grave. I decided the next best thing to do was pour some bleach in the toilet bowl. Can someone answer me this: do geckos have nine lives? Because he just kept going despite the bleach; and despite the Windex that I kept spraying.
In the end I resorted to pouring massive amounts of water from the shower head to finally say goodbye and send him on a farewell tour of my toilet pipe. Goodbye, little gecko. It was never meant to be for the two of us because you turned out to be a bad jalapeno.
A good jalapeno, however, can really make your day. I decided to take a little break from smoking a certain herbaceous substance and suddenly I found myself sleeping a lot better, feeling more rested and more energetic. The result of this was an early wake-up yesterday morning. Not just early – I’m talking butt-crack of dawn early. I was up before the sun even – 5 a.m. to be exact.
I walked outside to my balcony and reveled in the morning sky – the early hours of dawn, so soothing and relaxing. It’s a pleasure to be awake, really. I sat outside for a couple of hours enjoying the show, completely at ease. An outstanding jalapeno, indeed…
You know it’s a slow work day when you start getting tired of trolling around the Internet. I’m starting to feel like an agoraphobe – except I’m not holed up in a dark room with only my thoughts and my imaginary friends to keep me company.
If I really wanted to I could probably look around for something to do. But then again, it’s a Sunday and I don’t get any days off until the end of September, so I think I’ll continue towards my goal of permanently gluing my ass to the seat. I’m in such a lazy mood today that I’ve been wanting to go the bathroom for the last half hour and have yet to go…at this point my bladder is crying out for help.
Update: Bladder at last relieved.
I keep thinking that when I get home today I’ll be good and I’ll start doing a little bit of exercising. Maybe a few squats and push-ups. A little bit of yoga, perhaps. Or some ab work. Wouldn’t it be great if I could just do something productive with my time? I haven’t exercised in 6 months and I’m starting to feel like a melting ice-cream cone:
I need to get back into a program – work out those muscles. Lift my ass up. Tighten up those bat wings. Turn that keg into a six-pack.
Basically I need to turn into this:
A few years ago I would train with a former bodybuilder/current Oakland police officer. His name was Joe and he was a hard-ass. With Joe I reached many milestones. Like completing a push-up. I also completed a tricep-dip. And I was totally committed.
At the time I used to work in San Mateo and I would drive up to Pacifica after work, have Joe work me over (oh, doesn’t that sound naughty) for two hours and head up North through the Bay Bridge to go home to Oakland. I would basically travel a 100+ mile circle every single day, including weekends. Needless to say I only lasted a year with this schedule.
I did experience a couple of firsts with Joe. Besides the push-up and the tricep-dip accomplishments, I found out what it feels like to pee on yourself because you’ve been holding it in while doing circuit training and now Joe has you doing non-stop jumping jacks and all that does is tease your bladder into relieving itself. The sensation of warm piss running down your legs is unforgettable, to say the least.
I also experienced the trauma of bursting your eye veins because you have 200 lbs. of weight on your shoulders and you’re in a deep squat and now your job is to push those 200 lbs. back into a standing position. And you have to push so hard to complete the squat that it literally makes the veins in your eye burst. I looked like some sort of cyclopic vampire – one bright red eye wandering in the night.
So yeah, you could say I have a lot to aspire to as far as my fitness goes.
You’re damned if you do, and you’re damned if you don’t. I’m coming to terms with the fact that when a person can be described as a “sandwich short of a picnic basket”, there is nothing really you can say to reason with them.
I’m lucky enough to work at a lovely seaside hotel during summer season. I’m lucky to be paid very well to work at the front desk. After two years of doing this job, I’ve come to realize why the owner pays so well: because I have to work with a psychopath who whines like a little baby over every little thing. He has to help with room service? “WAH!! I have to shine the spoons in the breakfast room!” It’s the world against him. It’s us against him. Of course he knows how to do EVERYTHING perfectly. He can do no wrong in his mind. We are but fools running around and shaming him.
What he reminds me of is that old Seinfeld episode – “The Understudy.” He is Jerry’s girlfriend, the understudy to Bette Midler in Rochelle, Rochelle. Crying over every little thing. Her frankfurter falls out of the hot dog bun and the tears turn on: “Oh my god, my frankfurter. It was so good, why? Why did it have to fall?” Because you effing suck, that’s why.
I could sneak some sort of downer medication in his coffee to mellow him out. But what I’d really like to do is tie him to a chair and have a nice face-punching session with him. That’ll give him something to cry about. That’s a dream worth dreaming…