railenthe | *channels Gabranth* THE HELL? Hey, day. YOU SUCK.

HELL.

That’s what today was: HELL.

I got to work today and the first thing that I find out is that I’m in trouble. Like big-ass trouble. Like…big-ass, gonna have to sign something trouble. Apparently we had a guest who was so OCD that he saw fit to check UNDER the crispy clean sheets. Let’s just say that something I didn’t notice because, for some reason, I don’t see certain shades of color well with my glasses on, prompted this guy to hit the desk and bitch about it. So he was moved.

To a room that I had no part in but had the same problem.

He walked.

There was a meeting about that and, after my dressing-down in front of the rest of the gang, I had to sign a disciplinary action. I thought I’d be physically ill. I bought a clear soda and sipped at that to settle my stomach. I probably would have been ill if I’d remembered to eat breakfast.

I got my punishment after signing that paper:
Deep cleaning.

For those of you out there who have not done housekeeping work, this is basically when you do EVERYTHING. Walls, floor, ceiling, grout, tile, behind the beds, FLIPPING MATTRESSES when needed…basically you clean the place like you’ve just evicted a bad tenant and need to prepare for a new resident.

The one upside to this disciplinary action: I discovered that I can lift a queen mattress and flip it by myself. Even if I am in trouble, the fact that I’m WILLING to do this means that I’ve just made myself more useful, and thus harder to get rid of.

*four hours later*

THE LAUNDRY ROOM IS SCARY. I swear that stack of sheets could kill a man. Suddenly I see an opportunity. “Hey, boss…~” I say.

“Eh?”

“Need a hand back here?” And I throw a thumb backward at this stack of sheets that’s about three feet taller than I am.

*two more hours later*

I’ve put a dent in that stack of sheets—it’s now waist high, and another basket is empty. I’ve also promised to look into something like high-def lenses (because it wasn’t until I got in that laundry room and I noticed that blue and green LOOK THE SAME; and no, I don’t have color-blindness—the lighting is TERRIBLE). I hop a bus, fire a text, finish a phone call that didn’t go so well because let’s face, I’m cranky, and do some shopping.

The original plan was to get some groceries and then a CRAPTON of chocolate—eat the chocolates until I feel better about this craptastic day—but I had a better idea. Long story short:

My freezer contains a HUGE thing of all-natural, full-fat Blue ~~Barnaby~~ Bunny ice cream. The pantry contains two chocolate-toppers that harden when applied to ice cream, and they’re full of chunks of Heath brand English toffee—

OK, I know you’re out there, I can hear the “PFFT!”

—Anyway. Full-fat ice cream. Chocolate topping. Toffee chunks. Almond bits. Hey, if I’m going to do this I’m doing it right. “Go big or go home,” as a friend of mine always says.

Now, to wait for the dinner stuff to finish. Salisbury steak. While ice cream for dinner sounds incredibly pleasant…MEAT.

channels Gabranth THE HELL? Hey, day. YOU SUCK.

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