Today I walked into work high on life. For some reason from the moment I woke up, I had a inner happiness that transcended my entire day. It was amazing! Well, almost my entire day.
This is where one of the lulls of working in the hotel business comes into play. Most of the people working in the biz are unhappy. They truly want to remain unhappy and therefore want nothing with your happiness. In fact, they will do anything to bring it down. Tonight, they succeeded.
One of the front desk agents, let’s call him Trouble, started it all off by saying I had no basketball skills. Now, I am no Scottie Pippen or Larry Bird. Shit, I’m no Hot Sauce or street hustler either. But, I do believe I could take this kid, one-on-one.
I straight up said, “I’ll bet $20 I can beat you. And winner gets bragging rights.”
He said, “$200.”
If some shit went down, I wasn’t trying to lose $200. Once again, I suggested the lower stakes.
Then, Trouble proceeded to berate me anyway he could. He’s like that. Your boy one minute, your worst enemy the next.
Anyway, in the midst of this trash talking, one of the overweight security guards walks in and says to me, “You don’t look athletic at all,” with a sneer that deserved a bitch slapping.
One of my motto’s from working at a hotel with an education level higher than most of the people that work there is to “Always let the idiot’s comment slide. Don’t try to fight the unarmed.” But this one, combined with the other trash talking through my temper over the edge.
I’ve played sports my whole life. Football, basketball, soccer, lacrosse, baseball, swimming, cycling, running. I know I’m not the best athlete out there, but I keep myself in good shape and can hold my own on the playing field. I excel in sports. I even went to the Junior Olympics for swimming.
So when a guy who is at least thirty pounds overweight and constantly complaining of acid reflux tells me I’m not an athlete, I couldn’t control myself.
“Are you kidding me, Gonzo?” I spit.
“You don’t look athletic,” he repeats.
“Gonzo, look at my physique and then look at yours. If we took off our shirts, it would be disgusting. I have a six pack. You have a beer belly,” I snapped.
Gonzo mutters some more shit.
“I will take you in any sport. Running, Swimming, Cycling. Choose one,” I bark.
“I would totally outrun you. I run 7 miles, 3 days a week,” Gonzo retorts.
“Really, most people I know who run in such volumes are physically in shape,” I say.
“You’re broken. You’re bent. You’re taking it personally,” Gonzo whines.
“I’m defending myself from your comments. You can’t take the heat when I dish it back to you?” I explain.
Gonzo storms off.
Five minutes later I walk back to the front desk to check if any help is needed. Trouble and Gonzo are talking on the phone still trash talking me. Greeeeaaaaattt!
Welcome to the hotel business.