ProudMary

Impending Business

Wow.  Some sweet person sent me a comment just to see if I was ok, presumably since I haven't posted since before we all learned that duct tape is useless in at least one respect.  I was blown away by the sweetness of that, truly (by the comment, that is, I am decidedly less over-emotional about warts).  So, thanks, person!

So, what I've been doing, other than gestating, is mostly trying to figure out how the results of that particular project will occur, particularly on the day-of.  The logistics are killing me, frankly.  We seem to have unyielding responsibilities spilling from every pore, to the point that leaving for up to 12 hours is likely to result in our entire lives utterly unraveling.  There's the Pooper, the business, and the damn dogs, I'm less concerned about the damn cats.  Last time around, I delivered three weeks early, which has has translated to my need to make the necessary arrangements last approximately an entire month.  Everyone thinks I'm making a huge deal out of nothing, and I suppose that is more than likely.  I know it will all work out.  My poor mother has agreed to indulge me in regard to Poopies, thank god.  I only hope she realizes that she may need to wear several hats, some of which are rather unattractive.

And did I mention that we have some necessary renovations in mind before the baby comes?  Yeah.  Another elephant is added to the room.

We've got a wedding party here this weekend, not the bride and groom thank god, our digs are happily not chic enough to attract that kind of high-maintenance.  I usually dread wedding parties, what with their irons and hairdryers and snippy attitudes, but this is a good group, youngish (late 20s/early 30s) and laid back, just the way we like 'em.  I would like them all the more if they didn't all seem to resemble each other despite lack of family ties.  It's a little odd, and saps my confidence when they come in and start asking questions.  All the men are very tall, very thin and very pale.  They do have differing haircuts, but with me not being in the habit of mentally logging hairstyles, I'm a little behind. 

Seems like it's that way all over these days.

Memorial Day Weekend - 2006

Holiday weekends around here are a big deal.  There are something like eleven of them over the year, and they are as important to us as pie is to flies:  we would not be in business without them.  So, we aim to make the best of them financially by instituting a minimum stay requirement (3 days, typically) to force our precious flock out of the city, braving murderous traffic on Friday night, after a long day, after a long week.  It might seem a little pushy, but we have our logic, part of which is based on good business, the other part resting comfortably on opportunistic laziness.

This one---Memorial Day Weekend---also happens to be the launch of the summer season.  We had an awesome weekend.  Full every night, no assholes (ok, one no show, but whatever), no party animals, just really nice people who all had a great time.  The Cap'n and I worked our asses off last week getting everything looking great, and for the first time I really felt proud of this place.  It was trimmed, mowed, flowered, and tidied into loveliness.  We split wood for the campfire, around which everyone gathered to meet each other every night, we hung hammocks that were frequently used for both lounging by the adults and climbing by the kids.  Everyone was so damn happy, loving our place, piling on the compliments, we were positively beaming.  Last summer I was so stretched between running the place myself and carting around Poopies that I was lucky to get the rooms cleaned and the grass half mowed.  I never had time to do the extra things that make a place look truly cared for, which is what we can do now that the Cap'n is here.  I can't believe how much we've gotten done over the past four weeks, and how much better the place shows for it.  So nice.  I can't wait until this place is a true gem that feels like a garden oasis for us and our guests.  And I feel like that's really not very far off now.

And there they go, nose to tail, heading back to the city.  We did a high five that we don't have to go back to the jobs that we hate tomorrow.  Honey, did you clean up the bear shit out back or should I?

 

And it just kept getting worse

This weekend just plain wore me out.

I worked my ass off on Saturday, cleaning, cleaning, cleaning, hoping we'd have some business stop by that night.  Also, "housekeeping" in one of the motel rooms where the people were staying for two nights.  I go in there to do my thing, and there is this huge gray stain in the middle of one of the quilts.  So I did what I always do:  I left a little note telling them that I noticed the stain, and that I'd do my best to get it out, but if it was permanent, I'd be charging them for the price of the quilt.  Fair is fair.  Later, I'm approached and bitched out by two seperate members of the party, who claimed "it was there when we checked in."  Right.  Despite toiling to make every other aspect of this place as lovely as can be, I put out a quilt with a huge gray stain on it, saw it, shrugged my shoulders, said "eigh?" and walked away, and then decided to pin it on you.  Right.  There are some advantages to being a one-woman show, and one of those things is that I know damn well that stain was not there.  This ain't the Holiday Inn where you can claim shoddy housekeeping to the front desk, and here the customer isn't always right, either.

Then?  Then?  Then the guy comes by the office, says "You're not mad at me, right?" and buys out the rest of the place for his guests that don't want to go home.  I was more than a little uneasy, but what was I going to do, turn away that kind of business?  Plus, they were all obviously aware that I wouldn't be putting up with any shit, so I said OK.  And they were fine.  Perfect guests.  Some of my friends from the city came to visit and we had a really nice night. 

The next morning I go out to walk the dog, and when I return, I realize my keys are missing.  My god, did I leave them out on my desk and someone swiped them?  Someone who was mad at me about a quilt perhaps? Hmmm.  I know!  Why don't I totally freak out, including teariness and "what's wrong with people?" outrage, drive 30 miles to Lowe's where I was told they sell new lock cores, only to arrive and have everyone claim ignorance, and on my huffy way home, get a call from the nice people in number 8 (separate party from the quilt-defacers), who accidentally picked up the keys that I'D LEFT IN THEIR ROOM THE DAY BEFORE, thinking they were their own, and would I like them to stop on their way back to the city to drop them off?

Um.  Yeah.  That'd be swell.  Thanks.

Weekend Roundup

We had a slow, but respectable business this weekend.  More cottages than motel rooms, which I always prefer to see because, ka-ching, it costs more to rent a little house than a little room. 

Everyone was nice, normal, if not boring, save for the lady in number three.  Ugh.  Lady in number three, why did you have to be so needy?  Why did you think you were entitled to so large a piece of me?  She needed to be picked up from the bus stop, something I don't usually do.  But she was dropping $400 which we desperately needed, so I said yes, apparently marking myself a servant at her disposal.  Upon arrival she peppered me with questions about the area, myself, the business, and asked why I didn't have binoculars for the guests to use and better literature about the area's flora and fauna and other attractions?  I don't know, lady, because I'm neither a park ranger nor your travel agent?  Over the next four days I took her:  to the grocery store, into town for lunch, picked her up from dinner and then back to the bus station this morning at SEVEN FREAKING AM, when I was jolted awake by my dog doing his "what the fuck!" bark because she was peeking in my kitchen window.  Are you kidding me?  Lady?  In number three?

She was Indian, and apparently from a very good home, since the Prime Minister now lives there.  Each morning and evening she arrived to talk to me for about an hour, ask for fresh filtered water (one cold for her water bottle, one hot for the thermos I let her borrow, which she dropped and dented), let me know what her plans were (lord knows why she thought I cared), and to allow me to make whatever arrangements were required, including calling restaurants, taxi services and bus depots.  I learned so, so many things:  blueberries and currants are uniquely American fruits, I shouldn't spend so much time at the computer, classical music should be played for babies constantly, bread should always be toasted otherwise it sticks in your guts, nothing can go wrong with a child as long as the mother loves him or her, that American portions are entirely too large and that we don't know shit about making bread, cakes or very much else.  Great, thanks for coming!  Enjoy your stay!  Hey, I know and agree that most American culture sucks ass and doesn't make a lot of sense, but it's still pretty presumptuous to assume that there is nothing of quality here, and to then express that to one of its residents.  I have a hard time believing that all 80 trillion people in India are highly cultured and excel at making exquisite baked goods.

Shudder to Stink

Some of our guests just totally gross me out.  Yes, partly because I know I have to go clean up after them, but also because I simply find it unpleasant to be around revolting people.  I don't think I'm alone on this one. 

There was one guy this weekend. If you saw him stumbling and muttering down Broadway, you wouldn't have given it another thought.  He smelled like cigarettes and ass.  His gravelly voice grated my ear drums into tiny hurty bits, while he talked at an inappropriate volume and said very odd things.  He was oblivious to my "please touch nothing and get out" attitude, acting as though we were yucking it up like old friends with a heinous staccato laugh to go with everything else.  I gave him a brochure and he left.  Whew.  A nice lady came in and rented a room for her family.  It never occurred to me that they were together, but then the same dude walks in with his burrito to heat up in the microwave.  I don't know if she lost a bet or just has pitifully low self esteem, but this lady could have done so, so much better.

It turns out they were relatively nice people, they were very complimentary (though one has to wonder about the base of comparison) and didn't destroy the room too badly, though there was a perceivable filth film on one of the pillow shams and half of that comforter.  I'm taking one guess who's spot that was. 

Utter Chaos

I admit that when they checked in, four couples of eight people, heavy Polish accents, excessive perfume and eyeliner, I said to myself that this was going to be a long night.  We've had experience with the party-riffic Polish from the city, and boy are they not a lot of fun.  Very loud, very drunk, very much loving of the karoke machines and usually requiring refunds to other customers the next day because they couldn't get a wink of sleep.

At around 9:30 pm tonight, one of them comes to our door.  A woman in their party is stuck in the bathroom.  We go to check it out.  Indeed, she is stuck and freaking out because apparently there are wasps in the bathroom.  How were there wasps in the bathroom?  Because someone had disturbed a nest of them while trying to remove the window from the outside of the cottage.  Over the next hour, the woman crawled out of the bathroom via the swarming bathroom window, the Cap'n dove INTO the bathroom window and killed 15 wasps with his keen roll of toilet paper (wow) and discovered the problem.  The problem?  Why, the door was FUCKING LOCKED.  Anyhow, somehow a few wasps got into the main space, and flew up the pantleg of another one of the women and stung her a few times.  Which totally sucks. I feel so badly, that this all happened at our place, and she was very very unhappy.  So, we gave her another room, far away from the Wasp Cottage, and will get the nest taken care of tomorrow, one way or another. 

My questions are these.  Why didn't they come and get us to help with the bathroom door before venturing out and removing the freaking window by themselves?  Granted, they didn't know about the nest, understandable, but were they just planning to not use the bathroom except via the window all night?  Secondly, how could she not have figured out to UNLOCK the door?  Thirdly, regarding the sting-ee, if you were in a cottage with a number of yellowjackets, would you A) Flail your arms and legs around as quickly as possible, dancing around like a silly girl, B) Go have a fucking seat or C) Leave the accursed cottage and go hang out outside or in the other cottage that you'd rented.  I realize that a lot of this is involuntary if presented in the moment, but this girl had a half hour to make her decision before she got stung, and she made the wrong decision as so proven by the fact that she was the only one out of 10 people to be stung, including the Cap'n who was actively killing them in a small enclosed space.  What a guy and what a freaking girl.

Invasion of the Youth Snatchers

Oh my god they're everywhere.  I don't know what you call them, they're human in form, they speak great quantities but with very small words, wear excessive makeup and are either in their late teens or early twenties...ah, young adults!  Yes, the young adults have invaded.  When they called to make their reservations (all separately, the little sneaks), I didn't pick up on it at all.  So, as a result, my little quiet establishment has been turned into full-blown spring break and there's not a damn thing I can do about it except make all-too-frequent rounds as den mother with helpful but unnecessary bushels of toilet paper, politely reminding my "customers" that they're not old enough to drink, that smoking isn't allowed in the rooms and that casual sex often looks much much better than it actually is, particularly when inebriated. 

And I get to clean every freakin room tomorrow in a five-hour timeframe with (no doubt) a grumpy baby and ringing phone.  Can you imagine the state of the place tomorrow morning?  They're kids for christsake, they have no sense of right or wrong, clean or dirty!?!?

Cap'n!             S . O . S .            seriously.

This also happens to be the first time that I have truly felt "older".  I mean, to the rest of the planet, I'm a 31 year old mother and wife.  You really couldn't get much more adult than that.   The twenties, they are surely gone but from my current vantage point, and with the minor exception of seeming uncool by my current guests, I say good fucking riddance.   Geez, who can stand to talk like that?  Constantly?  Why is everyone so goddamned excited?

But here's what really drove it home:  just as I was walking away from enforcing the "no smoking" policy, someone asked someone else "who's that?", and the someone else said "aw, that's the owner."  Rather than being filled with instant pride of ownership, I was instead filled with the realization that by having an establishment, I am now a part of the establishment.  You know, the one with RULES, with PROFITS to worry about, and who WORRIES about things getting BROKEN and RUINED or even SOILED.  Yes indeed, I am the heavy.  Put your complaints in the jar.