Hazards of Hotel Work - - The Series

Since I anticipate this to be a continuing series, I titled it as I did and will track it accordingly.

So...

This evening an extremely fat man waddled in, the sort that wheezes and gasps as he walks. I'm fat myself, but this guy outweighed me by about 50 or more pounds. He appeared to be in distress, and his slimmer companion asked if he was all right, which he answered in the affirmative. He waddled into the men's room.

A few minutes later, I stepped out of the office and into the lobby, as was confronted with what looked like dog shit on the floor. It tracked down the hall, and I glanced around the corner and saw that it ended at the men's room, from whence I could here distressed groans and panting for breath.

The fat man had shit on my floor.

I cleaned up the crap in the hallway, and the fat man, when he finished a half hour later (apparently he'd had to wash his shorts in the sink) cleaned the men's room, because when I checked, the room, although it smelled of shit, was clean enough to use. The fat man, I should say, went to his room without bothering to stop by the desk to explain or apologize.

Such is hotel work.

Marcel Marceau Is Dead.

Story Here.


I think we can all agree that a moment of silence is appropriate, can't we?