Habla Espanol

11 Sep

The hospitality service is one of many tounges.

More truthfully is a horrible pidgin of slang, butchered spanish, correct spanish, arabic and southern dialect. In front of the guests we are a vision of professional standards. Once they leave the lobby the way we speak to each other degrades rapidly and tends to feature shouting.

“Jose! Jose! In 344! 344! The guest’s bano heater is not working!The culo is not warm, Jose!” Hamid shouted into the walkie talkie to our maintenance man as I tried to make a reservation over the phone without laughing. I know enough spanish to know that culo means ass.

Hamid was not having any luck getting Jose over the walkie talkie.


When Jose finally rolled in our office Hamid spun in his chair. The flourescent light glinted off of his bald head cruelly.

“Jose! No respecto!” Hamid pronounced “no respecto” NO REE-spek-TOE. “Did you make the culo warm?”

Jose’s glorious moustache rippled with his grin.

Si. I fix.”

My favorite interactions though by far have to be between Desiree and Hamid.

Hamid is a rigid perfectionist. To his credit this also makes him the most knowledgeable person behind the desk. It also makes him paranoid that the rest of us are fucking up. Which, you know, fair enough. That does happen.

Later on in the day he was leaning over  Desiree and rifling though her stack of papers when she turned around and caught him.

“Quit throwin’ salt in my game and back…the fuck…up….you little…bitch.” Desiree said snatching her papers away from Hamid.

“Fuck you, Desiree.”

Fuck you.

Jose rolled back around the corner holding a list of vacant rooms to be inspected. Hamid pointed at her.

“Jose, Desiree? No respecto.”

“Oh, si?”

Si. Si. She is a pain in my culo.

Jose shook his head at Desiree. “No, no, no respecto.”

“You know what? Y’all a bunch of jerkoff mother-”

The door of the lobby swung open and three faces smiled like eager new-born children.

“Hiiiiiiiiii. And how can we help you today?”


2 Responses to “Habla Espanol”

  1. CarynSKA September 14, 2010 at 8:31 pm #

    *laughing* Your job sounds like fun!
    That banter at my last job was more like:
    Where’s the stapler?
    Pass me that print-out. etc.

    • ahappygoluckyscamp September 14, 2010 at 10:25 pm #

      I also used to work at my fathers analytical lab in the front where samples would come in. Every day the lady from poatables would come up going “Where are my fecals? Have my fecals come in yet?”. I guess this was a logical progression.

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