Das Hotelenstien has three shifts.
The “Where am I? Have I died?” AM shift.
The “Go fuck yourself, and while you’re at it get a mop for the vomiting drunk in the garage” PM shift
And the “Daylight will become terrifying and confusing” Night Audit shift.
I don’t know if it’s just my hotel that’s like this but the schedule is never set for the clerks. It alters almost daily, you’ll work until 11PM and find yourself scheduled for 7 AM the next morning. Then there is a confusing right turn for a midshift at 10 and you’ll leave at 6.
I generally like to work in the mornings because it means I’m out earlier and can actually see my friends and get the hangover out of the way by 9pm and be fresh as a daisy for the early shift the next day. Or at least have time to gargle a mento and glue the sole of my shoe back on without being late.
Actually there is no freshness at all involved in the AM shift, just a French shower and a lot of crying on the way in.
PM shifts will give you the time to sleep in a little and maybe run to the bank or pharmacy but the downside is you’ll most likely be horrifying lucid for all eight hours. Also that’s when the check in’s happen and everyone who rolls through that lobby door will be, almost without exception, impossible to please. They will also be insanely geriatric or a group of Australian sailors.
I don’t know why that is.
Night audit is Marks purview. He’s the guy you see in the glassed in window trying to convince the pimp to go down the street to the Days Inn at 3 in the morning. He works 11-7 and forgets what year it is sometimes.
I’ve actually been trying to get in on the night audit game because I’d rather deal with one pimp with a gold-plated switch blade and pricey meth habit once a week in the dead of night than forty slutty waitresses calling my ass every day asking if I know what room “Dreamy Sailor Tom” is in.
Also It’s hard for me not to high five these broads when they walk of shame it through my lobby at 7:30 AM because for real, girl but yo’ thang down flip it and reverse it.
I think that behavior would be frowned upon in the workplace for some reason.
Due to our ridiculously varied schedules Mark and I have developed certain rituals for waking up.
One of us has to be out of bed and the other gets to sleep in for a while. The one that has to be up hits snooze and wakes up the other about four times. We roll over each other seeking phones, eyeglasses or what have you.
Then whoever has to go to work will eventually rise wraith like from the pile of bedding and begin a wretched, jerky stumble through the wreckage of the bedroom shouting and flapping their hands.
One sock will dangle from a foot and the swearing starts.
“Nnnnnhhh… where are my keys, my wallet….my phone! this fucking phone always dies! why is it dead I don’t know I don’tknowIdon’tknow.”
One sock will dangle from a foot as the hunt for the black work slacks begins and the half awake rage intensifies and the before shift screaming at inanimate objects begins in earnest.
At this point the one still in bed will poke their head out of the covers and attract the attention of the other, usually to ask the stupid question as to whether the other is “All right.”
Then the person doing the asking is screamed at by the person doing the desperate, one-sock flop of fury around the apartment.
“LEAVE ME ALONE LEAVE ME ALONE I HATE MY LIFE I HATE MY HOUSE I HATE MY PHONE WHICH IS DEAD I WISH I WAS DEAD I DON’T KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS BECAUSE MY PHONE IS DEAD I DON’T KNOW WHERE MY KEYS ARE GO BACK TO SLEEP I LOVE YOU WHERE ARE MY KEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYS.”
We end up screaming at each other maybe a couple of times a week but we aren’t actually fighting, just trying to adjust to the bleary tilt of the waking world and reacting badly to what ever is unfortunate enough to draw our attention.
Eventually the shouting ceases and kissy kisses are given and we eject ourselves into the unwelcoming world, uncertain of what day it is. Under the power of coffee and headaches and need for rent money we fight through 8 hours of customer complaints and drug addled hobos.
Later we meet up and have ice cream.
On Mondays or Fridays or Sundays. I don’t even know what time it is right now…