Rape, Pranksters & Packages

After a whopping 3 hours of sleep, I awoke, took a half ass shower, put on my douchebag uniform, took my morning medicine and jumped aboard a godforsaken train to trek my ass under some polluted bay.

I arrived at my destination 17 minutes later, full of spite and filled with rape, wait, what the fuck, not rape, where did rape come from, how in the world can I be full of rape, how about full of something, anything, just short of rape.

I had just enough time to buy my two energy drinks and stare in awe at a bum talking to anyone who would listen and shitting at the same time in an alley just off the sidewalk before I walked in and hit the clock.

It was a slow day from the beginning, not too much of anything was happening, other than some prankster taking all the housephones on all the floors off the hook and letting them ring to the operators.

As I sat at my desk staring blankly at a pair of lost and found sunglasses, I realized my body was starting to fail because OF THE SMELL OF FUCKING TRASH! Why are hotel security offices always near some trash? I had no choice but to chug both my energy drinks in the hopes that I would be so hopped up that I would not even realize it smelled like a foul vagina with dead bodies laying in it.

My relief showed up and as I was walking out of the office to go patrol the hotel, the phone rang, my gut said don't answer but I refused to listen and answered anyway. Easily, the worst decision I'd made all day. The person on the other end of the line was looking for a package he had not received during his stay, it probably had a little something to do with the fact that he stayed in someone elses room and we never even had a record of his ass being anywhere near by, nevertheless, I'm not one to judge.

I ended up spending the rest of my shift looking for some phantom package that I never officially found, however, the guest, who technically wasn't really a guest and more of a guest of a guest, which doesn't necessarily make a difference.....unless someone who isn't actually a guest is actually expecting a package. The person never called back, so I'm going to go with either they are so filled with rage that the next time we hear from him will be when he show's up to the hotel shooting at people or he got a hold of the shipper who told him where the hell his package was.

On a side note, thanks to the economy, we have three band aids left in our first aid kits, so hopefully, no one cuts themselves because we'll have to go old school on them and pull out the duct tape, which actually isn't duct tape but some other thick ass black tape.

On a second side note, I rode standing up on the train on the way home which gave me the perfect angle to look down some girl's shirt. Sometimes it's the simple things that make leaving my house worth my while.