The Radisson was a nice place to work, it had its ups and downs, but there was always a good story. Like the time my manager Julie was drinking with us. We only had warm beer left, so she poured us all glasses of beer, and threw frozen green beans in to chill the beer!
I had worked for my father at the golf course earlier that summer, but as a 19-yr old I knew everything, and he knew nothing. This led to a clash and the loss of job. This was a little different than normal, as he fired me every summer since I was 12. He always hired me back inside 2 weeks. This year we were both done with each other. I called an old friend in a neighboring town for a job – at the Radisson in Rochester. The initial commute was hell, 60 miles each way, until I found a nice spacious apartment. I finally moved to Rochester about two months later.
I started off as a busboy in food service and worked my way through room service, concierge, banquets, waiter, and finally restaurant supervisor. This story happened early on while I was still in room service.
A career in food and beverage was a great job, but leads to alcoholism. It’s tough to explain to people what it was like waiting on people every day. The movie Waiting nailed it, it just captured the personalities and situations like nothing else. The other great part of the job is the people you meet and the stories you later get to tell, here's one of my favorites;
It’s a busy Saturday morning, I’m in the weeds, orders are piling up. Weekend breakfast orders tend to be more complex and take longer. Families having complete breakfasts versus business people having coffee and a bagel. Putting tables and trays together takes more time. I was keeping up, but it was touch and go. I didn’t need a speed bump to slow me down.
A call came in and I answered it. Somebody though it would be entertaining to allow their 5-yr old son to place the order. Do not do this, EVER. It is not charming, cute, or funny. It is, however, very annoying to people who are trying to work for a living.
A few minutes into this my manager, Tom, hands me more orders for other rooms. Work is piling up. The tot is taking forever to place this order. I made the decision to hang up and hope everybody would think it was an accident and call back. They did call back, and I let the call roll forward to the hostess station. Now I had an upset hostess, after being stuck on the phone for an eternity of a preschooler speaking like a future short-bus passenger.
I have no idea what order belongs to the ankle-biter's family, as I'm still knee deep in the weeds. I deliver some orders and take new ones, I manage to keep my head above water. I setup a full room service cart for four people, and have it ready to deliver. I ran it up the elevator, down the hall, to the room, where I knock gently on the door. There he is, my pint-sized phone orderer. The adults occupying the room couldn't be bothered to call down their own food order, why would they bother themselves to answer the door? Knee-Hi insists on helping me with the door, despite my plea, I don't want or need his help, he’s actually in the way. I learned early on how to navigate through doors.
At this point I have to explain the layout of the room. The guest door opens left-to-right and immediately to the left is the bathroom, immediately to the right is the closet. The munchkin’s arms are too short to stand in the bathroom and hold the door over the room service cart, so he stands inside the closet immediately to the right of the door.
The midget then explains,
“It’s a good thing they put the closet here so I can hold the door for you!”
I get the cart past the door, there’s a short hallway before the main room. Maybe 4 feet long, just enough room for me and the cart. I’m talking to the dwarf as we make our way into the main room. I think I see something I’m not supposed to. My retinas were burning a little.
Evasively I back up the room-service cart. I prepared the cart by expanding the wings and pulling all the plates out of the hot-box. I made sure to take more time than usual. I held an impromptu discussion with the gnome. I’m rattling and clanging everything that will make noise, to alert everyone of my presence. Then I tell the runt,
“I think I’ll just leave the cart here for you to take care of.”
One of the adults in the main room finally spoke and asked,
“No, please bring the table on in here and set it up between the beds.”
I pushed the cart back into the bedroom and confirmed what I first saw. A topless wife mounted on top of the husband with her large round firm looking tits in full glorious view. She has a special smile on her face.
The pygmy’s sister is in the adjacent bed watching cartoons. I couldn't tell you what cartoon they were watching - I was distracted. I pushed the cart between the beds and finished the setup. The shrimp ran and jumped into bed with his sister to keep an eye on me, and watch cartoons. I asked junior to sign the check. The hot mother with the bodacious ta-tas spoke,
“Here, let me have it, I’ll sign it.”
As I hand the check to her, her bountiful melons are within a foot of my mouth. She’s on top of the husband like a flag on a pole, not moaning, but still actively riding his member. The kids are in the bed three feet away watching cartoons as mom and dad screw like bunnies in heat. I’m avoiding staring, drooling, or anything else that would attract attention. I get the signed check and make haste getting out. This was a very awkward situation and I was increasingly uncomfortable. I did enjoy seeing the boobies, but her current mounted position devalued the moment for me.
I got down and ran a quick coffee order, then my manager Tom drops off a request; I forgot cream for the coffee on the order for the woman with exposed luscious mammaries and the rug rats. I plea but cannot talk Tom into running the creamer up to the room for me (I got even with him later, when I sent him off with coffee to room 307. Room 307 didn't exist, that was where the giant awning spanned out from the hotel. It only took Tom 10 minutes to realize I sent him on a wild goose chase). The last thing I wanted was to go back up and into the situation and see the woman taking it in the back door, or worse. I relented and ran the coffee cream up.
The same retarded kid answers the door, the mother with the firm round flesh-cones refuses to allow me to hand the creamer to the precious snowflake, and ordered me to bring it in and set it on the table. I head in to place it on the table, thinking by now they might be done with their sex act and at the very least partially dressed. I see the wife sitting on the corner of the bed eating her eggs with her legs spread open and wide, with her hairy vagina in full view for the world (and kids) to see. Yes, it was actually dripping from coitus. The husband was in the shower, so I took a nice long gander at her milk-sacks, and then bolted back to my room service corner.
Must have been foreigners?
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