Okay if you’re reading this and you’re homeless let’s just start with this: I feel for you. I feel for the reasons you’ve landed in this situation and if it were up to me I would move heaven and earth to help you get back on your feet or cure you of addiction or remind you that being a tourist homeless person (it’s a thing, trust me) isn’t all that cool. This isn’t about all homeless people.
This is about The King of Hobo Mountain.
My current property is built on a hill and is up against a natural area that I’m actually unsure who is in charge of it. Apparently though we have a major homeless encampment installed in our backyard by the dog park. Numerous complaints have been made about the King of Hobo Mountain… you see he has a stick. This stick is pretty threatening to someone who paid 200 dollars to stay in my hotel only to walk outside and shit there’s this weird looking dude with a stick, shaking it in the parking lot. Apparently there is also Milk Crate Thief Guy and a bunch of other bandits living all Hobo Fabulous up there.
Personally? I could give a shit. You want to live up on our hill and sometimes drop by and use the bathroom, whatever. But I’m sort of in charge of giving a shit about everyone else who stays with us and everyone who works with me so I have to care.
And I double have to care when people are jacking our outdoor power outlets to charge their phones. Like legit, if you want to charge your phone and I’m working? I’ll take it inside and charge it and bring it back to you in an hour because I can’t have you sitting around in my lobby, but you can’t hang out like some kind of Hobo Gremlin in my outer hallways shaking a stick and hovering over an outlet. That’s a huge no. You can’t do that.
But what you REALLY can’t do if you’re planning to join Milk Crate Fuckhead and Stick Man Douche Head (seriously dude, it’s a stick, stop, I have bear spray in my pocket, don’t try me, I have no soul anymore and I don’t care,) you can not damage the property that you are not a guest of. You can not kick through a locked gate so you can get to another spot to charge your phone. You broke my gate, you scared my guest, my houseperson doesn’t want to be there by herself and I am apparently not allowed to chase you around anymore because someone thinks Captain Stickface will murder me or carry me off into the hills to be his hobo bride so now I have to call the fucking cops.
I hate calling the cops. I’d rather do my taxes. But when I see your hobo ass and your stick or even hear you I have to call the cops. It’s my least favorite thing because then I have to file a stupid incident report that sounds stupid when you read it back: Stupid asshole who lives on our mountain and talks to Elvis through an empty bean can busted our gate down, scared the guests and you won’t let me chase them anymore so I had to call the cops. Please chain up the gate, thank you drive through.
I’m supposed to be afraid because I work at night. Often times alone and I am a woman and I am not very big. (Don’t worry various people have reminded me of this and that I am not bullet proof nor do I have super powers, in the last 12 hours. I am forbidden from chasing the stick idiot and crate head.)
But here’s the thing… I am afraid.
Not for me. I could give a shit, if I screw up chasing a crazy person so badly that I get the bad end of the stick, it’s my time to go.
I’m scared for the 99 rooms full of people that it is MY JOB to protect. I am scared for my coworkers who are often minors or older ladies at night. It’s MY JOB to protect these people and make them feel safe and I actually take that seriously. You can threaten me, curse me out, cuss out my brand name, threaten to call corporate, I don’t give a shit, but if you pose a threat to my guests or my coworkers, you had better hope the cops get there before I beat the shit out of you with a walkie talkie or the phone or a keyboard or a raccoon, whatever the hell is handy.
Don’t break our shit, don’t bother my guests. If you want something 9 times out of 10 I’ll go get it for you if you’re not a dick. Hungry? Great we have food. Want some coffee? Cool wait outside. Want to use the bathroom? I’ll probably let you. Need your phone charged? I have a rapid charger and if we’re not busy I’ll go do it for you and bring it back. I’m good like that.
But do not fuck with the front desk lady. And stop making me call the cops too, I hate that shit.