how do you survive on your own · Uncategorized

hey who wants to call the cops?

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.

how do you survive on your own · personal

28 days later

So today I come into work to find my coworker filling out an incident report about the horrible dog parents I haven’t even had time to tell you about when the phone rang and a guest called.

I have never heard anyone sound in more pain or so sick in my life. He wanted to change rooms and I asked why and he said “I seem to have messed the bed and I can’t stay in here. I’m sick. So sick.”

I figure dude has a hangover and maybe threw up in the bed. I find him a room across the hall from where he was staying and offer to bring him the keys. He asks for a few more minutes and he’ll let us know when we could go up.

When I get up there I open the new room first and turn the air on for him. When I’m hungover I like a cold dark room and I figured that’s what I was dealing with. When I knock on his door though I end up looking at someone straight from Night of the Living Dead.

And then there was the smell. I couldn’t tell what smelled worse the poop or the puke but this dude could barely walk. He grabbed the keys from me and said “and just move my stuff”

I felt bad for him so I opened the slider to the room and started moving his stuff while he just went into the room and passed out. I am so glad I grabbed gloves before I went up.

The smell was horrible.

I moved all of his things and asked him several times if he wanted me to call an ambulance or some one else to check on him. He says no.

I run downstairs, almost barf, wash my hands like three times and tell my manager what I saw. So we all go back up and examine the room. Puke all over the bathroom, blood, wet floor, shit in the bed, blood too.

We decide to try to talk to the guest again. Guest won’t answer the door. Guest won’t answer the phone so we used the master key to go back into the room and asked the guest again if he needed anything because now everyone (but me) is more concerned with the linens that are going to the incinerator than the guest. Guest again refuses medical help so we go downstairs to call a few other bosses to find out if we should call the ambulance anyway. This is not before moving two bottles of water to his bedside and uncapping them. We’re not doctors but we’re not monsters.

Our instructions were to check on him later in the day and if he hadn’t improved to call the hospital guest likes it or not. The guest kept saying he just had food poisoning and hey I’ve been sick before so whatever. I refuse medical attention all the time.

Later this evening I was rearranging the bookcase in the lobby when the guest walked in… Right as rain and very very embarrassed and very grateful to me and my co-workers for taking care of him.

“You saw me at my bloody worst and I was horrible to you ordering you around but I felt so awful.” he says

Me: We’ve all been sick sir, its my pleasure to help you out.

Him: I’m so fucking embarrassed you were all so kind.

Me: Sir I’m just glad to see you up and around, I’m just glad you feel better, can I do anything else for you? Do you need anything from the kitchen?

Him: I just really wanted to thank you for genuinely caring about my while I was ill. Really. You were the most kind. I won’t forget this.

I didn’t know what else to say so I gave him directions to the drug store and texted my boss to let him know that our zombie guest was fine.

Uncategorized

Public Service Annoucement

So It does appear that a large portion of Santa Barbara county has fallen into the ocean and the 101 freeway north and south is closed for a few days. I can guide you north and sort of give you a choose your own adventure version of going south I’ve been doing this for my guests for the last couple of days so let my stupid So Cal ass help you.

 

SOUTH FROM 101-

So your ass’s best bet is just taking the I5 and then resorting to the other directions I am about to give you BUT if you are like me and some how always find yourself on the 101 too stuck in traffic to make a good decision here’s how we go around.

 

From the 101 CA North in the Ventura area you are going to want to take HWY 126 East towards Valenica/Magic Mnt/Santa Paula. Don’t trip, there are many places to stop.

At the junction at 126 East you are going to join in on Interstate 5 North. You will now go through the grapevine. Hopefully it is not snowing. Just pull over in Gorman if it is.

When you get to the bottom of the hill high five your passengers and decide….

 

Do I want to take the 166 West towards Taft/Maricopa/ Santa Maria? You can. What you could run into again is some weather stuff and if the weather is as bad as the news makes it to be, that could be dangerous. Cal Trans is currently warning against that at the moment because people unfamiliar with the road are causing huge accidents.

Or you can blast on up the I5 to the exit for HWY 46. It’s going to mention Lost Hills and Paso Robles. IF you have been in the car this long at this point, pick a truck stop and pee.

 

46 West from the I5 has done some dope construction. It’s bigger and wider and easier. Get up on there and haul ass.

 

When you reunite with the 101 it will be in Paso Robles. If you intend to go to SLO, go on the south off ramp. Take that about 30 miles and don’t trip.

 

Dive safe