Memo

My boss created a memo book recently for all front desk employees. Every time we come in for a shift, we have to look in the book first to see what gripes she has about us this time. When I came in today there were three new memos and they all had the same basic point: if you ever have a problem, don't try to fix it yourself--just call her and let her figure it out. I think (and this is purely speculation 'cause my brain ain't so good at workin') she's insinuating we're morons.
I personally prefer a more forthright approach. I like to get out the bricks (hence the name) and start chucking them as opposed to simply flicking pebbles. I would have had more respect for a memo that said Dear inbreds: Stop trying to be fully functioning adults because you are in fact ugly, whiny diaper babies. You sicken me in your never-ending yet wholly futile attempts to be adequate front desk personnel. If any problems should ever present themselves you need to call me immediately and let me deal with that s**t instead of f**king around and making everything worse like you always do. When you were born your parents didn't want you and I don't either but I'm stuck with you until the damn laws about how you can't fire a tard start easing up so there we are. My phone number is on the back wall; here's hoping you can dial a f**king phone. Go f**k yourselves, Jackie.
I know she couldn't actually write something that awesome or grammatically correct. But let’s pretend, because it's funnier that way.

Lobby

ATTENTION HOTEL PATRONS: The lobby is supposed to be a place where you come to check in and that's it. You can certainly walk through on your way to your room/the elevator/the ice machine/the laundry facilities, but that's it. It's a pass-through kind of area, not a hang out and read a magazine while your stroller-imprisoned, unfortunately parented child gets frostbite because you've haplessly parked yourselves by the open front doors and yes it is snowing outside people it's that cold kind of area. It's not meant to be a place of leisure, it's a place of transition--you transition yourself up to your room where the leisure then begins. We don't want to watch your ass instead of the television because you're thoughtlessly standing in front of it and we don't want to listen to your intensely personal and horrifyingly interminable cell phone conversations. Okay? Keep that in mind the next time you're in a hotel lobby and we'll all be a lot happier. Well, at least I will. And that is definitely all that matters. The GB has spoken!

Tureen

There was a new sign posted above the time clock today. It said we are not to clock in more than five minutes before our scheduled shift begins; we should either clock out just as early as we clocked in (which you can't do when you're working alone) or we should simply consider that early time to be "volunteer time" because we won't be getting paid for it any more. So now the only question is: is my soulless harpy of a boss aware that she is inspiring a deep and serious red rage inside the heart of every employee she has? Oh, and also, how many days will pass before I finally snap and deliver those much deserved kicks to her face, ribs, and bladder? Only time (and the time clock) will tell.
I guess I shouldn't really be surprised, seeing as how this is the same woman who reminds me of my dementia-ridden, Queen of the Narcissists, you-could-be-in-the-hospital-and-I-am-still-going-to-need-you-to-take-me-to-the-hairdresser grandmother. I don't understand how I keep ending up with such selfish demanding bastards in my life.
Case in point (like you needed another)? Jackie called a little while ago, as she does during every shift, and asked me if there were any problems tonight. I told her the second pool door doesn't lock, and she said, "Oh, that's something we shouldn't tell the customers about...but it's for emergency purposes. Like, suppose we needed to get into the pool really quickly, you know? We couldn't do that if the door was locked, you know?" Okay, let me ponder this for a moment. What type of emergency situation would require "really quick" access to the pool area? A person drowning, perhaps? A person, possibly an unsupervised child, drowning in the pool because the door wasn't locked? At any rate, it's the second pool door that doesn't lock, meaning you would have to run all the way down the hall in order to reach it. It would be faster to just use a key to unlock the first door, which does properly function. In case you couldn't tell, the lack of awareness on this woman's part continues to simultaneously amaze me and rape my already fragile grasp on sanity.
Jackie often reminds me of a zombie. And that's not just because she stares stupidly into space for hours on end or tells me to do things so pointless and retarded that I am tempted to get out the Necronomicon so I can learn about how to defeat her kind once and for all. No, it's really because of the seemingly inhuman way her mind works. Only someone as clueless as my boss would think it was okay that the damn pool door didn't lock. But maybe I should try and be more understanding. I suppose, in her undead mind, bodies floating in the pool is like dumplings bobbing about in a f**king soup tureen. It certainly wouldn't surprise me if she craved brain, since she clearly does not have one of her own.

Cast

Every co-worker of mine has issues which hinder their work performance. Here's a simplified rundown of everyone:
Ashley*: High risk pregnancy.
Rob*: Serious OCD. Typically grouchy.
Steve*: Suffers from unpredictable seizures and often nose dives face first into the ground while doing so.
Jackie*: The boss. Favorite pastime is following every sentence with the phrase "You know?" For example: "GB, since you lost the hotel twenty-seven dollars by erroneously selling that youth ticket, we are going to have to take it out of your commission, you know?" No, I don't know...how you're going to explain away those bruises all over your face and kidneys if you fiddle with my money. Besides, I wasn't properly trained concerning those tickets, and if you're telling me a successful hotel can't eat twenty-seven dollars ONE TIME then maybe we should be shut down, flat out. (PS: I slightly embellished that quote. She wouldn't know a word like "erroneous" and you need to understand that.)
In addition to the main cast of characters, there are a host of annoying supporting players, such as the housekeeper who says we're not friendly enough because we don't smile at him when he walks by, and the whiny, illiterate technician who blames us when the computers stop working. According to him, we are porn-addicted, spyware-downloading freaks--even though everyone else knows Jackie's thirteen-year-old son is the one screwing up the system.
I realize I haven't yet mentioned the ever-constant, common sense-defying, bile-spewing, couldn't-you-just-puncture-each-of-their-lungs-using-only-a-pair-of-roughly-hewn-chopsticks-and-walk-away-without-feeling-one-drop-of-remorse-they're-such-unruly-bastards stream of insane customers. Don't worry. More on them is still to come, believe me.

*Names have been changed.