PPS

A woman just came over and complained that people were--prepare to be horrified--being too loud by the pool. She said I really needed to go and do something about it because everyone was having way too much fun in there. She added that she felt she couldn't stay in the pool area any longer because it was just too crazy. Then she skulked back up to her room. So what do you suppose happened next?
You already know. Seeing as how I am head of Pool Protection Services here at the hotel, I immediately swung into action. Yep, I got me another cookie. And I forgot all about everything else. Mmm…chocolate chip.
After scarfing a few cookies I felt tempted to call the people over at Guinness because I am pretty sure I've broken all the records concerning the number of times a person can say/hear the following in one evening:
1. "Wal-Mart is about seven minutes down on your left."
2. "We don't accept pets."
Typical customer reply: "Oh, no. Now my wife/son/girlfriend/dog will have to stay in the car." Here they pause for what they feel is inevitable raucous laughter on my part and when none comes they lunge for the nearest box of Kleenex because here come the waterworks, you f**king crybabies. I mean, damn. Let's try strappin' on them big boy pants the next time we travel, all right?
3. "Where are the strippers at?" Actually, I was only asked this once, but it's sure worth mentioning, isn't it? It came from an inebriated woman and her ten-year-old son (her son is the one who asked). When they noticed the mirth failing to creep across my face the woman slurred, "It's a joke. You're supposed to laugh." Oh, rest assured that I will laugh--at your questionable child-rearing abilities after you leave. Because the fact that your ten-year-old is already looking to pay for sex is a snort riot of the highest order, isn't it, you bucket of skank?
4. "The elevator is right over there. No, that way. That way. Look where my finger is pointing, not at my finger."
5. "No, over THERE. Next to the sign that says 'elevator.' Okay, have a good night, and here's hoping you make it all the way to your room because we have five whole floors and I'm sure that must seem like a big ol' labyrinth to a Minotaur-sized tard patty such as yourself."
Really, really good times. And do not let me neglect to add that we have a junior varsity volleyball team staying with us tonight, which means girls in the hallway right next to my desk giggling and loudly sharing their favorite ringtones (no fewer than three hundred per girl). Now, I know what you're thinking because I always do: you're afraid I'm going to lose it and hurt one of them, or maybe all of them, possibly with my trusty golf cleats. Well, that is a valid concern, and thanks for caring, hippie, but I can maintain. I mean, think of it this way. When those locals come back with their firearms looking for a Final Showdown with yours truly I am going to have so many different who-do-I-use-as-a-human-shield-first options that I can't really be angry with these girls. They're going to save my life, and I appreciate it enough to put the golf cleats away. For now.