The most basic of my duties at my prestigious job at a local luxury hotel is to answer the phones. Now, if I were only required to answer the telephone in my sweet voice so syrupy it could cover your morning waffles with ease, well then that would be easy. It's the fact that there is a live person on the other end of the line that I have to deal with that chaps my hide! Don't they know I am busy filing my nails?? I have come to the conclusion that the people of America are well..........just straight up ignorant.
We have a large variety of callers that annoy me on a daily basis, and I have created names for all of them. For instance;
1. The international caller
2. The lonely guest caller
3 The creeper caller
4. The woman who thinks she is God's gift to the world but is not caller
5. The know it all caller
6. The walking allergy caller
7. The would fit in better at a Motel 6 caller
And last, but certainly not least.......
8. The drunk off his/her badonkadonk caller
Now, Let's discuss each caller in depth so that I can share the misery with all. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my job, it's morons that I cannot tolerate. I absolutely believe that I will one day stroll the sumptuous halls of this structure in a business suit sporting a large name tag and commence to boss people around, striking terror in the hearts of my underlings as they pass me a perfectly brewed cup of coffee.............until then, I will grasp the telephone receive with white knuckles fantasizing of all sorts of evil ways to end the conversation..........for good.
So, shall we begin? Let's do! Our first caller to discuss shall be the international caller. I have taken calls from Aussies, Englishmen, Irishman and Scotts. Never fails, every Australian I talk to, I envision them tanned, khaki shirt open to the waist. Weather worn pants are tucked into knee hi boots, blue eyes against a tanned face peeks out from beneath an old floppy leather hat.
The Englishmen? Well, he would certainly arrive in an Aston Martin clad in a white, tailored Armani suit, ascot at his throat, beautiful woman on his arm as he discreetly speaks into his wristwatch to Scotland Yard and orders a dry martini, shaken, not stirred.
The Irsihman arrives in a tweed jacket and knee pants, a jaunty cap rests upon his fiery red hair, an attractive mustache adorns his upper lip, as an elaborately carved pipe hangs from the side of his mouth. His piercing green eyes take in every aspect of the lovely lobby.
And then, there is the Scott. Long, wavy auburn hair flows down his back. He is adorned with a white linen shirt with leather drawstrings at the chest and billowing sleeves. A lovely kilt in colors that enhance his eyes and hair brush his knees. Highland boots complete the ensemble, revealing just a hint of muscular, tanned knee.
I lie to myself that this is what the fella on the other end of the line really looks like as they ask for directions, room service, extra linens, towels, etc. Unfortunately reality is not my friend, for in truth, the Aussie has b.o, the Scott just trashed his room, the Irishman is drunk at the bar and the Englishman is in need of a dentist in a bad way.
Sigh, oh well, I will send the Aussie his soap, call housekeeping to the Scott's room, have the bellman drag the Irishman to his room and direct the Englishman to the local dentist.........I hope he's in town for a while.
Oh well, back to reality and then I am off to go home to my REAL Harlequin Romance hero!! We will talk about the "lonely guest caller" next time! Until then, don't call me, I'll call you. ;)
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