hustlin

So I'm heading home on the 22, in the back four seats that face each other in twos and twos. The double date section. I always gravitate towards that part. A group of guys get on and now it's really crowded. Dude next to me has this velvet flat board on his lap and as soon as I see a bottle cap, I get out a book because that's whatever I do when I get the feeling somebody is going to bug me with anything other than a hello.

Sure enough, he's playing the nut in the bottle cap game. His boys are way too eager to play, like this is the very thing they were hoping would happen so they could make a Kentucky Derby style killing. Dude says that ladies can play for free and he ropes in this lady across from us. She picks correctly and he gives her a dollar, then tells her that she's got to pull out a dollar to try again and double up. She's confused, says...."I'm sorry....I don't know" and I realize that she's Italian (I think) and probably visiting. He gets her to pull out another dollar.

The guy next to him puts forty on it and wins. Dude gives him two twenties, asks her to pick again really forcefully. She does. He hands her forty. Then tells her to pull out another forty. Again, she has no idea what the fuck is going on.

At this point, I have to step in. If it were anyone else, I'd let it happen. Any San Franciscan should know better by now. But she was obviously scared and confused. So while she's looking through her wallet for money, I say "Sweetheart-" she looks at me and I shake my head vigorously and say "No. Don't. Put your money away." She does and gives me a thankful nod. At this point, it's time to get off.

When I get off at McAllister, the dude and his boys also get off. Last thing I want is for these guys to follow me to my place, so I stand my ground and get ready for whatever it is they've got to give to me. Sure enough, dude steps right in front of me and his boys surround me like a goddamn pack of wolves.

Dude- What the fuck is your problem???
Me- What the fuck is YOUR problem? Girl didn't even speak English.
Dude- That aint your business.
Me- You show up, loud as shit and bothering everyone, it is my business.
Dude- Fuck you! Fucking bitch! I bet I hustled you once!
Me- Please. Like I would fall for your tired ass shit. You should think of something more original...or get a fucking job. You obviously have enough energy to assemble a crew and harass a girl on a street corner.
(at this point, I braced myself to get knocked the fuck out. He raised his hand but one of his boys took pity and said they should go)
Dude said something, I don't remember what.
Me- Look, you're gonna do what you feel you've gotta do. Normally I wouldn't have said shit but that was sleazy, even for a guy like you.
Dude- Alright, whatever. Next time you better watch your mouth.
Me- Fuck that. You've got your boys working for you. She had me looking our for her.

His boys get him to leave. They turned the corner and I went home, shaking the whole time.

screw me once...screw me twice....screw me three times a lady

Is it better to be paranoid or trusting? In my hospitaliserf position, it's especially bitchy to question or deny a complaint.

Imagine the following interactions-

Guest: That hooker you set me up with stole my wallet and gave me this black eye!
Me: How am I supposed to know you just don't like it rough...did she also give you that cold sore? I bet you're going to tell me that now you can't afford to pay for the room without your "wallet", how convenient!

Guest: There's a peep hole in the shower! I could feel eyes on me last night! EYES!
Me: You loved every minute of it, ho!

Guest: I saw a mouse in my room!
Me: You must have stolen it from the restaurant! They said they were one mouse short for tonight's souffle.

You get my point.

Some French bastard came huffing and puffing downstairs last night as well as this morning to let us know that his room was not cleaned last night.

French Bastard- Eet was deesgusting! How could you (he decided to point at me for emphasis, despite the fact that I had yesterday off) let such ze thing happen! (you get the point with the accent, I'll spare you from here.)

Me- I saw a note about that from last night. I am very sorry and I will have housekeeping clean your room first thing this morning.

FB- Unacceptable! This is a disgrace! Boo hiss!

Me- Again, I apologize. Our housekeepers must have miscommunicated with one another, it is an honest mistake that very rarely happens.

FB- miscommunicate??? What do they have to communicate? ZE CLEAN ZE ROOMZ! ZAT IZ ALL ZE DO!

Nobody talks shit about my housekeepers, nobody! Motherfucker was expecting a free room, I gave him $45 off to shut his trap.....only to find out later on that his room was cleaned yesterday. The housekeepers couldn't remember if they did or they didn't, but maintenance was there yesterday evening, and sure enough, clean as a whistle.

I. Have. Been. Duped.

This isn't the first time and, as long as I stay employed at this place, it wont be the last. Apparently there are people who get off on this- going to little botique hotels, sabotaging something in their room or outright lying about something (i.e. "I asked for a 6am wakeup call! I never got one! Now I missed an important meeting and I'll never get promoted and be forced to live in middle middle class mediocrity forever! I WILL SUE YOU!") and then trying to score what they can. Travel agents, the last of a dying breed of professions (thanks internet!), are famous for this. Only they threaten us with their travel agenty powers, or lack thereof.

The thing that super duper burns my ass is that many of these people can afford our rates and then some. Frenchie, for example, is decked out in an outfit straight from the pages of esquire. I could pay for my last semester at USF with his wristwatch. So screwing over a struggling business and completely taking advantage of a trusting young lady such as myself must give him some kind of sexual pleasure. I feel used :(

Hooray!

I was bummed about not being able to afford/find time for this year's Bonnaroo, but as it turns out- Lollapalooza has most of the same people AND it's in Chicago.

Highlights include-

Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals
Pearl Jam
Daft Punk
Patti Smith
Modest Mouse
Kings of Leon (fuck yeah!!!!!!!)
The Roots
Lupe Fiasco
TV on the Radio
Pete Yorn
Silverchair (forreal? they're still around?)
Blonde Redhead (who I'm seeing at the end of April)
Electric Six
Polyphonic Spree (how can one *not* want to witness that?)
Sean Lennon
Mickey Avalon (who I believe is the force behind thecobrasnake.com - dangerously coked out hipster kids at their hippest)

HOORAY FOR AUGUST!!

I must admit, I still love the cookies...

I would say that the height of my badassery came at a somewhat early age. While it was nice to get my wild child ways out of my system, it means that my trailblazing days are far behind me and I feel far too domesticated and potty trained to restart the good fight. Is it possible that I used up my sass resevior?

At ten years old, after two dedicated years of service, I was asked to leave the Junior Girl Scouts of America.

Apparently I was insubordinate in the following ways (as it was explained to my mother, who kicked some soccermom ass upon hearing this) :

1. I dared to challenge the cookie conspiracy. I had fallen a dozen boxes short of top seller for two years in a row, depriving me of the mountain bike of my dreams. My sales tactics were inventive and aggressive- I cornered the guys at my Dad's bar every weekend and would not stop pestering them until they signed up for at least five boxes. The first year's work allowed the product to sell itself, as I came to realize that tubby Chicago biker gangs had a soft spot for thin mints and thus a crackhead/pusher relationship was formed. The girl who won first place also happened to have one of the wealthiest families in town who were notorious for doing whatever it took on their end to make their children look like model citizens (or in our case, venture capitalists). Apparently challenging this injustice (which, even then, I believed mirrored the world at large) earned me a "sore loser" badge.

2. I did not wear the standard uniform, nor did I keep it well maintained. No excuses for this one. Unless I'm allowed to blame personality (or poorness....those damn leggings and t-shirts were expensive!) To this day, I actively protest my work uniform and usually resemble a ragamuffin in an otherwise professional setting. I assume this was a part of the organization's mission to shape us into polished young ladies, or fembots.

3. I was constantly complaining and displayed a lack of scout sp!r!t. Again, this was true. I asked why we were always sewing pot holders for our moms, or making cards for the people at the old folks home, or putting on fashion shows while the boys got KNIVES! and went HIKING! and could, if the situation arose, untie buxom women from train tracks because there is no knot that they cannot tackle! What if I wanted to save buxom women? Why did I have to *be* the buxom woman whose only talent was making napkin rings out of the rope that the boyscout untied?

So I hear that times have changed and that the Girl Scouts are becoming more progressive. Their badges focus as much on athletics and academics as they do on neatness and crafts. Apparently they're doing much more volunteer work and even going out into *gasp* nature!

But I'm still bitter...

Therefore I would like to announce that I am in the planning stages of a new institution for young women. I haven't come up with a name....for the time being I'll call them the Nisi-teers.