Okay, as a lot of you know, I work overnights at a hotel. It’s for a pretty recognizable brand, so we get a lot of high paying customers.
Part of my job is to prep the breakfast area before the breakfast team shows up so that breakfast is done by the time it needs to be. This, of course, means that I have to step away from the desk. It doesn’t really help that the time I need to start working on breakfast is also when customers start checking out.
So I had the bright idea of making a sign. It’s not fancy, the letters are pretty big, and it basically just says “Hey if you need me I’m in the kitchen, just give a holler.”
It’s worked really well so far; people see it, they call for me, and I get them taken care of with little to no fuss. Or, at least, it’s worked up until now.
This guy.
This. Fucking. Guy.
I finish prepping the breakfast area, I walk out, and at the front desk is a man, huffing and puffing. He harshly asks “Are you working the front desk?”.
I say with my best customer service voice “Yes sir, I just had to prep a few things for the breakfast team. Can I help you with anything?”
“Yeah you can help me by giving me some fucking service. I’ve been waiting for almost five minutes and I have to catch my flight!”
Oh boy. Here we go.
So I tell the man, “Well, sir, if you’ll look right in front of you, if you needed me, that sign tells you that I was in the kitchen.”
And this man. Just. Fucking looks at me. And says.
“You expect me to fucking read on my day off?”
And I just.
I was floored. That someone would say that. Completely unironically. With no hesitation.
i saw this post earlier about therapists and it reminded me of my old therapist paul, who in my opinion is one of the greatest men alive and who did not put up with my bullshit for even one second
anyway i go in to see paul one week in the summer of 2016, and i’m doing my usual bullshit which consists of me talking shit about myself, and paul is staring at me, and then he cuts me off and says that he’s got a new tool for helping people recognize when they’re using negative language, and gets up and goes over to his desk
and i’m like alright hit me with that sweet sweet self-help article my man, because i’m a linguistic learner and whenever paul’s like here i have a tool for you to use it’s pretty much always an article or a book or something
paul opens a drawer, takes something out, and turns back around. i stare.
i say, paul.
is that a nerf gun.
yeah, says paul.
i say, are you gonna shoot me with a nerf gun in this professional setting.
he happily informs me that that’s really up to me, isn’t it. and sits back down. and gestures, like, go ahead, what were you saying?
and i squint suspiciously and start back up about how i’m having too much anxiety to leave the house to run errands, like it was a miracle to even get here, like i’ve forgone getting groceries for the past week and that’s so stupid, what a stupid issue, i’m an idiot, how could i–
a foam dart hits me in the leg.
i go, hey! because my therapist just shot me in the leg. paul blinks at me placidly and raises an eyebrow. i squint again.
i say, slowly, it’s– not a stupid issue, i’m not stupid, but it’s frustrating me and i don’t want it to be a problem i’m having.
no dart this time. okay. sweet.
so the rest of the hour passes with me intermittently getting nailed with tiny foam darts and then swearing and then fixing my language and, wouldn’t you know it, i start liking myself a little more by the end of the session, which is mildly infuriating because paul can tell and he’s very smug about it
anyway i leave his office and the lady having the next appointment walks in and i hear what’s all over the floor? and paul very seriously says cognitive behavioral therapy tools.
Pass Through Fire 