The Motel Buisness, Week 1 (Belated)

Everything was going fine until Graham decided to show me the rotten tooth that had broken out of his mouth.

Imagine that. How many times in your life have you been minding your own business when someone mentions, Hey, my tooth just broke off. A broken tooth is disgusting. It makes you feel like spiders are crawling up your calves. And just like that, this whole hotel job temporary appeal was lost.

Not that I haven't already crossed “Hotel Housekeeping” and even “Hotel Owner/Manager” off my lifelong dream list. Let me tell you: you go batty. I have never had so much appreciation for the people who have to pick my hair out of the shower – something I still haven't mastered. The hair just sticks to the floor and you keep wiping it around in circles, hoping it will grab onto your cloth. I certainly never suspected that queen sheets were so heavy, or that people will let their children wet the bed and then just...leave it.

Promise me something: if you are in a motel, hotel, inn, friend's house, and your child wets the bed, or even if you wet the bed, strip the sheets off yourself. Say something to housekeeping. Because (and this is gross, I rate this experience PG-13 for horror) seeing a spot on the bed, wondering if its water, coffee, etc., and then having to SNIFF it to figure out what it is happens to be one of my least favorite experiences. Because sometimes it is pee.

Where I'm working, we get a lot of “tradies.” These are people who travel for work, most often in trade professions like construction, and are away from home for weeks at a time. Its mostly very tanned men who like their XXXX Gold beer and to say “G'Day”. I swear, I get “G'Day”ed at least three times daily. Pretty darn cool.

We also get a lot of old people who lock themselves out of their rooms, and families with young kids who apparently like to throw cereal around their bedroom.

Hotel work makes me temporarily lose faith in people, sometimes.

But the good news? I'm writing again. I'm writing, reading, knitting, reflecting on the future (even though it hasn't happened yet) and consequently growing more fond of my situation in the armpit of the world, Bundamba, Queensland.

Do you remember when I was in Ireland and I could hardly sleep at night because I was so excited to fly to Australia? I sure as heck do. And today, two months later, I feel the same. Especially because at the end of these 2.5 weeks, I feel better (can you believe it?), better and more excited than I was dreaming in Dublin, beside myself in Belfast, even spinning with excitement in Spain.

This is beside the point of the travel blog, but I am enamored.