Weekend #2

Last weekend was a synch. If only things could always be so easy…

This weekend, there were perks… a surprise phone call (thanks!), shopping for Porsche rental-cars (something to look forward to in L.A.), and homemade cookies left by a group of rather handsome Columbia grads who discovered my love for Dartmouth (Ivy League snots…). But there were pitfalls, too.

First, a “military man” who was drunk beyond belief claimed to live in the building, but swore he lost his key. I kind of smiled and waved him off… apparently his “girlfriend” was sleeping and he was there to visit. Then he started flirting with me. I continued to ignore him, so he started talking about how he wants to see his “fiancée.” (Interesting how his story kept changing.) Then he started adamantly hitting on me. Finally, he said he was going to go to bed with his “wife” as soon as he said goodnight to me, and he made to come behind the desk… That’s when I kicked him out. Don’t mess.

THEN — there was the booty call. A man came in claiming his friend left the door open for him to come visit. Sure. Either way, I can’t just let some stranger in off the street… even if it is for a pre-arranged sex visit. The visitor is calling and calling and calling the man in his room, but there’s no answer. It was just so pathetic, I had to cave… so I offered to walk him up to the room and if it was in fact open, then he could wake the resident up, who could then verify that it was ok for the guest to stay. And that’s what we did. Except, as the guest entered the room, I heard the resident say, “Oh, boy, I’m glad to see you. I’ve been dying to get off…” Yuck?

There were other lock outs, but I’m too tired to bother with recounting them now. (Did I mention I didn’t get to sleep more than two hours on Saturday?) I also didn’t mention the random couple who demanded to be let in one of the premium rooms, the calls I had to make, and the conversation I was supposed to have with the multi-millionaire who owns the building. It wasn’t fun. And it’s late. And it forbids me from doing what I love doing most — partying with friends.

Yet, every night as I sit at the desk, engaged in a test of will to stay awake, bundled up by the space heater in an effort to stay remotely warm, glued to my computer ( baby!), I have to laugh… A piece of me really enjoys this.

I’m not ok.


Hah — time to sleep (FINALLY)!