05 June, 2009

Kicking people out and Flirt-Master C falls right on his face.

Well, I had to kick a drunk guy off the hostel lawn tonight. Guess how I did it. No, I didn't put a bottle of Thunderbird on the end of a fishing pole. No, I enlisted the help of Minneapolis' finest.
Believe me, I hate to call the cops for anything that for calling cops is not warranted. But, I gave the guy three strikes. A guest (a cute guest, too, with a big ass) came in and alerted me to the guy's presence. So I goes out I does and there he is, sleeping on the lawn. So I ask the most important question first: Are you alive?
It's at this point that a string of slurred groaning grunts emits from the lump of drunken nylon windbreaker and somewhere in there is the story of his old lady kicking him out.
I tell him he can't sleep on the lawn. He reminds me that his old lady kicked him out. I tell him that there are park benches across the street that are certainly more comfortable and cleaner than the dirt mound he's laying in.
He rolls over.
I go back inside. I still have to close things up and I want to get some more flirt time in. Maybe, since I work morning shift tomorrow, I can talk her into taking me out for breakfast. Tell her that, hey, I get paid today, I'll get you back after the mail comes, why don't you and I go down to the Bad Waitress and you can buy me a Belgian waffle and tell me all about Philadelphia. Is it true it's always sunny there?
So I go take the garbage out about ten minutes later and the guy is still there. So I give him the reminder: Come on, guy, I told you you can't sleep here.
More slurry drones emanate from the body and it rolls over, begins propping itself up. So I continue taking the trash out and on my return, the body is on all fours. So I figure it's all good.
Then, just one last check, just to make sure the body is gone. Nope. Still there.
Hey, you got thirty bucks? I can give you a bed for the night but I told you you can't sleep here.
Grumble grumble I'm going on grumble.
That's it, I'm calling the cops.
Grumble no no grunt I'm going sigh.
Then, out of nowhere, this douche shows up, "Hey, is this the youth hostel?"
Yeah.
"What are your rates?"
What kind of room do you want?
"Just a normal room -"
Thirty eight sixty five. I kinda gotta take care of something here. That's it I'm calling the cops.
Grumble grumble.
No, I'm done waiting you've had plenty of warning.
"Well, do you have availability?"
Yeah, we're clear. Come on in.
"You're full?"
We're clear. Come on.
He doesn't follow me, and this is when I discover that Minneapolis police do not have a non-emergency number. That's right, I had to call 911. You know what they send out? Two cruisers, one of which was a K9 unit. For fuck's sake, the guy's just drunk, throw him in the drunk tank and call it a night.
I go out and talk to who I found to be the K9 cop. I tell him I placed the call and ask if they need me for anything. Hey, I don't call 911 with any regularity. I was embarrassed as it was that I had to call it for a drunken vagrant. I told the 911 operator why I was calling them: There's no listed non-emergency number. Anyway, the K9 cop says, "No, he's just going to detox." Meanwhile, the dog is going bonkers in the back seat to the point that the cop has to yell over it and (I swear to god and a half) it was rocking the fucking car.
I go back inside, grab my bag, lock up, tell Philly that I work the morning shift so I'll see her in the morning, and here's where my heart snaps in two, man. She was friendly all night, she laughed at my wisecracks, I told her where to find several cool restaurants and bars, she told me about Family Guy hitting close to home because she actually grew up on the MA/RI border, I thought - you know - a little friendly flirting. We like each other, not "like-like", just "hey, you're cool-like". Maybe even, "I think you're cute, too-like". I'm not asking for much. I just like a little affirmation that I'm an alright guy that women find desirable from time to time. I think that's not too much to ask.
So, ANYHOW, I tell her I'll be back in the morning and I'll see her then. She says, "Oh. Uh, OK?"
Oh uh OK? Oh uh OK? Like I'm some sort of weirdo all of a sudden because I'm trying to be friendly and just saying - and really this is all I said - Well, I've got the morning shift so I'll see you then. Is that fucking weird? I don't think so. And all of a sudden she's a little surprised that the lanky, bearded goon that she's talked to for the past hour has bid her adieu and indicated that they will, indeed, see each other not only again but about when they'll see each other.
"Oh. Uh, OK?"
Sometimes, just sometimes, I wish I were dead.

5 comments:

  1. Of course I did. It's called hyperbole. I do that so I can make a joke about something.

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  2. I personally think you UNDER=analyzed those three words.

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  3. FINALLY! Somebody who gets it! How soon can you get here with a pickup truck?

    ReplyDelete
  4. Depends on Chicago Traffic and if you are offering beer.

    ReplyDelete

 
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