Bless Your Heart.

“You can’t put lipstick on a hog.”

I chuckle under my breath at the unoriginality of the review. I’ve heard that one, many times before.

When you tell a hospitality worker that you’re going to “burn the place down” or “ruin their reputation”, they’re most likely wishing you would.

Every time I walk down the concrete corridors I’m transported back to the 70s. The musty smell of low Texas heat in the middle of February brings out the decades of mold that have been corrugating in the cracks and carpet.

This place has seen a lot, this I know for sure.

I smile at the guest coming towards me. By the look on his face I know they’re going to complain about something.

Sometimes when this happens, I purposely put on my most sarcastic smile as a piece of armor before a word comes out of their mouth.

It’s always the Karen or a trashcan white man who has something negative to say.

The guest tells me how he’s a “Gold Star Member” and his check-out time doesn’t match up with our rules and that he doesn’t need housekeeping banging down his door when he’s getting changed.

“I apologize for that, sir,” I’m telling him.

“No one wants to see you naked, you fuck.” I’m thinking.

I finalize his check out with what I call my best condescending cunt smile and remind him to have a great day.

In truth, I’m proud of this feature I’ve acquired over the years. It feels like a piece of armor to keep me protected from the douchebags of the world.

I know I know, you can never be sure what people are going through behind closed doors, but to be honest, a lot of people are just miserable assholes.

Bless their heart.

Photo by Mara Conan Design on Unsplash