...because of the same dumb questions and statements, over and over.
"Where's [thing national park is named for]?" If you were standing much closer, you'd be touching it.
"Where's the bathroom?" Do you see the 200-point font BRIGHT YELLOW word "RESTROOMS"? I don't mind you asking if you aren't a native English speaker, but for the love of the gods LOOK AROUND YOU! It's the same fucking thing with the restaurant. I actually had a man walk up to me today at the front desk and go "Table for four." I was like, UM, NO. If you'd do a 360 you'd see all these things. But you're too busy looking at the decorations and those god-awful ugly lamp fixtures to notice, I guess. Speaking of being too busy looking up...I saw a woman full-on WALK INTO a wet floor sign and knock it over the other day. The sad part was I saw it coming and almost went to tell the porter to move it before someone got hurt. She didn't get hurt, just embarrassed.
"I keep seeing people with ice cream." That's nice, I see dead people, but I don't talk about it in polite company.
"Do you live here?" Especially stupid because the nearest major town is over 50 miles away.
"Where's the bus to [location only reachable on foot]?" This is kind of the equivalent of asking how to get to Roosevelt's ass when you go to Mount Rushmore. Which I'm sure has been asked. As a side note, when I worked at Mount Rainier, someone almost got fired for announcing on the PA system that the "bus to the summit" was about to depart in front of the lobby.
"Hur hur, Michigan, is that your last name?" Why does my company have to put my home state on my nametag. WHYY.
"It must be so nice to live here." Well, I'm not on vacation, and as I pointed out only a few hours ago, for 6 months of the year it's too cold, and for 4 of the other 6 there's vicious wildlife to worry about. Once in a while I stare at the beauty of [thing national park is named after], but that hardly makes up for the rest of it.
The other day I had a woman ask me how to get somewhere. I did use the word "blue" in describing a color-coded bus stop along her way. She repeated the directions back to me and added a "blue awning" that came out of absolutely nowhere. I was confused.
"Even though the tour desk is closed, can you pull a tour desk employee out of your ass to help me?" Had this one tonight and went behind the desk and asked the tour desk employees (who were trying to close) to shout "No, we're closed!" at me. They insisted on helping the person instead.
"Can you give me directions to (town on the other side of the next state over)?" Well, not off the top of my head. At least I have an atlas, though, so I can probably give you a good idea how to get there.
***
All of these questions just...build up on me, and I feel wound too tight and like I just want to fly off the handle. I answer the same six questions, day in and day out, to the point where it's extremely refreshing to me if someone wants help planning their vacation. That's the only time I really feel like I'm engaging my brain. I don't hate my job, I like most of it, in fact. I just find it a little mind-numbing.
"Where's [thing national park is named for]?" If you were standing much closer, you'd be touching it.
"Where's the bathroom?" Do you see the 200-point font BRIGHT YELLOW word "RESTROOMS"? I don't mind you asking if you aren't a native English speaker, but for the love of the gods LOOK AROUND YOU! It's the same fucking thing with the restaurant. I actually had a man walk up to me today at the front desk and go "Table for four." I was like, UM, NO. If you'd do a 360 you'd see all these things. But you're too busy looking at the decorations and those god-awful ugly lamp fixtures to notice, I guess. Speaking of being too busy looking up...I saw a woman full-on WALK INTO a wet floor sign and knock it over the other day. The sad part was I saw it coming and almost went to tell the porter to move it before someone got hurt. She didn't get hurt, just embarrassed.
"I keep seeing people with ice cream." That's nice, I see dead people, but I don't talk about it in polite company.
"Do you live here?" Especially stupid because the nearest major town is over 50 miles away.
"Where's the bus to [location only reachable on foot]?" This is kind of the equivalent of asking how to get to Roosevelt's ass when you go to Mount Rushmore. Which I'm sure has been asked. As a side note, when I worked at Mount Rainier, someone almost got fired for announcing on the PA system that the "bus to the summit" was about to depart in front of the lobby.
"Hur hur, Michigan, is that your last name?" Why does my company have to put my home state on my nametag. WHYY.
"It must be so nice to live here." Well, I'm not on vacation, and as I pointed out only a few hours ago, for 6 months of the year it's too cold, and for 4 of the other 6 there's vicious wildlife to worry about. Once in a while I stare at the beauty of [thing national park is named after], but that hardly makes up for the rest of it.
The other day I had a woman ask me how to get somewhere. I did use the word "blue" in describing a color-coded bus stop along her way. She repeated the directions back to me and added a "blue awning" that came out of absolutely nowhere. I was confused.
"Even though the tour desk is closed, can you pull a tour desk employee out of your ass to help me?" Had this one tonight and went behind the desk and asked the tour desk employees (who were trying to close) to shout "No, we're closed!" at me. They insisted on helping the person instead.
"Can you give me directions to (town on the other side of the next state over)?" Well, not off the top of my head. At least I have an atlas, though, so I can probably give you a good idea how to get there.
***
All of these questions just...build up on me, and I feel wound too tight and like I just want to fly off the handle. I answer the same six questions, day in and day out, to the point where it's extremely refreshing to me if someone wants help planning their vacation. That's the only time I really feel like I'm engaging my brain. I don't hate my job, I like most of it, in fact. I just find it a little mind-numbing.
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