I’ve now worked three shifts at the reception desk at the posh hotel down the road, and my job has been to…sit at the reception desk. For long periods of time. Doing not much.
Occasionally people check in, and I enter them into the computer, and occasionally people call and ask questions I can’t answer, and I find the GM and he answers them for me. Occasionally the bar staff comes by to tease me about how little I do. I look for odd jobs, like taking empty glasses off tables into the kitchen. I wear a white blouse and a black blazer and look entirely unlike myself.
The hotel hosts a lot of wedding receptions, in the summer one every Friday and Saturday at least. I’m going to start taking a book to work, so I don’t creep people out by having nothing better to do then stare at them all while they mill around in their wedding garb and large hats.
I’ve also taken to writing down amusing conversations in my spare time:
#1: I’ve actually had this exact conversation twice, so far. It goes like this: I’m introduced to a man in a suit.
“Really,” they say, upon hearing my name. “I’ve got a laptop called that.”
“That’s Acer,” I explain. “ERRRRR. My name is Aasa. AHHHHH.”
My name does not work well in a British accent.
“Why would you come to Britain?” one of the bartenders asked.
“Why not?” I said.
“Britain’s a shithole,” he said. “It’s full of nothing but drunks and tramps and crime.”
“I think it’s quite lovely!”
“No,” he said, looking at me skeptically, “It’s a shithole.”
#3: At Friday’s wedding
A woman in her mid-40s bursts into the washroom. I’m washing my hands.
“Are you good at putting wigs on?” she blurts.
“I’ve never put a wig on before,” I admit.
“I’ve just won this, and I need to put it on.”
She holds up a bubble-gum pink novelty wig in a plastic bag. I help her put it on.
“That’s no good,” she says, appraising herself in the mirror. “You can still see me own hair! Maybe that’s what this hair net is for!”
She takes off the wig, tucks her hair under the hair net, and I help her back on with the pink hair.
“Right,” she says, “I quite like that.”
#4: At Saturday’s wedding, overheard from my desk
The groom’s father comes down the stairs, and announces to a friend at the bottom: “I’ve just had an orgy!”
“Really!” says the friend, to the elderly gent. “With who?”
“With all of them!” he says, gesturing to the three women and two men descending the stairs behind him.
From across the room, the groom looks up and sees his mother, who’s now crossing the room towards him.
“How was the orgy?” he calls.