Thursday, January 29, 2009

Last Memories from a Dying City -- Reminiscing my Waterbury Hotel visits

From the first taste of sandy lettuce in my salad to the final snub of the replaced potato salad, the Courtyard has imprinted memories well beyond food. Although it is the dinners and lunches I remember well, since the mere exposure to society at those times cloaked my hotel-prison loneliness. I met some great people; at the hotel, and from my classes. The staff regulars became my friends, even to the point where I would trust them more than my own co-workers at the hotel.
Back to the Food. The food was never great. They changed the menu on occasion (which seemed to be constantly) and I remember being consulted as a valued guest on it, but despite my fervent protests, the prices never seemed to descend to a level that matched the value or taste of the food. There was always a question whether you would get what you ordered the last time, especially when you asked for the same plate. Drinks were even more of the same story. After hearing a few of my attendees complain of changing drink prices, I tested for myself. Sure enough, the next month, for four straight nights ordering vodka cranberries, I was charged a different price. I think the last straw happened on my last visit. After one of my attendees complained about the taste of the mandarin stir-fry, the chef, informed by the barman, confronted the guest and told him that the meal was good and tasted fine. I have never heard of such a thing happening at a restaurant. But not at this place.
The receptionists, waitstaff, bartenders and greeters were my source of social entertainment. I became friendly with several of them. The date with Elda was probably the weirdest I have experienced, from her chain smoking, bare apartment, eastern European accent or the double bottle dinner that I received little help finishing to the fruitless foreplay and characteristic mid-hookup passout. I awoke at 5am, clothes on, and realizing my folly, sprung to my feet, promised a call and jetted. I did actually call her back several days later and after not recognizing my name, she pretended to be too tired to talk...I got the point.
Off and on there were those working at the reception desk that were into me. Faten and Christy were the first there and both left about a year after I began giving the classes at the hotel. I had a crush on Faten (Egyptian name). Safia came later and soon replaced the former receptionist stalwarts. Until the end S. and I were more than mere acquaintances, though I would not consider my connection to her went beyond a sort of workplace friend. Our conversations, while entirely on a personal level, never crossed that line of professionalism, no matter how far the line was drawn. Kiara did cross that line. Slipping me her number on my keycard packet and frequently giving me the "why haven't you called me?" sobs. Not that I didn't want to...in a sort of a fuck-her-to-shut-her-the-fuck-up way. But she was bad news and I knew taking that step with this girl would have been a heap of trouble. She was a hormone induced travel bag of bad decisions. I was surprised how long she lasted at her post. That was until she was spotted by a manager picking up some of my attendees at the hotel drive-up and then taking them to a local strip joint. In the end she was fired twice for "fraternizing with hotel patrons." It's not that some of the other girls didn't break the fraternizing rule, it's just they had the brains not to cross that line with such a zealous disregard for decency to stop at that previously stated line. Andrea and AnnMarie became my closest friends at the restaurant. AM was always kind and pleasant company, subconsciously attempting to make my stays at the hotel that much more comfortable. If it was not the extra wine filling my glass, it was the feeling of having someone I already knew there to talk to. Andrea was more of a confidant, even acknowledging that we both liked eachother at some time ago. I always looked forward to seeing her, even if just in passing. She had a spark always, and it was blatant that this place was just a stop on her journey. Chrystal, Kylie and Kimberly, all relatively new on the scene, were all friendly and to laugh at any and all silly jokes I could muster at the front desk. In fairness, I did have them rolling at my act, which makes me question what kind of sense of humor they had. (in jest) Who knows?
The weight/workout/gym room was always a riot. They shouldn't have had the thing in operation, much less advertise its existence. (Actually another patron's complaint) The elliptical made this awful see-saw noise, the treadmills' tracks were always in need of oil and the weights from the adjustable dumbell were a real hazard, falling on the user in mid-rep. I was just lucky not to have been injured. Halfway in, I convinced myself that the 1/2 mile run to the local Y made sense. Taking a tip from my weightlifting attendee, I negotiated a $10/week fee, got a membership card and managed to workout at that place after every class. The place was a palace compared to the Courtyard fiasco they called a "gym". With brand new equipment and a complete range of workout options, it was enough enticement to brave the vampires and zombies that paraded and sulked about in the town green. Although they never bothered me coming and going, their presence was somewhat unnerving , even with a police presence in the area. It was almost as if the junkies, crackheads, dealers and lowlifes had held the town center hostage legally, by just being there.
Banquet Staff. In the beginning, Casey kept everything in check with what seemed at the time to be a smooth operation. When he was promoted to the Marriot-Hartford, the void in his absence left a jolly jump up to take his place. While she was no slouch in command, she was not a manager at heart and was bounced around to a few different positions before I didn't see her again. That's the thing about the hospitality business, sometimes you never see or hear from people ever again. A completely transient industry. Renee took over command for a time, and although things went somewhat well, I always had the sense that the wheels were falling off the wagon. Bobby filled the captain position after Renee's transitional role. Dale followed and currently Christine holds rank. In all that time Jojales still sees action and has worked with our group in almost every session we have had at the hotel. I have to admit our relationship over the three years has waned (or never really progressed) as her English is atrocious and my Spanish without alcohol is just as bad. Language barrier aside, I perceived her disapproval of my insignificant relationship lifestyle. In her mind things should fit into neat bows and tie up just as tight. I shiver to think that is a reflection of her flirtatious comportment with my attendees: Leading them by a string this way and that. It's no wonder showing me basically naked beach photos with an "oops" after recognizing her lack of clothing. Not a stretch when a rather notorious attendee asked her to attend his "private class" in his room. Maybe she deserved it. But for the tribulations of basically being called a slut, I gave her a left-over gift card from the Home Depot.
I looked back towards the middle of the lobby, the pillars masking the front desk and my girls working there, the partition of the fireplace blocking my view of the bar and dining area. If it weren't for these static emplacements, perhaps the nostalgia could have flowed more convincingly, but they didn't. I was relieved to leave on this friday as I always was after a full week at the hotel. Only this time I knew I was not coming back.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

Sox sign Saito

"I saw Theo today. He was at the state landfill sifting through garbage looking for diamonds. He said it is his favorite low risk, high reward activity outside of baseball."

Friday, January 9, 2009

A New Year

It’s really 2009 and I have already made a few mistakes writing 2008 at the end of some dates. It’s tough to break a year-long habit; and in the same breath, as it is trying to break life-long (multi-year) habits. All the vices that I am overdue on, simple ways to forego an early collision with the doctor are resisted, instead, favoring the ephemeral pleasure. Isn’t it odd that such a wise creature constantly affords him/herself the tentative pleasure for potentially permanent pain? Smoking, unprotected sex, Drugs, Alcohol, Drunk driving, poor diet, and laziness can all lead to harsh repercussions. Yet how many of us subscribe ourselves to such wanton abuse on a regular basis? I would venture to suggest that there are very few who are mindful of all one’s activities.

I looked at a list of possible New Year’s resolutions, and can’t imagine how depressing next December will be looking at that list and realizing that even though I probably accomplished great things (relative of course), maybe not even one will be from that list. What is the point of resolutions if they are impossible to keep? Does the thought of resolving our perceived malignancy give ourselves hope in the coming year? I have resolved to quit all smoking, even bar-time butt breaks, probably several times in the last few years, including this one. But even last night, watching the Gators beat the Sooners in the BCS Nat’l Championship, I was tempted to bum a smoke off of those not resolving to quit outside the bar.

The BCS and the Playoff series talk is so obvious, it’s painful. As a Gator, I can’t help wincing though, as every news story covering the game also includes the talk of the real no.1. It’s too bad that it comes to a head, as my college football team takes home the trophy, as I can only imagine how the talk must make the national champions maybe feel even a bit bitter. I mean think about how long they have waited to play this game and when they finally do, the muffled conversations before about playoffs and the real no.1 become full-blown following a less-than-exciting premier football showcase. It’s as if the No.1 team is decided by the last game they play in, rather than for a season. However, for as much as I would like to believe Florida is the real no.1, I also would submit that college football needs some sort of bowl playoff series to decide. It doesn’t matter how many teams; 6, 8, 12, 16… just something more than a calculation based on irrelevant points. After all, somebody has to put Utah in its place.