Wrapping Up the First Week of Work

Me as a Hummingbird

I don’t have any pictures of me at work, so please enjoy this picture of me as a Hummingbird

Surprise! It turns out doing housekeeping is quite physically demanding.  To make myself feel better I started casually referring to my job as Crossfit: Hotel.  I think carrying massive piles of dirty linens up and down stairs was featured in last year’s Crossfit games, no?

My second day at Crossfit: Hotel I learned how to make a bed.  Despite a college degree and what I thought was at least an average level of intelligence, I was sort of bad at making beds (Is that sound I hear my mother laughing?)  So after a brief training period I was left alone in a small room to face my white whale (a twin bed).

I quietly huffed and puffed over this twin bed wondering how sheets could be continuously lumpy despite my best efforts, and after what seemed like an eternity I was ready to put the cover on when I noticed a small stain.  Upon inspection I started to see a few other stains materialize that I swore hadn’t been there before.  I stood sweaty and befuddled when I realized… it was me, I was creating the stains!  A small cut on my finger, newly sensitive from all the bleach I’d been using to clean, had opened and was bleeding onto my clean sheets!

I sighed heavily, re-thought all the life decisions that had led me to this point, and then found a Band-Aid (and changed the sheets, c’mon!)

A few hours later while seeing how quickly I could hang 15 different shower curtains, the Band-Aid fell off.  To set the stage, when cleaning a room we empty the trash, then the trash stays empty awaiting its next guest, but we still occupy the room to do other cleaning tasks.  During this period if some sort of trash or debris were discovered, you are now stranded with it, as I now was with my Band-Aid.

“Put it in your pocket” you say!

Last time I checked, wearing exclusively black spandex means I have no pockets, so…

I put the dirty Band-Aid the only place a girl with no pockets or trash could—in my bra. Which I just remembered now, hours later while writing this and it was indeed, still in my bra.


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