Rain, a long drain, then more rain by Leighton Calloway (love novels in english txt) 📕

you, there simply isn’t any chance of their being cheated out of payment. I was using an ID card from another railroad employee who was at that very moment sleeping in the same hotel I should have been sent to.

We manage to come to an agreement that I will be able to sleep there, and I make it to the room which isn’t bad. Wifi doesn’t work worth a damn so I can’t check my fantasy baseball, football, or email… No problem, I’m whupped. Will check it out later.

I wake up somewhat groggy on Saturday morning. Its October 3rd, 8:30 am and maybe I better think about getting some of the magnificent spread they put out for a continental breakfast. So, I make my way downstairs hoping for a waffle and some juice.

The entire lobby is full of Amish who expect a hearty breakfast. There are 2 donuts left, and no bagels, no toast, no waffle batter. I have known Amish my entire life, this doesn’t bother me since I happen to respect them. Seriously, by the time I get up, they have milked their cows, weeded the garden, walked the dog, and shoed a horse or two. Very hard working people. But what the hell are they doing in Chicago on a Saturday morning? I’ve no idea. Again I have to face the crazy broad about my hotel card since she IS the Asst General Manager, and has no life.

Later I am called to work at 2:20 pm. As a rule, when your called to work on the railroad, you show up ½ an hr before you have to go to work, so I was ready to check out at 1:50 pm. Snagglehead is still working.
I leave her my room key, and check out, assuring her once again I’ll swap ID’s with my buddy at the soonest possible opportunity.

An MB van is there to pick up a crew, so I walk up to the window and tell the man I’m called for the Q39003. This is a freight train from the Union Pacific that we take over from Chicago to its destination on the East Coast. Suddenly I’m nudged to the side, and Snagglehead the hotel clerk is discussing our train with the man. I’m 46 years old. Worked for the same railroad most of my adult life, and the hotel Asst General Manager is shoving me out of the way to take care of my ride to the yard I’m working from. She can’t even check me in properly, and wants to handle my ride to work. I’ll tell you all right now… if you have never met a railroad man. We don’t need help getting to work. None. You cannot meet a more independent bunch of jerks on this planet than railroad men. We swear a lot. We wear bib overalls in public, and do not care. You cannot starve us to death, we carry crockpots and George Foreman grills in our baggage. I will not miss a football game this time of year, I’ve got a satellite TV that is 4” and I’m not hardly kidding.

Another van pulls up to get the Q38603 crew to take them to work.

Our brilliant hostess intrudes on this conversation as well. I stand aside in awe actually just to watch this ignorant wench in action. Nobody will stop me from observing a busybody. And I’ve got like 2 rules for my drinking… as follow: I only drink by myself, or with others.

Let me ask you this… what exactly is a hotel Asst General Manager? Would that be similar to assistant to the trainees helper?

Anyway, I stood to the side and smoked some cigarettes for awhile.

For any of you that are offended by that… I don’t smoke in restaurants. My Dad used to tell me that a smoking area in a restaurant was like a pissing spot in a swimming pool. So I’m pretty considerate of you that want to live forever.

To eliminate all the drama and let you move on with your obviously more important lives than mine… I eventually had to tell Snagglehead to please, please, please… just go back inside and handle the Amish that were threatening to gnaw their way through the lock on the juice machine.

Thank you all for your patience… and by the way… at this point it began raining.


Imprint

Publication Date: 10-04-2009

All Rights Reserved