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Or maybe it was the Dreadful Inn. I don't recall what made-up name I gave the last hotel where I worked. Some may recall, however, the hell I went through at that hotel and the hotel before it, which was owned by the same family. The same boss, even, because we all packed up and moved from one to the other when the hotels got traded between family members.
Although, speaking of recalling, I recall vividly working those 56 hour weeks and having my check split into two so that the bosses wouldn't have to pay me overtime. This went on for some time.
Now, rather than recalling the past, let us instead ponder the present situation which is this: after several years of not paying overtime to any employee and splitting checks expressly to avoid doing so, my old bosses finally drew the attention of the IRS, which audited them with a meat hook. The result? I walked away from a meeting today with my old boss with two checks (one from the old hotel and one from the one we moved to) totaling just under $2000. Granted, about $1100 goes right back to the bosses for rent my roommate never paid when we rented a house from them, but still it's more than I had yesterday.
Also, while we were getting caught up and discussing the state of things today, I learned that paranormal activity has continued unabated at the old hotel. Perhaps the most frightening thing to happen in Rm 113, abode of the dead lady, was a guest pulling back the comforter to discover snakes in the bed.
Meanwhile, at the new hotel, a haunting was narrowly thwarted not long ago because the suicide attempt was foiled: A young black* man checked in and went to the room, then called down to the desk later that afternoon. He requested that the clerk on duty call 911. She did, but the 911 operator demanded more details about the alleged emergency before she would agree to send anyone to the scene.
The desk clerk went up to the room and knocked on the door, and the man answered. When he refused to tell her what was wrong, she told him she was going to force the lock and open the door. He told her not to, but she did, and discovered that he had, rather than slashing, shot through his wrist with a gun he'd brought along. He'd spread a Bible and family photographs out on a table, and was sitting there gushing blood over it all.
Long story short, emergency medical care managed to arrive in time and he was taken away for a nice stay in the hospital. Later, his mother called to thank the desk clerk and explain the situation. Turns out he'd failed an important course at college and just couldn't face the prospect of not graduating. Why he chose our hotel I have no idea. I'm just glad that his attempt at turning himself into a ghost failed. A bloody suicide is not what any hotel needs, and it's not what anybody anywhere wants. By contrast, the ghost at the old hotel was the product of a much more peaceful suicide -- a woman overdosed on sleeping pills and never woke up, surrounded by flickering candles and lulled to sleep by the sound of a jacuzzi whose water had been scattered with rose petals.
(*detail provided to help readers develop a better mental image)
Although, speaking of recalling, I recall vividly working those 56 hour weeks and having my check split into two so that the bosses wouldn't have to pay me overtime. This went on for some time.
Now, rather than recalling the past, let us instead ponder the present situation which is this: after several years of not paying overtime to any employee and splitting checks expressly to avoid doing so, my old bosses finally drew the attention of the IRS, which audited them with a meat hook. The result? I walked away from a meeting today with my old boss with two checks (one from the old hotel and one from the one we moved to) totaling just under $2000. Granted, about $1100 goes right back to the bosses for rent my roommate never paid when we rented a house from them, but still it's more than I had yesterday.
Also, while we were getting caught up and discussing the state of things today, I learned that paranormal activity has continued unabated at the old hotel. Perhaps the most frightening thing to happen in Rm 113, abode of the dead lady, was a guest pulling back the comforter to discover snakes in the bed.
Meanwhile, at the new hotel, a haunting was narrowly thwarted not long ago because the suicide attempt was foiled: A young black* man checked in and went to the room, then called down to the desk later that afternoon. He requested that the clerk on duty call 911. She did, but the 911 operator demanded more details about the alleged emergency before she would agree to send anyone to the scene.
The desk clerk went up to the room and knocked on the door, and the man answered. When he refused to tell her what was wrong, she told him she was going to force the lock and open the door. He told her not to, but she did, and discovered that he had, rather than slashing, shot through his wrist with a gun he'd brought along. He'd spread a Bible and family photographs out on a table, and was sitting there gushing blood over it all.
Long story short, emergency medical care managed to arrive in time and he was taken away for a nice stay in the hospital. Later, his mother called to thank the desk clerk and explain the situation. Turns out he'd failed an important course at college and just couldn't face the prospect of not graduating. Why he chose our hotel I have no idea. I'm just glad that his attempt at turning himself into a ghost failed. A bloody suicide is not what any hotel needs, and it's not what anybody anywhere wants. By contrast, the ghost at the old hotel was the product of a much more peaceful suicide -- a woman overdosed on sleeping pills and never woke up, surrounded by flickering candles and lulled to sleep by the sound of a jacuzzi whose water had been scattered with rose petals.
(*detail provided to help readers develop a better mental image)
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