a pacific northwest bitch gets shown to her room

I wish I had come up with this joke a before I posted that last blog but, the title of that last one should have probably been "So I was talking with some ladies on the internet..."; and other ways to make people laugh unintentionally. That would have been hilarious. Onward!

So I think it's time to update a few of you on my current situation in life. No! I haven't beaten Final Fantasy XII yet, and I don't think it's ever going to happen so stop asking. About two months ago I was cut from my semi-lucrative, semi-professional career as a production manager for a small production house in Pioneer Square. I enjoyed a good, but tenuous run there, and when the company fell on hard times financially I was 'let go'. Do not weep for me though, I am still freelancing for them, and I couldn't be happier to have been let go. I was filming and editing high school sports for fuck's sake.

So now I'm a valet, for one of the few valeted hotels here in the city, and to be honest I am having a lot more fun than I have in almost two years. That isn't to say there aren't some downsides. For one, I hate driving. I fucking hate it. It's not that I am a bad driver, I am actually quite good, but it's the rest of the assholes who drive that make me hate it. However, over the last few weeks I have developed what can probably only be described as "stunt driving skillz". I'm working on being able to drive on just two wheels at the moment, but I'm starting to get tired of being tasered by the police every time I try and resist arrest. Then there is the tourist factor, and most of you know how much I hate tourists. Yet, I endure this hate, teeth clenched in a perpetual smile, and continue to fuel the myth about how it "is always raining here, gosh!" which is something you hear everyday here even if you don't work at a hotel.

Why I am having so much fun then? Aside from getting to 'stunt' some pretty sweet rides? For the tips my dear internet, its for the tips. Much like strippers I get tipped quite often in 1 dollar bills, but unlike strippers I get to drive the expensive cars they often perform fellatio in, so theres another plus, I don't have to give anybody head. In the 'high-end' hotel business people will give you money for doing very mundane and everyday things. For instance, about two weeks ago a nice gentleman who may or may not have been intoxicated gave me a 20 dollar bill for simply holding open the door of the cab he was entering. I long for the days when money means that little to me.

While tips are cool and everything, there is something that I find truly fascinating about driving other peoples cars. It's like walking into a complete strangers house for the first time, only it's scaled down considerably, and those most pertinent information about this individual is immediately available. Let's start with what kind of car they drive. People who drive Mercedes-Benz's are often lack taste, and bought the vehicle because they also lack imagination but have money to spend. These same people rarely (if ever) have music playing in their car, a true mark of a dilettante. BMW, Audi, and VW drivers appear to be a bit more grounded than the Benz people. Their cars tend to be a bit more dirty, and their musical tastes seem to range, though, I have yet to find one that doesn't listen to something that hasn't been on the Top 40 for over the last thirty years. Let's move on though, because I could talk about the musical habits of these people forever.

The smell of some of these cars...oh god the smells! I get into some of these cars and think to myself (between gag reflexes) "They actually drive around in this shitty funk all the time?" I was in a car two days ago that I had to roll all the windows down in, and they were manual windows. It smelled like the person had washed their dog with foot sweat and then locked that poor animal in the car, which was parked in the middle of a Wal-Mart parking lot in Phoenix AZ in July, and then waited for it to die, only to return and throw a bag full of sock eye salmon cut with the putrid stench of Ellensberg, WA right next to that dogs rotting corpse. In other words, it kind of smelled. Anyway, I pull up to the front of the hotel spring from the car dry heaving a little, and start rolling up the windows, all while covering my face with the sleeve of my jacket. The comes out, throws his new dog into the car, hits me with a five and speeds away. I only wish I could have said something to him, but he was Canadian. Which brings me to my final observation.

Canucks are the stingiest fucks on the planet. Europeans, who had never heard of tipping before coming to the U.S. tip better then our neighbors to the north. I shouldn't even call them neighbors, because a neighbor would tip. Their dollar is worth more than ours too! You wouldn't believe how many times I've been stiffed by one of those maple leaf worshiping mofo's. Do me a favor, next time you are in B.C. or Quebec or Saskatchewan, don't leave a tip, it will make up for everything in the grand scheme.

This job is the easiest wage earning position I have ever had, and I wish I had found it when I was 19. For the first time in my life I have no complaints about the job itself, which is a weird feeling, because when I come home and the Queen of Games asks me how my day went, all I can really say is "It went well." Strange. Perhaps I've grown a little wiser, or lost some of that ego I used to so proudly whip about. If anything, I am enjoying how uncomplicated my life is for the time being, and I am happy I've found a new thing to bitch about.

Fuck you, Canada.