I love working at the hotel. I have a badge and a ribbon, and, occasionally, I earn a little apple that I can pin to said ribbon. I meet all kinds of interesting people from all over the world, but only for a moment or two, so I get to construct stories about them in my head. It's a good gig, much better than the skid factory, where it was just me and the circular saw and a jigger full of planks. I quit that job after three weeks, though I should have stayed on longer.
Happily, I managed to swing a deal with the higher-ups as Dept. H, and they have given me a special assignment at the skatepark, a couple days a week. The secret there is: don't lend out your skateboard. Once you do, you won't see it until the end of the day, as it will pass from kid to kid like a head lice academic, or the cheat codes for H.A.L.O. (or whatever videe'r games they play these days). My problem is I can't say no. The upside to this is that not having my board handy means I won't skate as much, which means my back and knees will last that much longer. You see, one gets to a certain point as an aged 'boader that one must start to ration cartilage. I'm just thinking ahead, to, like, next week when it would be nice to be able to get out of bed without the ceiling-mounted winch that I'm thinking of installing.
Anyhow, thanks for all your comments, and sorry for the delay in postings, and the lack of visits to all my favourite blog-hoods. Though Fakiegrind's new headquarters is 99% up and running, we still don't have an internet connection. It's sure to come, eventually, once the proper paperwork has been filed, and Captain Canuck pays me back the money he borrowed to cover his dry cleaning tab.