Guested Out.

It is a bit full on, one might say, living and working in the same little holiday village:
1. I end up having dinner next to the man who made me repeat his stupidly complicated coffee five times and his beer twice.
2. …or sunbathing next to the lady who has a grudge against me as I told her the restaurant was full Wednesday night. It is paella night you see.


Some days go well, others less well. Today is one of the less well varieties. The lowlight - being alone at the reception when the electricity in the holiday village cut out. Less a trickle of guests and more a stampede of the French, they seem to think I had personally cut out all their electricity just to agitate them. As I try to sort the problem out, I accidentally break 2 bottles of wine in the storeroom where I swear a bit too loudly in English and I reappear to 20 frenchies who probably now think I have tourretes. Anyway the electricity works again (not that I aided the situation) and the frenchies go off to cook their frogs for lunch. Pheww..
Then a guest approaches in his unnecessary speedoes in a sheepish manner, with his cheque book out after breaking a glass. He looks like he is about to break out into a hot sweat and I am going to scold him like an angry schoolteacher. I love it how the guests think I actually care if they break plate or a ping pong racquet. If only they could see my side of the reception was simply an array of English magazines, ‘fats …I have glass indented in my hands and two bottles of wine to clear up before my boss walks through the door’…..



Yesterday a particularly moody French specimen gave me her satisfaction questionnaire, after circling that the reception was very unsatisfactory. That made for a particularly awkward dinner sitting beside her. I wish I could do the same questionnaire for whether I like the guests or not..Monsieur Dubois should probably go to anger management courses.

There has just been a music complaint; a guest complained that the music in the chalet next to hers was far too loud. I politely acknowledged her and said I would go and talk to the family and sort the problem out immediately before realizing it was my own music.

The solution? Wear a headscarf with just my eyes showing to avoid all recognition?