What cold showers are for

You know when you have just worked a 20 hour shift, because two staff have called in sick even though you know they’re just hungover and you have to deliver breakfast in bed to the newlyweds in the honeymoon suite?

No?

It’s a proper cunt let me tell you.

Nothing but contempt for all customers fills you at that point because even though it’s 10am you’ve just cleaned and closed the bar because the guests acted like they are never let out.

You want to curl out a steaming pile of that contempt over their free range scrambled eggs just to let them know about it when they gaze into each others eyes before lifting the silver cover.

Your tired and blistered feet carry you up the 6 flights of stairs because it’s an old country house converted to a hotel and there’s no lift.  With each step your blood boils and you imagine the kind of bodily harm you could inflict with a salt shaker, smiling to yourself with each image your mind can conjure.

You knock on the door and hear nothing.

Fuckers, they called for breakfast.  I bet they’ve gone back to sleep in a drunken stupor.

Then the door opens and it’s him.  The groom.  Still pissed as a fart and in his boxers that have a stain on the front that makes you wonder.  It can’t be marital fluids, there’s no way a truck load of Viagra would have helped him, the state he was in.  It has to be piss, the sloppy cunt.

“Over there”, he slurs and I slump over and place the tray on the table.

With that he flops on to the bed and like a cartoon starts snoring almost immediately.  Then the bathroom door flies open and a soaking wet bride stumbles out, fresh from the shower, fails completely to notice me and falls beside hubby dearest.

There naked, soaked, spread eagled, freshly waxed, pedicured and almost certainly unconscious was a drop dead gorgeous woman on the bed.

I could have stripped off and wanked over her jiggling tits as she slept herself into a glorious and much deserved hang over.  I could have tea bagged her to within an inch of her life and she would have never been any the wiser.  I could have gobbled on those French tipped tootsies while wearing her like a sock puppet and she wouldn’t have ever noticed.

You truly don’t know what will power is until you’re faced with a situation and possibilities like that and you just walk away.

I mean I knocked a flower vase over with my hard on, on the way out but I did manage to grab a single stocking.  Y’know, something to “help” me along when I got home.

I think I’ll deliver all the breakfasts from now on.