As my fingers bounce around the keyboard it is eight am in the morning in Niagara Falls.
It is also Saturday morning and that means the lobby’s voids are quickly filling with travelers. There are families, wannabe jocks in over-sized jerseys, young tramps, cheerleaders, actual jocks, and miscellaneous miscreants of all shapes, sizes and ideologies.
The Hook is home.
So why do I feel totally disconnected from the world?
I worked eleven hours yesterday and I spent every one of them waiting.
Waiting to feel at ease in my uniform, behind my desk, or wheeling my cart around the hotel’s labyrinth of corridors and rooms. I waited to feel at ease being a lovable smart-ass bellman who puts guests in their place while pocketing coins and bits of paper. I waited… to feel.
But I never did.
Never fear, friends, I have no plans to chuck my life for a…
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