Cookies for 270

The pink is packed. It is the start of summer, and the weather has been unreal choice. Just gorgeous. Light trades, 80+ in the sun, full moon nights and starry evenings granting bliss to all the tourist-types willing to part with big time coin to visit.

Yep. Its busy.

Tonight we have a gala for over 2000 Japanese Cosmetic sales ladies. 2000. Hella lot. And the company that they work for signature color is, of course, Pink. Big bucks on the line here, as they bought out the Monday Luau to the tune of well over 50K. Thats just to NOT have the luau tonight, so they can have the gala. Thats gonna cost a pretty damn big Yen extra.

But hey, lets say "sexual intercourse that" - and get right to the fun of idiots.

Last night, a perfect evening of just busy enough to be steady, and not too busy as to be impossible was coming to a glorious end. 1030PM, the close 'em up and tally 'em up time.

Room 270, The Fanelli party calls.

"Aloha, In-Room dining, this is Mar...-"

I want 2 fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies and a tall glass of milk, right away.

(you are already on my bad side for cutting off the fucking standard starwood intro, biatch)

"I do not believe we have any cookies at this hour, but please let me check with the kitchen"

Ooooh you better. You did on Friday. And you damn well better have them tonight.

(youre just getting better by the moment, arent you)

"One moment, *cough-bitch-cough* Mam"

Quickly, hurry up.

(oh Fuck that)

So lets go to the kitchen, which goes skeleton crew at 1030, and see if there are any fucking choco-chip cookies for this lightly resembling a humanbeing. Oh well. No more. and I'll be taking my time getting back to the phone, as well.

" I am sorry ma....----"

Sorry? You stupid fool. I am going to call the manager. I am going to call Starwood headquarters. You have no business answering or trying to recieve and order from a VIP guest, your name is what again?

"Mark, mam"

Mark? You wont be doing this again. You go into whatever goddamn kitchen you need to, and bake me some fucking cookies, capish? (yes, she used the word Capish) And you fucking do it now!!

So I hung up on the bitch.

30 seconds later the phone is ringing again, from her suite.

Fuck that. Call the fricking manager. Call the fricking corporate HQ, asswipe. Do you really think I care?

30 seconds after she gaives up, the assistant Hotel Manager calls.

Um, Mark? Can we get 2 cookies to Ms. Fanelli's suite right away?

"If we HAD chocolate chip cookies we would, we dont, so I cant"

Do you know if the kitchen can bake them?

"The kitchen is closed, only the graveyard chef is on; you can ask him"

Oh. Ok, I , Uh, will.

Good on you, I could care less, and this reptile has just made a good night taste like brackish water.

-Lets fast forward to today, shall we?

So I come in, all shits and giggles happy. My immediate boss wants a 'word' with me about the 'problem' with 270.

Long ass tale short; the hotel baked this assklown 2 dozen cookies the following morning just in case she orders. Well thank you for standing up for me getting verbally abused Starwood!

Of course, nothing but revenge reeks in my small evil mind, you see, because I gotta work with certain things - I have access to certain things that have numbers and expiration dates.

Catch my drift?

So in the evil world of my sickly demented mind, I wanted to display the fart-brains certain number all over the internet and watch how much fun they would have with that.

But I wont.

Not that I dont want to.

It may be chicken-shit, yeah, but it really rakes a nerve when people act this way.

They must orgasm out to the max by spewing the intolerance that they have.

Oh well, 24 tomorrow.

Sometimes you just wonder about mankind, ya know?

Shoots then, Aloha!