The Hostel Chronicles, Episode 3: Meanies

The highlight of working at a hostel and being a writer at the same time is that I get a ton of ideas for characters. Each person you meet in a day has the potential to spark a new life--albeit a fictional life. You have your magnetic travel mongers, your shy, questioning first-timers, your easy-going sight-seers, your logical planners, etc. And within these categories come multitudinous layers of being and personality. As a hostel worker, I get to witness all the niceness and warmth of humanity like a gentle coastal wave.

Then, you get the meanies.

Visual approximation of a meanie

Oh, do they exist, and they come at you like swinging pendulums of doom, like car crashes and bad milk. They rot your day into a tiny piece of sidewalk chewing gum and you don't recover until that night or even the next morning (preferably after a couple glasses of wine). 

Most of the time it happens because people are not aware of what a hostel is and how it works. Yesterday I had a group of 8 dudes from Amsterdam, and two came waltzing in (never a good sign when someone waltzes into reception, especially not if they're wearing neon yellow reflector vests). They shot questions at me about the amenities: breakfast, towels, internet, etc. I answered them congenially. Then... they asked about parking. Alas, there is none at the hostel that's private. Nowhere in the entire city is there private parking for businesses. It's all on the street. Old city with crazily winding roads and alleyways = driver's nightmare. So I explained to the young men the situation, apologizing for the confusion. They were having none of it and glared at me as though I were some hired stripper who refused to take her clothes off. Yeah. That bad.

These boys continued to screech at me, demanding discounts and what have you, and of course I couldn't offer them that. They made me call my poor manager (who was in the middle of getting her hair cut) and bother her. On and on it went, they threatened me with "horrible reviews" the likes of which I'd never seen before.... Just all-around meanies, ya know?

"And they were as mean
as sun-dazzled bats..."

So, since there was nothing I could do or say to console them, I took a good mental picture of the leaders of the group, and decided to add them to my list of future story villains and antagonists. Oh yes. You know that t-shirt that says, "Watch out, you might end up in my novel"? Well, it's factual. And I'm not afraid to use names, either. Everyone will know who the villains are and what they did!

Anyway, like I said, the meanies are people who refuse to let things go and are handling a situation in an irrational manner that hurts everybody involved. Even if you're upset, if you're dealing with someone who is being kind and trying to help you through it, you don't treat them like trash still. You just don't. That's not the warmth of humanity, that's the cloud of meanness that shows how afraid you are of the world deep down inside your mean little soul. That's my humble opinion. (And those guys WILL end up in my novel. And they will be sorry.)

Besides... why drive when you can go by Segway?

Oooooh, mama.

The Hostel Chronicles, Episode 2: The Icelandic Elves

I met an Icelandic man the other day at work. He made a big impression on me as a person, but even more so with his stories of home....

With hair as fair as a silver mountain top, he glowed like a Chinese lantern in the night. Eyes a distilled water blue, and skin pasty yet not underexposed. I could tell he'd seen many winter days--or nights, rather. Iceland's winters come with impenetrable darkness, usually about 20 hours a day of it. For 4 hours you may see a bit of sunlight, but the rest of the time... I couldn't imagine it. No wonder he looked nocturnal, with cavernous irises like a Slow Loris. His demeanor was also slow, but not without energy. A gentle soul, that Icelandic Man.

Iceland's terrain. Yep, I'd totally live there.

And in the summer? Well, daylight nonstop. At one in the morning, it may look the way six in the morning looks to us here in Prague. They have to use black curtains and eye masks to get to sleep. The sun never goes away. I thought, too much sun is just as bad as too little sun. How could someone stand it? But if you've lived there your whole life, I suppose there's nothing strange about it.

Icelandic Man told me about the snowy mountains, the greenery to rival Ireland's, the capes and forests and beautiful rock formations... If you love the beauty of nature, go to Iceland. But besides Reykjavik, there isn't much as far as towns go. He said they don't like to call them villages, but towns. That's very important. Villages is a word reserved for a different kind of habitation, that of the elves.

An elvish village, complete will little water well.
Yep, I'd totally live there. 

Yes, elves. Trolls as well, but he didn't get into those as much. In a voice as serious as a box of explosives, he described how elves live in the forests and mountainsides, in mysterious little stone houses with grass roofs, and how roads and buildings are built around these sites in respect for the elves' territories. Elves are sly little creatures who--when they have any excuse--will disarm and betray you. That's how they get their kicks. "They're certainly not like Lord of the Rings elves," said Icelandic Man. "Our elves are small and grim. They're ugly little tricksters." For instance, if a car driving by an elvish village doesn't stop by the side of the road to leave a gift, the rest of the journey might be cursed... If a hiker wants to pass by an elvish village safely, he must bring along either a poem to recite to the elves, or, even better, a piece of silver.

Small and grim? How 'bout compact and broodingly sexy?

So if you're planning on visiting Iceland, remember to pack your grandmother's silver cutlery, or your old silver costume jewelry, or maybe even a nice silver goblet. If you want to pay respects to the elves (and trust me, you want to) then you must have gifts. Icelanders take their non-human creatures very seriously, almost religiously. It was a whole other cultural phenomenon I'd never encountered. What could be more magical?

Next stop for me, the ever-whimsical traveler: Iceland. 

The Hostel Chronicles, Episode 1: To Pee, Or Not To Pee?

When you're living in a foreign country and can (basically) only speak English (I mean, I can cough up some German here and there, maybe discuss the weather: "Das Wetter ist schlimm, es hat den ganzen Tag geregnet!"...not exactly helpful for the German-speaking guest who just asked me if they can pay in Euros), there are two jobs available to you: teach English to foreigners (blech!) or work in a hostel as a receptionist (blarg?). I chose the latter.

Little did I know that each day at work would bring something different, no day like any other, and that the sheer amount of people I meet within the span of my 12-hour shifts would make for VERY interesting stories and, as you will soon discover, blog entries.

I've decided to create weekly episodes dedicated to my job as a hostel bitch receptionist, and illustrate for my readers the good, bad, and the ugly parts of dealing with so many diverse peoples. (Not to mention my bosses, who offer their own story plots dramatic enough for best-selling paperback novels.)

Note: All names shall be changed to protect to anonymity--plus I just can't remember all the guests' names, otherwise my brain's 8.32 Gigs of memory space would overflow. 

During my shifts, I sometimes have time to scribble some words down in an e-mail to myself diary-style, which later gives me a good overview of my day, and of any potentially blog-worthy experiences with guests. This episode is about my paranoia about going to pee during my shift. You see, the hostel I work in has a locked main door that is only accessible with a key-code, so guests coming to check-in have to press a call button; upon pressing said call button, a piercing, screeching, panic-inducing ring issues from a phone at my desk, alerting me to the present luggage-burdened danger guests outside the door. When I'm at the desk, it's simple: I pick up the receiver, ask blithely, "Hostel reception, hello?" And the guest answers with either a cheerful "Hi, I have a room booked for tonight" or a stiff "Can you let me in?" No big deal, not at all.

But. Sometimes, just sometimes, I have to leave the desk. You know, to pee. Or, chase down the cleaning ladies. Or, search out the source of the obnoxiously loud dub-step (usually on third floor, and we don't have an elevator). 

Here, ladies and gentleman, is a first-hand account of this dilemma that plagues me each time I work: To pee, or not to pee?   

"It's that time of day when you don't know whether you should risk running to the bathroom or hold it as long as possible, because 3 different guests should be coming at 2pm, and it's already 2:48, so by logic they should all be swarming here at the same time, in about fifteen minutes. If logic goes the way it does in hostels, which is that everyone shows up at once, whoever didn't show up at the correct time. And one is a group of six. FML. oh well. I guess they'll be nice. But anyway, as I was saying, you're always thinking to yourself, should I go lock and door and run to the bathroom, or will they come to the door during those ten minutes I'm away from the desk? What if someone calls? I won't be able to help them. They'll be standing at the door wondering wtf is going on. And so I hold it, thinking ok, they'll show up any minute, and I'd rather be here at the desk when they do, than hear the buzzer going off inside the bathroom with my pants at my ankles and unable to move...and I'd worry about washing my hands, and if I should go for it and feel clean, or just flush and run and touch the pens and papers that the guests also touch.Then, feeling the liquidy pressure on my bladder, I think, I'll shout "Just a minute!" but of course they wouldn't hear me, and they'd probably get increasingly frustrated waiting outside the door, not knowing how to get in. They'd probably walk away, or start busting down the door! Omg, what do I do? I've drunk three bottles of water in the past two hours! Fuck! The bathroom's five yards away, I can do it--no, no, I can't! It's Murphey's Law! As soon as I stand up--Brriiiiinngggg!!! Oh, why do simple bodily functions get tried in court when you work at reception???!! It should be an easy answer! Go! Go pee!!!! But, but that ringing...that ringing is like, Satan laughing at a kitten dying from feline AIDs.... okay, I'll hold it."

Guantanamo Must Go...Cont.

If you haven't read my earlier post regarding the evil that is Guantanamo Bay Prison, do so here.

This situation has gotten increasingly worse for not only the inmates but for the American people, who ultimately are affected negatively by the bad reputation this slight on human rights has caused around the globe. Whether you know it or not, you are affected by Guantanamo in multiple ways: millions of your tax dollars are being spent to run the prison as well as the useless, private military tribunals taking place; America's reputation as a country that fights for human rights and fights against torture is being warped by the double standard of Guantanamo, leaving other countries a reason to excuse their own use of torture and illegal imprisonment (i.e. why can't we do it? the U.S. is doing it!); Guantanamo impedes on our supposed moral standing and creates hostile environments around the world even more hostile for U.S. citizens.

Not to mention the elephant in the room that no one in government or elsewhere seems to be addressing
, which is that the Cuban people themselves DO NOT want this prison on their soil any longer. While the prison may be out of sight, out of mind for us, it isn't for the people who live near it or even work there for a living and have to witness the injustice that occurs daily.

Obama made us a promise in 2009 that he would make efforts to shut down the prison. Congress hindered the efforts along the way, for years and years, making the situation for the inmates more and more hopeless as they continued to linger in illegal limbo. 80 prisoners have been cleared for release, yet they have yet to be let go. To me, this is just plain negligence. Something must be done.

My petition to Congress to shut down Guantanamo has reached 78 signatures so far. The word continues to spread, all over the U.S., and even in other countries like Germany, Mexico, Canada, and Czech Republic. The whole world cares about this, and we as Americans should care, too.

Sign the petition here and help put an end to this illegal and unconstitutional madness.

Random Portrait #2: Brahms and Chopin

Thanks for tuning in for another addition of "Random Portrait"! This month's entry is a double, featuring two of my favorite composers, Johannes Brahms and Frederic Chopin.

"Hey. Trying to write symphonies after Beethoven made me go half crazy, so I went the absolutism route and wrote music without meaning. Not so sure it worked. Plus I was totally into Clara Schumann who was already married to another crazy man. So I got fat and grew an epic beard. Damn you, Beethoven!"

"Hey. My gf was a writer and tended to dress like a man. I had bad lungs and was weak most of my life, but dude did I write a crap ton of great music, including my famous 24 preludes. I'll bet you've heard Prelude No. 4 at least a thousand times. I made piano music cool in the mid-1800s. Yeah, I'm legendary."

These portraits were done by pencil by me, Marika. Feel free to share them, print them out, hang them on your bedroom wall so you can stare at them on sleepless nights... you know the drill.

Who will be the next Random Portrait? Probably whoever Marika is obsessed with by next month's addition! (My attention span is grossly limited.)

Ed Asner's Political Short Tickles My Political Fancy

Yes, I have strong opinions about politics. Who doesn't, really? It's like saying, "Confession: I have a tongue. Let me proceed to shock you with it."

Anyway, one of my political opinions is simply that absolute truth should be the absolute goal when informing the people about the state of our still fat-cheeked-burping-and-slurping-baby union. (Imagine the 50 States with a diaper covering Texas, a bow on baby-fuzz-head Alaska, and a bottle nipple stuck in the rut of Manhattan. Yerp, preeetty infantile.)

I've often thought about how exactly our country ended up on the verge of that horrifying "fiscal cliff"; or, as the anti-climax of the new year came and went, the "fiscal hill."

How, I wondered, is the gap between rich and poor getting bigger and Bigger and BIGGER? How come the formerly sturdy middle class is getting siphoned down a drain of unfortunate economic circumstances and joining the discontented ranks of the dirt poor?

And,

HOW COME NO ONE'S POINTING TO THE EVER-RICHER RICH PEOPLE WITH THEIR TOILET PAPER MADE FROM THOSE SILLY FIVE DOLLAR BILLS? I MEAN, WHO USES THOSE ANYMORE? THEY'RE PRACTICALLY LIKE THE PENNY.

Ed Asner, being the epic, sonorous-voiced man that he is, created this cartoon short about how exactly our little goo-goo-ga-ga country got to where it is. At just under 8 minutes long, it's definitely worth your time to watch. It doesn't matter if your views are right-winged or left-winged. Nobody can fly. No, this is about money and power, and what happens to those who have too much of it.

Watch:

Good Guy Richard III: Found At Last

Yes, it is time for another addition of Interesting Historical Folk. This month's feature is Richard III, King of All England for About 24 Months Before His Brutal Slaying in 1485.

Shakespeare demonized this young king in his plays, and it was commonly accepted that Richard had killed his two boy nephews to usurp the throne. Since then this guy's been portrayed in movies and books as sly, devious, and selfish, but hopefully that's going to change since the big news.

THE BIG NEWS: After almost 600 years, Richard's bones have been excavated from underneath a Leicester car park.

Wow. And I thought Waldo was winning the hiding game.

Besides the mtDNA testing that proved positive for Richard III, evidence in the bones of severe scoliosis helped solidify the archaeologists' discovery. Poor Richard had to toil through life with this ailment that set in during adolescence. According to Philippa Langley, a screenwriter and producer who has a special thing for this deceased monarch, the scoliosis just proves that Richard was adept and didn't let his imperfections get in the way of doing his duty:

Dem bones showing spine curvature.

"The scientists say you can't see character in bones--but for me, you kind of can. We have Richard III's itinerary. He had an incredibly powerful, strong work ethic. This man never stopped. He was on a horse every day, fighting skirmishes, doing everything they had to do. I've spoken to scoliosis experts and they say acute scoliosis like that was painful. So we know that he was working through the pain barrier every day just to do his job. That tells me about his character." Source here.

Maybe the usurping, child-murdering, evil-cackling king can yet be redeemed by this find, with some more historically correct study of his life. He implemented some great reforms once he became king that benefited the average working man, including the Court of Requests, where poor people who couldn't afford a lawyer could apply for their grievances to be heard; bail to protect suspected criminals before their trials; banned restrictions on the printing and sale of books (spread ALL the literature!); and he ordered the written laws to be translated from French to English so even the serf could understand them. Source here.

I hearby appoint Richard III as Good Guy Richard III, to be referred to hence.

BUT WAIT--THERE'S MORE!

Yes, you can't stop reading this post until you've seen the best part: the reconstruction of Good Guy Richard III's face using CT scans of his skull bones! Fascinating! I love how technology and science party together to give dead people back their faces.

And heeeeeeeeeeeere's the King! What a beauty!

I mean, just look at that chin. So formidable.

Another Source!