bote
Well-known member
I'm trying to live a more organized life these days, but I'm living in a shack on the roof of a hostel and there's always people around, also I work in exchange for the space and the owners like to drink and disapear unexpectedly (it's actually pretty expected at this point) with the girls that come through. It's pretty hellish these days, I have to say, trying hard not to leave because I'd like to learn to stay a little longer, but that's another story.
I've worked graveyard in a hostel in North Beach before, so I'm no stranger to the late night perils, but tonight was a special treat.
It was just me and my headache at the front desk, there were Peruvian artisans getting wasted all night in the kitchen making lots of noise, I didn't really care or try to quiet them down. Cesar, the bald, perfumed book vendor whose been here a little over a month in private room 203, came downstairs. I thought he might have a noise complaint since it was 4:30 in the morning and there were irrythmic bongos droning somewhere, but he told me the lock on his door was broken and he had to go out soon. So I went upstairs to take a look at it and sure enough, shit was jammed and I couldn't turn the key. So I took it apart, wondering briefly how it had stopped working (there's generally humans involved when things break), and sat down on a chair to fix it. Cesar engaged me in a polite conversation about his business, I took the lock apart, something happened and it was working fine, started putting it back together and in my peripheral vision, saw Cesar taking his pants off, all the while describing the early days buying and selling books to tourists.
I stood up and walked over to the door to put the lock back in, Cesar aked me not to open the door because he was naked, I told him not to worry, I'd just open it a crack and nobody could see in. I was really glad I got that thing fixed quickly.
Then a bunch of drunks came back from the bar and heckled me as I typed to my imaginary internet friends.
I've worked graveyard in a hostel in North Beach before, so I'm no stranger to the late night perils, but tonight was a special treat.
It was just me and my headache at the front desk, there were Peruvian artisans getting wasted all night in the kitchen making lots of noise, I didn't really care or try to quiet them down. Cesar, the bald, perfumed book vendor whose been here a little over a month in private room 203, came downstairs. I thought he might have a noise complaint since it was 4:30 in the morning and there were irrythmic bongos droning somewhere, but he told me the lock on his door was broken and he had to go out soon. So I went upstairs to take a look at it and sure enough, shit was jammed and I couldn't turn the key. So I took it apart, wondering briefly how it had stopped working (there's generally humans involved when things break), and sat down on a chair to fix it. Cesar engaged me in a polite conversation about his business, I took the lock apart, something happened and it was working fine, started putting it back together and in my peripheral vision, saw Cesar taking his pants off, all the while describing the early days buying and selling books to tourists.
I stood up and walked over to the door to put the lock back in, Cesar aked me not to open the door because he was naked, I told him not to worry, I'd just open it a crack and nobody could see in. I was really glad I got that thing fixed quickly.
Then a bunch of drunks came back from the bar and heckled me as I typed to my imaginary internet friends.
