I realise that these entries are not in any particular order, I still haven't posted about how I turned a barman gay! Anyway, back to the point. Yesterday was desperately hungry, but could not decide what I wanted. Finally plumped for sausage and mash. Went back to my suite to wait for it, and after half an hour, it still hadn't arrived, so I needed something from reception so went to wander down there. Got to the lift, and it isn't moving from ground floor. A french guy I drink with comes up the stairs, so I ask him if there is a problem with the lift. He says it should be fixed now, a waiter was getting into the lift and the doors closed on him, throwing the tray all over the deck. Just then the lift doors open, and we were greeted by the delicious smell of onion gravy, normally associated with sausage and mash. Sure enough, my fucking meal has been elevatored. Descending to the lobby, mouth a-watering, I wondered how much longer it was gonna take. I strode through to the restaurant just in time to see my food being brought out of the kitchen. Delirious with hunger, and gratitude, we returned to the suite, where I scoffed in no uncertain terms.
Later that day, I bumped into the French bloke, who informed me, that when they were cleaning up the mess, they were chucking the food back onto my plate. So, not only did the little fuckers feed me lift floor food, but they charged me 15 fucking dollars for the privelege. Pissed off!
P.S. Since Barney left, weather has been great. Ain't that about a bitch!
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