Ritz stories

1:
A trainer zooms in and stares at my chin.
"You didn't shave this morning, did you?"
I do not say that it's been a week or more.
"I can't let you on the floor like that. You have to be clean shaven. You'll have to housekeeping to get a razor."
Ten minutes later, I've found housekeeping, and they don't have either a razor or a manager.
"I know you think I'm being a dick," says the trainer, "but I can't let you on the floor until you're clean shaven."
Track down the head of housekeeping and receive an official nix: no razors. So I dig through my bag and find a pocket knife.

Picture: I have three score hairs on my face, a third of which are white (the fuzz just doesn't count). All the rest are dark. So I'm sitting in one of the stalls of the employee bathroom--we are only permitted to use one in the millions of square feet of hotel space--scraping at the hairs until the blade gives up and I use it as half of a set of tweezers.
As I'm doing touch up, my supervisor walks in.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"Shaving." Don't talk to me.
"Why?"
"X."
"X? The trainer?"
Nod.
"Dude."
"Am I good?"
"Get the sideburns again."
So I scrape and grind, scrape and rip, and catch an open-mouthed, "DUDE!"

"No shaving cream?" asks the trainer.
"No." I'm not pursuing this.
"Looks like the razor was a little dull."
"No razors,"
I can't sidestep the questioning look.
"Pocketknife."
"Damn."

2. I'll just say that there was some excitement and a pinky toe now looks like blood sausage. Mom said, "yeah, looks like you might want to look up how to treat a broken toe. But I think all they do is tape it and give you ibuprofin."
We do sympathy and emotional blowups over physical injuries damn well in this family.
My following shift began with leaving just after 4 AM and working until almost 6. On my feet. Except for the half hour lunch.
My limping attempts to avoid placing weight on the toe hurt the muscles in the leg worse than the break.
"Boss, do you know where I can find any Advil?"
"No, why?"
"Nothing, really; broke a toe the day before yesterday and forgot drugs. It's okay, though."
"Really?"
"Yes."
Damn, said the eyes.
Funny that my supervisor still left early to go snowboarding.

3. We were released after 11:00, and I turned off the highway just after 1. Plows had not hit the backstreets, and I was quickly plowing through waist deep snow. WRX did nobly until the grade hit about 10% and the snow pile was up over the hood.
I parked and walked and called some friends who were kind enough to drive me in their higher-clearance, heavier weight vehicle. I called my supervisor (as is company policy) in a panic (not policy). It took eight or ten tries to get through. "I won't be able to get out until the plow comes through! What should I do?"
"Stop calling me. Call Loss Prevention like you're supposed to."

I made it in under two hours late, thanks to the phenomenal generosity of the friend who had given me a ride a few hours before.
ds"You should have know better. Never let this happen again."

A couple of days later, my boss burned out a pair of chains and tires trying to get out of the employee parking lot. My supervisor went to pick him up and slid off the road in the process.

"Sucks, don't it?" I said. Neither held eye contact.

And I wonder why I always draw the early shift.