Laundromat

I am at a laundromat for the first time in my life.

That’s not exactly true. I think I’ve probably been in one before, and I actually had my clothes laundered at a Jamaican ‘mat (ya mon!). But because I grew up in a stable WASP home, had access to Grandma’s Free Laundering, Ironing, & Delivery service during the college era, and have been living back at home in the years since…I’ve had no need to carry my filthy garments into a filthy, tiled community laundry room.

But as is fitting for my solitary summer adventure, here I sit, on an orange, plastic chair that looks like it was purchased at a McDonald’s playground furniture auction. My clothes still have another 35 minutes or so in the dryer, and it’s the perfect opportunity to add something to my impressively up kept blog. 

I had my first full day as an espresso jockey today, complete with a forest green Stanley Hotel polo and a shiny gold name badge. Unfortunately there are absolutely no interesting stories or cute anecdotes to share, because we had a total of about 10 customers today.

When they talk about a busy season and a non-busy season…they’re not kidding.

It was nice for the café to be so dead (get it? I’m practicing my bad tour guide puns), as it allowed me to experiment with drinks and feel my way around the job. But my legs now ache from standing around for 9 long hours with absolutely nothing to do.

I also regret to inform you that the free cafeteria lunch, seemingly a financial manna from above, is not in good standing with my digestive system. I honestly don’t believe that any part of the Stanley is haunted…except the cafeteria food.

Finally for today, I am hoping to find both another place of residence and another job title at the Stanley.

Place of residence: because I am growing weary of no cell phone signal and terribly inconsistent and weak internet. Add to the communication quarantine a slow commute through a winding canyon (and the subsequent gas receipts), and I am pressed with a need for a superior option.

Job title: because I never applied for the barista position in the first place. I wanted to be out west and I thought working in Estes Park at the Stanley would be a lot of fun, but I was definitely not in the market for another Starbucks job. After five long years in “the service,” I swore to myself (not literally, because the Bible is very clear on that matter) that I would never work in the food industry again. I looked into the tour guide (they really need a skeptic anyway) and front desk positions, but they could only offer me the barista spot. Thankfully, the human resources director is an incredibly nice lady (who reminds me of Maggie from Angels in the Outfield), is sympathetic to my plight, and is on the lookout for a change in position.

I want to stay at the Stanley, but I’m not keen on slinging espresso and getting dry dishwashing hands all summer. Also, waking up at 5:40 AM has never really appealed to me.

Prayers on both fronts, if you please.

Finally finally, I did meet a man today who owns a local TV station / production company. I asked him if they need any composers, and he told me “we would talk.” Very cool.

(I know I said there were no interesting stories from the day, but I needed the blog to flow this way for dramatic effect.)

Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion!