It sounded like a great idea last week.
Even though I was on a stressful stretch of working long days, and couldn’t wait for a day off, I agreed to help out at one of our sister properties the following week. I would be paid 8 hours of overtime and could work my normal shift at my hotel, then work at the hotel down the street that evening. I would have the next two days off to recuperate and a fat paycheck in my pocket.
Sounded good to me!
Until next week became this week. And suddenly my double shift day was upon me.
I started at 6 AM at my hotel. I may have mentioned that we are being bombarded by spring breakers. (Who knew St. Louis was a great spring break destination?) Families galore have been driving in from Kansas, Indiana, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, etc. and converging on us – a very understaffed hotel.
Every day we’ve been scrambling to take care of all of our guests with the few workers we have. We’re all exhausted by the end of the day and ready to go home.
Not me. I was on my way to work another shift down the street at an even shorter-handed hotel.
But THIS hotel had 13 arrivals. 13! I don’t know what’s worse. Working my tail off to check in 150 rooms with only 2 people, or working alone with only 13 rooms to check in.
Okay, I DO know what’s worse. The 13 arrivals. How do these people spend their time? I kept thinking about all the admin work I could be doing – stuff I can never find time for at my hotel – but alas, I just had to stand there and look busy.
Finally, my shift was over and I began the long commute home. I arrived home 20 hours after leaving it that morning, and true to form, grabbed a bowl of ice cream and took to the couch to decompress.
It didn’t take long. To decompress that is.
Ten minutes later I was fighting to stay awake.
Did I learn my lesson? Will I do it again? I doubt it and probably. As difficult as the long days are, it’s more difficult dealing with guilty feelings about not helping out when needed.
Now excuse me while I go take a nap.