Thursday March 27 th 2008
Got in a fight with one of the kitchen staff. Only the intervention of Ronnie the concierge stopped me losing my job.
I’d just been to the hospital to have my cast removed and was up on the eighth floor cleaning up after a late night drunk who couldn’t make it to the toilet to relieve himself. He had pissed into one of the plant pots and it had overflowed onto the tiled floor. Bucket and mop in hand I was trying to figure how to re pot the plant without touching the sodding thing when one of the kitchen crew appeared on my shoulder.
‘Chef says get your arse down to the main hall. Someone has chucked up at the entrance to the kitchen and he wants it cleaned up.’
I told him to piss off. Pee I can deal with. Vomit is something else.
‘Chef will be angry.’
Like I cared.
‘Very angry!’
I pushed him away but he came back at me and next thing we are on the floor, rolling around, trying to knock lumps out of each other. A guest must have complained and a minute later Ronnie appeared. He grabbed us both — Ronnie is built like the QE2 — manhandled us into the service elevator and out of sight before the assistant manager appeared.
I owe Ronnie big time. He told the manager that it was two guests that had been fighting but they had run off when he appeared.
I hate this job.