My Hidden Willy

"We cant find your bag. Sorry."
"But my uniform is in that bag, among other things. You lost it; you find it."
"Sorry. We cant find your bag."
That was how my return to the Hyatt began after a blissful five day visit with my wife and family in Paris.
"OK, fine. Can you tell me what room I am in?"
"You're going to be staying at the Premiere Class hotel, as the Hyatt is totally full for the next few days."
"Great."
So I hauled my tired butt over to the Premiere Class hotel for a two night stay. I asked for my key at the desk and was told that my roommate would be back at about 2:30am. I wondered why My Wang would be working so late, but I was too tired to care, so I flopped myself down on the bed and fell fast asleep.
At just about 2:30am, my roommate came crashing into the room. I got up, and drowzily started to berate Wang for being so loud, when I noticed that it was not Will who was causing the raucus. It was some other dude.
I have to say this here: for a man like me to lose his Wang is a very devistating experience, but to wake up in a strange place expecting to find your own Wang, and to discover instead that you have a totally different wang in the bed just next to you, well, that is a bit disturbing. I mean, I like my Wang. I am used to my Wang. This foreign Wang could be anybody, and I didnt want to sleep with that wang near me. I mean, how many Wangs can one man take in the same night?
He told me his name was Pierre... Pierre Malochet. I was kind of hoping for some uphemism for the male member. Like, he could have said, "Hi, my name is Pierre... Pierre Dong" or something. I have come to expect that from the strange men who share my bedroom, you know? Regardless, we saved the formalities till morning and went right to bed.
In the night, this new guy did something that so grossed me out that I have a hard time recounting it here, but for the sake of literature, I will solider on in my attempt to recreate the moment for you, dear readers.
You know how when people think they have something in their teeth, like after eating spinach, but they dont have a tooth pick, so they make this sucking sound? You know how a dog will lick his chops after a meal and make this sound like gums slapping against gums? You know that sucking tube the dentist puts in your mouth to clear away all the saliva so he can work? Put all those sounds together, and that is roughly the sound Pierre makes in his sleep... all. night. long.
I spent the evening dry heaving. In the morning, I was up before my alarm, and ran from the room, just to get away from that terrible noise.
I got to work early that day, and if I thought I knew the meaning of the word "tired" before, then I was dead wrong.
I brewed an espresso, but it would have done more good to pour it down my pants.
I dragged myself from place to place, all the while Pierre's sucking noise echoing in my head. I resolved to kill him later in the day.
In the past, Apollo has been busy. A busy day is when we have a morning of about 150 people in for breakfast, but that is not too uncommon, so I can handle it.
Once we had about 230 for breakfast, and the whole restaurant was so busy, I swear that cooks ran from the kitchen pulling their hair out.
On Tuesday, after five days with my wife, and getting to bed at 1:30am the night before, only to listen to Pierre suck his own face for three and a half hours, I was met with the days reservation list.
It seems Korean Air is pleased with the service they have been getting and have decided to hold a conference with us. Super, a whole boat load of Koreans.
I asked the hostess how many were on the books for the morning.
She smirked.
That is never a good sign.
So, I asked again, how many on the books?
She hesitated before she replied: "Four hundred."
Then, I was awake.
The day passed in a blur. Everyone helped out. Even the chef and I worked together, slicing and plating salmon for the bottomless Korean pits. I think we would have done better to throw live fish at them, shouting, "Sushi for breakfast! Sushi for breakfast!" than actually trying to work out a plate presentation.
When it was over, I had six heart attacks, and then went to lunch.
Later in the day, I went back to the Hyatt Reception, fresh from the Korean onslaught, to get my key to move back into my room at the Hyatt.
"You're in room 2435, with Pierre Malochet" said the concierge, while Pierre stood grinning behind me.
I had had enough.
"Look, no. Change my room. I want my Wang back."
And that is how I was reunited with my Wang. Pierre was disappointed, to be sure, but I dont care. A man's Wang is important to him, you know?
So, that's that. I am back at the Hyatt, working breakfast again, and living with my big Willy.
When I saw him finally, I was happy to give the guy a big hug to welcome him home.
I dont know, maybe its masturbatory, but it was nice to have a firm grip on my Wang again.
It is good to be home.