Tag Archives: music

AWARD SEASON PT. 2

TBT ONE OF MY MANY SHITTY JOBS…

Rated R: For retardation, redundancy, rudeness, & rhetoric.

Let’s start off with the ‘glam squad,’ and the assistants to the ‘stars.’  These are people whose self-importance reigns supreme. They possess entitlement that depends on the proximity of the celebrity they’re sucking the ass of.

J-Lo’s people first; extremely dismissive, totally cheap.  They’ve been ordering all day and night and never tip, and are surly, contemptuous and angry. But most of Hollywood is just wolves in hipster clothing anyway.

Knock knock, ‘room service’

I get in the suite and they’re ordering me around all servant style.

First an agro pierced Chubby girl: ‘Um, yeah, hi or whatever, just quickly push the cart over there.’ She’s wearing skintight jeans and a sweater that shows every roll.

Me: ‘Ok’ I say, handing her the bill. Pushing the cart as slowly as possible.

Agro: ‘Ok so we’re gonna need all this other shit out of here, like yesterday!’ She says this while sweeping her hand on the air then points to a HUGE conference table that’s loaded with dirty plates, glasses, Perrier bottles, Fiji Bottles, et al. More than will fit on two or three carts. There are small flies and gnats en masse around the buffet. I have no cart or any way to remove all of it. (By the way delivering & clearing the room is usually a no-no, but this hotel is so incredibly fucking cheap they expect you to do all of that, two guys for eight floors.)

‘I’ll have to go get some carts for this.’

She says, ‘Oh my god! Can we call somebody and get those up here immediately!? We need this all CLEARED OUT!’

Now I’m fucking annoyed, ‘Nope. I have to go down and get them, give me 10 or 20 minutes and I’ll be right back.’

‘Oh my god! Okay, whatever!’

I left. I never returned to that room again. 

Let somebody else do it.

-At three o’clock we get a rush order for champagne and hors-d’oeuvres. A fancy word for quesadillas, deep-fried rock shrimp, chicken wings, and other less than big word worthy greasy goodness…and cheap champagne (Sharfenberger? Wtf is that?) I Rush the order up to the room, woman answers in what looks like a Met ball gown. The room is filled with people dressed to the nines, ‘Wow you all going to the Academy Awards?’

A couple of people laugh, and I here scoffing.

‘No love,’ she says. Gross. Please don’t call me love. Ever. 

‘Oh.’ I say.

‘We’re having a little Oscar gathering. Um, it’s a little more than just a party.’

‘Oh.’ I say. I hand her the bill. It’s 450.00 for a spread of garbage that you could have bought at a low-end grocery store and made yourself for about $114.00. She doesn’t tip. Of course, she doesn’t. None of these people do.

I’m drained from the sycophantic non-stop star fucking and the very idea that awards should be given for art. Especially ‘based on’ bullshit movies that are revisionist history. (I.e. American Sniper fuck that movie).

The orders keep coming, I continue my night and become a completely disinterested, disenfranchised, disassociated shell of a man. I think of moving to a third world country, and helping lepers or hair lipped children. Somewhere else, something else, somewhere, anywhere, but here. 

 

ROOM SERVICE DURING AWARD SEASON

Well, it’s here, that self-congratulatory jerk-off fest and ass kissing extravaganza!

Film, music, and television award shows! Look I’m not trying to hate, I enjoy one or two shows here and there. But Jesus Christ it’s nonstop in this town! I would love if they gave an award for ‘biggest douche bag, biggest asshole, the biggest pain in the ass to work with, biggest ass, biggest man boobs…’

I don’t know, maybe if we get a little more creative, and a little more self-deprecatory maybe the general public wouldn’t take actors and celebrities so seriously. They seem to look at them as these monumental, incredibly important, amazing people. What’s worse though are the sycophants & minions that blog and report on said celebritards. And a lot of those people stay right here in the hotel. These are the flies buzzing around the secondary shit that is Hollywood. Based on the delusion that there’s any glamour in Hollywood, entertainment reporters would be the very lowest on that wrung. How do I know? Because I worked for an entertainment magazine (STAR) long enough to see what a load of stupid fucking tripe all that information and news is. But hey, I grew up in this town so I’m probably a little jaded.

Ok on with it.

Golden Globes Night.
I get a big order $860.00 rm. 412, knock knock.
‘Room service.’ The TV is LOUD; I hear audience laughter as well as heavy room chatter. A lot is going on in there. I sense douchery; I hope I’m wrong.
‘What? what? Who is that? Why are you bothering us! Come back later.’

I knock again and scream loudly over the noise, ‘ROOM SERVICE!’
‘Yes, Yes. Okay. Hold on.’ The door opens a Perez Hilton looking guy gives me a dismissive wave in. Fat dude in purple skinny jeans and deep v-neck with a wolf’s head print. I’m annoyed, right off the bat. Why do I have to be visually offended by your bad taste in fashion and your lack of physical exercise? I hate everything.

I go in, 10 or 12 people are huddled on a couch looking up at a wall mounted plasma screen. They’re consumed.
They’re desperate for a fix. They speak as if they know the celebrities intimately and personally. Using first names, or shortening the name or making child like names of the nominees.
‘Oh my god Patty (Patricia Arquette) is hot!’
‘Well Meryl is like that…’
‘Bobby D was up for that.’
‘And Well George (Clooney I suppose) is so blah blah…’
I’m totally ignored, and someone says ‘pause it.’ The poor man’s Perez replies, ‘Don’t you fucking dare, I need to see this in real time! Ok come in. Quickly please.’ At that point I move even slower. ‘Where would you like…’ I say slowly.
‘Oh god, just over there. Where ever.’

Then a chubby girl in skintight everything. ‘No no not there! Just leave it. Right by the window.’ She gets up with a grunt. ‘Nyuuhh, oh my this looks fan fucking tastic!’ Another rude chubby wubby on the Couch yells, ‘eat my quesadilla bitches and just see what fucking happens!’
‘Oh shut up Gavin!’ I back up towards the door, now I really want to get out of here. I feel my soul being sucked out of every orifice. The depth of this crowd resembles a dried out birdbath.

I leave the room. I look in the book, of course there’s no extra tip or gratuity. ‘Oh God you cheap assholes,’ I say under my breath as I round a corner. I bump into a bellman that’s bringing someone’s luggage to the lobby. ‘Yeah man,’ he says ‘this is the cheapest fucking crowd of the year prepare yourself.’ The next room, 516. Just tea. Small order smaller auto gratuity. I knock,
Room service before I can even finish the sentence a girl whips open the door,
‘Finally.’ she says. The room’s packed with wardrobe racks, and suitcases, and boxes, and shoes and high-end designer shopping bags, jewelry strewn all over the tables. I manage my way around the obstacle course of couture footwear and accessories. I give her the check.
‘Yes yes I’m here dressing and styling VIPs I’m sorry to be short, I just need things delivered very quickly.’
‘That’s nice.’ I say.
She grins at me.
I walk out.

Short & Sweet
The Grammys. In the great words of Chuck D of Public Enemy, ‘Who gives a fuck about a goddamn Grammy.’

More senseless awards for art. I will not be commenting on Kanye West, because I really don’t care. I haven’t heard the new Beck album either. I’ve never listened to music because it won an award. Seems like an Award just solidifies your self-worth as well as a future paycheck.
Most of the guests that I dealt with on Grammy night were too self obsessed to be dismissive or mean. Anybody that was of real importance was already at the show. At the end of any shift (regardless of the event that’s taking place) I usually laugh it off. And I realize that it’s not my career path and you wouldn’t get the entertainment of this lovely little blog, so I will be reporting more about this fantastic award season after the Academy Awards! And we’ll see you at the movies!