finally entered the home stretch of my stay at the Overlook. At this point, counting tonight, and I only have 38 hours and 19 minutes to give as fulfilled my mission in early autumn, and therefore, come down-Costa Brava. If all goes well, Saturday morning pedalearé back to my house one last time and with the confidence of having played my job with the utmost professionalism of which I have been able. And, in all this time, computer derangements, theft midnight and understandable nod after hours apart, my observance of the obligations of a night clerk has been impeccable. It is true that if you were to know what I have devoted much of my time here, watch movies on the computer, internet wandering, talking on the phone and on numerous occasions, leaving everything to the last minute, "the good opinion My heads have of me would go a little adrift. But I say bad luck would have so that in what little I have left, all this came to their attention.
Anyway, my faults are not so bad and my behavior is so serious as to raise Cain (" anyone know who invented this absurd expression?), I do not doubt that in the eyes of an outside observer, my attitude would be most calm and rational, given the circumstances and through a lot in that I strive to say that I I have become a Jack Torrance Asturias. At the end of the day, my case is just one more, and seemingly insignificant, from the haunting gallery of characters who populate the Overlook and that Overall, one can find in this kind of crazy places. Incontestable proof of this offered me some of my colleagues, of which I've submitted a couple of them and on the back today to illustrate my findings. Although in reality, only I am going to talk about one of them, who by their actions, their thinking and their physical appearance, deserves the honorary position of "Employee of the Overlook more disturbing, than the pursuit of other, no less revealing, as "the Broncos" or "Less Work" (for the latter, of course, myself I have many papers). His name is Antoine, is of French origin (as its name indicates, not that I was mistaken to spell it), must walk for 35 years and works as a waiter in the cafe. Its usually cover the morning shift, so you almost never agree, this only happens once a week, when Antonio-the-pound and Antoine Extremadura has to fill his hours, and already more than enough. At that time, shortly after I started working there and as he puts lock on the door of the bar, is dangerously extended time, the minutes seem like becoming an ice cream aisle, and all I want is that the above individual disappears through the door. Let me explain this reaction, unjustified in a person like me, so given to philanthropy and communication between cultures:
I do not know if you will have noticed that both a bartender and the other show the same name, though in different languages, for that matter, potatoes (another expression worthy of legal proceedings). This fact demonstrates, according to what many experts do not stop to point out that history repeats itself, in a veiled enough that there is no tedious or repetitive, but it is repeated. And that brings me here directamiente to my experiences last year in Madrid, where he shared the apartment with two guys who called Paul and they were, not going into details, polar opposites. But that's another story and should not go by the hills of Ubeda (go, we continue with the expresioncitas). All I want to stress to bring it up is how the names, after all, do not make as much as we say (it is also true that it is not called Antonio Agapito, but that's another matter), and this case is but another proof of that point.
Antonio is a very sociable guy, a hard worker who always has something to guide you and you could count on many occasions. His relationship with Sylvia, as I said, is its -handicap more than anything, because it went without eating or drinking and now can not find the no outlet, "but even so, is a type, as they say, legal. Antoine, however, is an oddball from the beginning that arouses concern by whomsoever interlocutor. His look unbalanced, his gait half drunken and nasal speech, form a cover letter that makes what comes next is hard to get without some prejudice. For the record, despite everything, that I have not formed an opinion of him until later and if it is true that these details concerning their physical, are obvious from the outset, I tried to stay as fair as possible As for my dealings with him and not only because they pronounce demonize While the R's (among other reasons, traspirenaica origin, although, I must say, has spent more years in Spain than myself) However, his character is another matter.
negative view I have of Antoine (and with which I am going to go, I'm afraid) is mainly due to two events at the hotel, one of which I was sadly involved. The first was made two months when I was still in the process of acclimatization and still see my partner as a rational person. That night, my opinion changed dramatically. Around half 12 and a client came joyous, chattering in French and exhorting to do something that, at first, because my French Murcia, did not understand. His state of excitement and the speed with which such words were spat out, dip it took sign language and even more to onomatopoeia, at last, ended to understand what I was trying to communicate. Apparently, she and her husband had been concluded with Antoine, who were united not only the language and origin, but also the many drinks that are borne by the house once this had finished his shift at the cafeteria, which had resulted in that, while the couple was going fine for the bed (especially the husband, who I could see faint on a column when I went outside), Antoine had been dismissed completely drunk, on his way home, making, not eses, but z, r and even double vee. And as your house is the antithesis of Sant Feliu, about two or three kilometers away, the chances that came safely to there were rather minimal. So at least it seemed to us when we go out and discerns its ailing figure on the horizon, about to collapse at any time. The client, meanwhile, urged me to do something, to force him to take a taxi or, alternatively, to wait until you pass the chant. And that's what I tried to do: I ran up he laboriously ascending the generous slope flanking the entrance to the Overlook, and said, with strong words that should be left pod and asked for a taxi. At first I hardly recognized: his eyes, already slanted, like two slots slot machine and the dreamy expression (being light) of his face denoted a rather unfortunate intoxicated. Then, however, the woman came to us and, in French, again, I could not, convinced him that would turn around and think of a better way to spend the drunkenness that letting run over there ... at least that is my personal interpretation of uncontrolled speech which gave to Antoine while this is staggering and mumbling half way between French and English ("Andorra?). The fact is that, finally, the three of us set off back to the hotel, the waiter half-conscious, France tipsy and perplexed receptionist Antoine willing to deposit it somewhere until it was transportation. Meanwhile, the neighbor sharing the language in which I participated only occasionally with emphatic nods (not quite sure what was my acquiescence) and occasional "Ye Crua meyer you pranne quil é shose the taxi an "whose meaning was diluted in ethyl air, still and all seemed to come shortly little, to fruition. So we a while, almost calm, until breaking all my dreams to see me now free of that uncomfortable situation, the hapless waiter announced to all and sundry that he had no money for the taxi. Then came the most embarrassing moments: first, the woman took the opportunity to say goodbye and ride in the car with her crippled husband, starting to get into the car, while the other, I tried to persuade Antoine that seen I did not have a guy to give the driver, it was best to stay with me and so the air conditioning at the reception will help to calm the drunk. The waiter, however, ignored my words and in an act of courage and pathos, clung to her arm and began to ask for money. You can imagine my surprise and the sense of "earth, swallow me" to me at that moment. Luckily the client seemed to good people, or was cute enough, and did not take me wrong, but, looking at me and laughing, merely tell me to do something, they had to go to sleep and although they were Antoine friends could not do anything for him. And I, that the negotiations that I was not very good at, I went to the mentioned subject and I grabbed him to stop starring in the sad scene and try to be calm, to see if it was wrong the cogorza. But no: he who insisted and insisted, and the others who tried to leave and put the car without being rude, and he is not tired, and I there, not knowing what to do, trying to raise his voice even more, to see if they managed to impose my authority and prevent those acquired tragic dimensions. Until, on my last attempt, I tried to put the force in the hotel and he was exalted to a critical point that I thought would lead to a punch, squirmed and screamed with all his might "Oh, shut up! Shut up! ". That was what decided the outcome, at least mine, who, to this argument, there was more output than washing hands and turn away from this whole circus, for which I had tried solution but in the end, I had reported more than discomfort and discordant cries. So I left there, without explanation, and returned to the reception, not willing to put up more nonsense to Antoine. He, meanwhile, went begging for alms until no longer possible and, abandoned by all, went his way home, that between the client and I had tried to avoid. With Cristofer that, at least, not any misfortune happened on the way, otherwise, I would have been fatal.
this mismatch is located in my change of mind about Antoine. Their behavior that night seemed so inconsiderate and, bluntly, as tocacojones, I decided never to speak to him if it was not necessary. Since then I have tried to maintain a relationship as distant and cold with him, although, curiously, he is treating me as if nothing had happened, telling his life and even making me all kinds of jokes. His character, however, leaves more to wish every day that passes and it would enter endless detail all the points on which I rely for saying this. In addition, it would be quite unfair, I never liked this kind of lynching. I refer you to settle for another story to which I referred at the beginning, which occurred today, shortly before I came to work. So I told Caroline, another of my colleagues receive, "one of the elders these days, sponsored by the INSERSO, staying at our hotel, went to ask him a bowl of fruit, which the previous day, Antonio offered him no problem. Antoine, however, refused to give it, saying you go to know what scruples, to what Grandpa, without thinking twice, he responded to his refusal calling him "midget" and "asshole" rant, come disproportionately. Antoine reaction, nevertheless, was swift and, making a move to remove the apron, he assured the old bully who had no problem going out and become involved with Smite him. I'm not sure how the thing ended, but it is clear that neither reached the hands and the grandfather took the precious bowl. Anyway, I do not need to know the outcome to be sure that Antoine was serious and that, in these few days I have, I'd better not get too close to him.
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