Every so often we get a crazy day.

It’s almost a given to be knocking off, bump into someone in the locker rooms, and share mutual head-shakes to commiserate the mad rush of the day¬†(or night!) that’s just passed. These are common and easily forgotten; every day is a new day, more madness, and bearing it forever only makes getting to work harder, so most of us learn to forget it.

Then there are the exceptionally memorable days, standing out as wonderful meetings, or frustrating people who test the patience of everyone who’s had to be involved.

I don’t like children. I can generally bear with them when they’re extended family, smile at them when I need to, even play with some as a part of my work day, but I don’t love them. Nor am I good with them. It’s a fact I’ve accepted, and have made efforts in managing (because we never have a choice not to deal with children in the hospitality line). Doesn’t mean I don’t think children need firm parents, something moulded by my Asian background and parents who believed in strict discipline for unruly behaviour. (Dad used to be an old-school policeman and never allowed excuses, especially since we’d always be warned beforehand what we’re expected not to do.)

Unfortunately, there was the boy who was everything I disliked in children: loud, snarky (and not the intelligent kind), with parents who don’t seem to be able to discipline. His mother had already been testing my patience with an illogical request and I think I almost snapped my phone into two when he kept interrupting at the top of his voice and his parents proved time and time again that they were not able to get him to obey.

It’s probably not helping any attitudes we would have towards the family, when we found our furniture vandalized after they had checked out. I’m fairly certain the parents didn’t even care, or would find some way to claim it was our responsibility that the chair had been vandalized.

Yeah, no, the customer is not always right.