Retired Resort Employee Explains

I can personally relate to the information that, if you so choose to do so, you’ll read in a few moments. I have traveled a bit in my life, either professionally or personally, and I have always had questions about how “friendly” the resort staff really is and why it is that way. I will use our last vacation to Florida to visit Disney World where we stayed in a Disney resort. Lets just say the behavior of certain staff member was a little strange, although appreciated. I’ll tell y’all what, I will make my next post about that vacation adventure. I wrote allot about it in the past, but never explored this aspect of it all. It was happening all around us as well as to us, read the next post and you’ll understand better.

Anyway, this email comes in to me to explain the sexual side of everyday resorts. It was mentioned that he worked at the same resort for 20 years, starting out at 16, and has since retired from the tourist industry. I won’t ruin it for him, I’ll let him tell it as it was emailed to me. All I ask is that you think long and hard about all your past resort vacations and probably what to look for on your next resort vacation.

—————— Begin Email Message ————–

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Greeting Mr. Scorpion~

I would like to share things about resorts and the people who work there as well as the people who stay at them. I worked at the same one since I was 16 and now 20 years later I have fully retired. Resort guests are the absolute reason I retired, the tips, other money, and the sex made my tenure there very appreciated. So, let’s explain why shall we.

Your daughters, your girlfriends, your fiancées, your wives, and other members of staff ALL tend to pay with sex. Resort workers put up serious weekly numbers. Exotic beaches trigger single women from around the globe slut’s instincts. If she arrives alone its almost too easy. If she arrives with a partner it takes shockingly little effort to get her separated, naked, and on her back. Not to worry, the men have the same opportunities as the women, but most men are usually looking for it anyway, resort workers just make it easy.

Resort pay typically ranges from poor to abysmal so access to a continual stream of cute guests is seen as a crucial benefit if indeed not the main one. This arrangement is fully condoned by management; resorts know they can get away with lower salaries if workers are “wifey-ing up” and happy about their overall working conditions.

All guests, male or female, are for our benefit. During activities and excursions I have guests introduce themselves to each other with names and backgrounds. Innocent questions like hometown and favorite Disney movie are interspersed with more ulterior ones like stop light color (relationship status), celebrity crush (mate preference) and tattoo ownership (slut indicator). We use this information to more efficiently select targets. Kickball, volleyball, red rover and something called “the beach game” turn X-rated quickly. We’ll make up rules that may seem spontaneous but rest assured they aren’t—they’re designed to get women naked and fucking in the shortest time possible.

I know one particularly well-endowed co-worker who had an effective tactic with couples and large groups. First, he would take them out on the boat to play a few drinking games. After the women were sufficiently inebriated he would institute a clothing-off policy in order to continue playing. Since the men were out on a boat with nowhere to go they had little choice but to play along or be deemed pussies by the rest of the boat. They would stand around timidly with their comparatively small penises while the women swooned over his massive member. One or more women would always come find him later that night.

As mentioned previously the financial component of our compensation is rarely much above poverty wages thus rendering us childishly appreciative for laughably meager sums. I still remember my first tip: two friendly Canadian guys handed me the equivalent of 5 dollars after a guest activity. I proceeded to introduce them to every cute girl in the hotel until they clicked with some hotties. I had the bartender send them free bottom shelf shots at the first lull in conversation. They didn’t sleep alone for the rest of their stay.

Bartenders write ad nauseam about the wisdom of taking care of servers; I would argue resort staff are a better allocation of resources because it takes a much smaller sum to impress and our ability to enable a bang is better (we have a more fun and intimate relationship with guests and we’re free to wander the resort to introduce people and take groups up to rooms, secluded balconies, staff quarters, etc.).

We can ruin your vacation in any number of ways. This is sound advice for all customer-employee interactions but nowhere else have I experienced such a profound influence over customer experience. If you are a dickhead I can make sure you won’t get laid. If you are an entitled little princess I will go out of my way to make you feel unwanted and humiliated. This can range from the morally neutral (unfavorable seating/pairings during meals and activities) to the morally wrong (subtly letting it be known to the other guests that you are a creep) to the technically illegal (fighting you when I am drunk enough to not be held responsible).

Because pay is so low, management has little weight to reprimand its workers so more often than not complaints will fall on deaf ears. By accepting the unusual payment arrangement management has acquiesced a degree of authority over worker-guest interactions. Unless what I do is blatant, unambiguous and against the rules, management will most likely turn a blind eye to my behavior. They’d rather keep me hidden until you leave and let me continue unhindered then find and train a new employee. Because 99% of customers leave satisfied this is a deal they are more than happy to accept.

I can only speak for employees typically in positions like hotel reception, surf instructors, tour guides, and housekeepers. The guests are the reason we’re here. People at beach resorts are unsurprisingly a congenial lot and it’s impossible to dislike such a pleasant demographic. I’ve helped many hundreds of cool guests get laid, both guys and girls. In my estimate 90% of guests are great, 9% are neutral and maybe 1% are assholes. It’s only that 1% that would ever get detrimental treatment.

Sharks. Dolphins. Boppers. Cherries. Obviously many professions use code to describe customers: car salesmen have “tire-kickers” (non-serious buyers) and flight attendants have “spinners” (people who can’t find their seats), but due to close customer proximity and our relative youthfulness it’s more prevalent in this profession than others. It would be useless to explain actual terms because they vary from place to place but if you happen to overhear a worker speaking cryptically pay attention. It’s really not hard to decipher and you will benefit from their seasoned assessment. Also useful for locations: “nowhere,” “the dungeon,” “the bat cave.” If you know where we’re talking about then you will know where the party will be.

We get to meet large numbers of women from all over the world and develop fairly accurate mosaics of slutiness based on where she’s from and where she chooses to travel. There are a few combinations that consistently produce rates at  the high end of the bell curve:

American women studying abroad (bonus points for those who choose South America) Southeast Asian girls who choose tourist hotspots (Bangkok, Phuket, Bali, Boracay) American women who frequent the Caribbean.

It should come as no surprise that America is ground zero for whores and sluts who vacation with a constant wetspot in their g-string, and it becomes easy to see why Caribbean guys are so laid back—they have a never-ending supply of rich white girls flying down for sex. Side note: I only know one girl who studied abroad in Africa and she was almost a school-wide joke for the amount of dick she took. With such a small sample I can’t draw conclusions but if you have wider experience with this demographic please get in touch, I’m curious if my suspicions are true.

Planeloads of cute little jaw-dropping sluts from all over the world arrive weekly during the season and if you only speak English you are at a major disadvantage. Being American is not impressive in any way to many foreigners and is in fact often detrimental. Europeans, Asians and South Americans have seen too many of our drunken frat boys and whoring, slutty co-eds to have any respect for us just off the bat. That is until you tell them about the drink specials and ask them how their flight was in their own language. Then suddenly the table of pouty, teenage dreamboats straight off the plane from Madrid is at your full attention. Your value has just increased tenfold and eight eager little smiles greet you whenever you walk up to them. Virginities will be taken before the trip home.

The model quality Prada-toting 18-year-olds from Paris open up her legs pretty wide after you drop some French and wine knowledge on her. And by open up I mean they open it all for the taking. You now are in control of every orifice she claimed to own. If I could do college all over again I would opt for the highest-level language courses available and switch out my electives for a second language.

Not every resort is like this but the crazier ones certainly are. If you haven’t worked in one I would recommend you give it a try for a season. Also, I wouldn’t advise guys to allow their girlfriends to go to these places alone. If you do accompany her, don’t go to bed early if she’s staying up because odds are she is having her cage rattled a few times.

—- Rolando

————— End Of Email Message ———–

Next time you go to a resort somewhere in the world pay attention to the people around you, especially the employees of the resort. They just might be trying to tell you something and you might even like it. This is a fun game for me no matter where I’m at, people watching gets better the older I get. Anyway, hope you enjoyed this tiny inside peek from one of thousands of resort employees. Having a few friends in the cruise ship industry I need to get ahold of them and ask them if the same things are going on, which I can be very positive it is. So, that’s it for now, get busy and plan your next resort vacation, remember me because you know we want to hear about your adventures and see all your great pictures.

The Night I Don’t Remember

 

As we know, I do my best to share the stories of my readers. This one really has no direct category to be placed in, but I will add it to the collection of great stripper and strip bar stories. The reader who submitted this story asked to remain unidentified for professional reasons. No, I don’t know what is meant by that, but I always abide by requests and people see it when they read stuff here. I have seen this happen in real life more than once, like every day. One would be amazed what people leave at a strip bar. One would be surprised the efforts people go through to get their stuff back. And, yes, unfortunately it is kinda like talking with a giggly five year old when you call a strip bar, its always been that way because she is never hired for her people skills on the phone, she is hired to be the first thing you see when you walk thru the doors so you go DAMN! let me in. When one enters a strip bar it is like walking through the portal to an alternate universe, often one needs to pinch themselves because the world is cruel outside the doors. So, allot of weird shit happens in a strip bar, but then again a strippers job is to separate a visitor from as much of his/her money in the shortest amount of time, every time. With that being said, read the email.

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Begin email———————

I went to the strip club the other night…allegedly.  I’m not sure it counts though because I don’t remember being there, much less remember driving home.  “Oh the humanity Grayson, the humanity,” I hear the voices saying.  “How dare you drive home black-out drunk; you could have killed someone!”  Shut thefuck up right now and let me finish you interrupting ass-hag!  I didn’t quite drive home drunk and I do specifically remember one incident from the night…being woken at 3:30am by a security guard(?) while passed out in my truck in some establishment’s parking lot.  Whose parking lot it was…I was totally and completely unsure of.  After that, I am wholly unaware of the events except for the fact that I slept for the next 26 hours straight, missing work and occasionally waking up from some pretty twisted dreams of disembodied heads, parallel universes and ex-girlfriends wanting to “give it another shot”…again; then dumping me and shitting – both figuratively and literally – on me and my life.  I mean, this heartless cheating cunt had the audacity to…wait, what the fuck was I talking about?  Oh yeah, right…blacking out at a strip club and not remembering; I’m the good guy.  Anyway, it was like the movie The Hangover, minus the ‘wolf-pack’ and a whole lot more depressing.  Like our lovable characters from the film, I was (possibly) drugged with GHB and had to follow vague clues I’d unknowingly left myself in order to find, not a lost friend and groom for an imminent wedding the following morning, but my debit card and driver’s license.  So yeah, a completely sad version of the now classic comedy.

The entire night started with an innocent trip to a bar, not to drink, but to sit way back in a corner booth with my notebook (actual paper-type book you write in with pens; not a computer…I ain’t fuckin’ rich folks).  Yes, I said that shit with my nose in the air like some pretentious hipster at Star Bucks; feel free to punch me if you ever see me.  Anyway, how I got from said bar to, what I later found out to be Cabaret East, I have no fucking idea; but I figured my notebook might have a clue, since I’m always leaving myself notes.  I had 20 pages of some seriously fucked up and twisted shit written in there that I am proud to say I loved, and don’t actually know when I wrote it that night.  When I got done high-fiving myself and making mental notes to write shit-faced drunk (or drugged) more often, I noticed 2 phone numbers on the last page of writing.  One had the name of a tattoo parlor and the other was for a person named Corrin.  Intrigued, I picked up my cell phone ready to dial her(?) number until I came to the sudden realization that I had to have used my GPS since I surely had no idea how to get where I went or how to get home.  Sure enough, my GPS was the last app I used that night.  I searched the ‘recent addresses’, plugged that shit into Google Search and voila, Cabaret East.  I got the phone number, called that bitch up and what follows is the conversation, verbatim, I had with the receptionist…as much as I can recall days later anyway:

Girl – Cabaret East

Me – Yeah, hi.  I believe I visited your fine establishment Sunday night, and whether I left by my own accord or was forcibly removed, I’m not sure, but I believe ya’ll might be in possession of my ID and debit card.

Girl – Um…what?

Me – I think I walked my tab.  Do you have my debit card?

Girl – Uh…I dunno.

(Silence for ten seconds)

Me – (irritated at this point) Can you…I dunno…look?!

Girl – Oh yeah (giggles), sure, one sec.

Me – Wait wait wait!

Girl – What?

Me – Don’t you need my name?!

Girl – (giggles again) Oh yeah…of course!

After talking to this brick wall of human intelligence for what felt like an eternity, I was finally able to extract from her that, yes, they did indeed have possession of my shit.  I hung up the phone, triumphant that I CSI’d the shit out of my situation,  while also ashamed-beyond-words at the same time because I still don’t know how my shit got there in the first place. I will be fucked until my literal day of recollection.

Later Tuesday evening, I went up to the titty club to retrieve my shit and was met by a big, burly, black mother fucker who looked like he’d choke me with my own intestines; who also happened to remember both, helping me to my truck as I vomited along the way AND waking me up at 3:30 in the AM to send my hobo-ass packing.  I thanked him for telling me about such obviously proud moments in my life, then  I swore to him that I’d been drugged; in return he handed me a bill with a smile…for just under $350.  I fought back maniacal fits of laughter, tears and the intense urge to vomit.

I wasn’t sure if I was playing out my fantasy of a poor man’s Hank Moody from Californication or if I was literally just fucked up enough to get myself into such shenanigans; because I don’t generally share much about my actual personal life other than the intense anger that I feel in general towards society, but I’m pretty sure some people at this point would consider a negative bank account due to a – for all intents-and-purposes – fake night of debauchery, as rock bottom; for me…it’s just another Sunday night.

As for Corrin…she is a stripper, who had as much recollection of me as I had for her; we will not be in touch.

End email————————–

I like this man’s references to movies and life in general. I have the answer he seeks. It wasn’t drugs, it’s deeper than that, its more mental than that, it was out his normal element if you ask me. Plus, writers are fucking out there in their own world anyway, no offense to y’all writers, but it’s true. People often overthink shit too, which is death to our brains, then add in strippers, titties, alcohol, a strip bar, blacking out, and one can see where the imagination just goes ape shit. Not to mention the movie reference, because those were some pretty fucked up movies. Neither here nor there, he solved his dilemma. Too bad he doesn’t remember what went down. Or does he? Maybe its his mind blocking shit that isn’t in his norm or his mind knows that if he recalls anything that he will be in mental disarray. Who knows.

Will You Have A Weekend Adventure?

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Attention! Attention! Attention!

The Weekend Is Coming!

Y’all will be seeing the routine of me promoting one of my favorite features here @ The Sting Of The Scorpion, we like to call it “The Magic Weekend”. If you are asking what The Magic Weekend is all about then just keep reading. Silently every Monday morning since I can remember I have played a game in my head while listening to all the stories the people are talking about around me. Typically all the stories fall into one or more of the following five categories of “Sex, Jail, Money, Blood, or Fame”. On a good Monday morning a story hits all five categories. I personally think it’s all bullshit unless you have pictures to back it up. A picture is worth a thousand words……..right? Which leads me to ask what kind of weekend everyone had? Sex, Jail, Money, Blood, or Fame? I will be updating The Sting Of The Scorpion as often as I can. Feel left-out? Want to share your stories about your weekend? E-Mail Me with your tantalizing stories and I will feature it all here. Be sure to include all your pictures because without pictures it’s probably all just bullshit.

The Sting Of The Scorpion

“Because Everything Else Just Bites!”

thestingofthescorpion@gmail.com

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Shake Your Tail Feathers

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For the past few months I have been following the advice of the diabetic dietitian I formally was insured to see which is to walk at least one hour a day covering at least one mile in distance.. I don’t go to a gym, nor do I visit any circular monotonous track, because I have plenty of room to walk on my property. Hell, the walk from my front door to the main street where my mailbox is located is just shy of 1/4 mile, so I have plenty of places to walk. In preparation I did cut a pathway for myself through a section of my wooded area because it was going to be easier to go through it than around it. While on the topic of taking advice, I was told I needed to write more on my blog to get back into the swing of things by a good southern doctor friend of mine, she knows who she is and that’s what counts here. In the end, I do walk for over 1 1/2 hours each evening and now write more on my blog, if this can be called actual writing to y’all. I enjoy my walks because it is very peaceful, very relaxing, and doctors say it benifits my health. Bonus.

Over the last few weeks I have noticed that the water fowl down on the pond and surrounding it have been acting differently which means that they are either spooked or they have just moved on. I am pretty lucky because this pond always attracts some spectacular wildlife to observe. When I looked a bit closer at the overgrown side of the pond I found 2 different places that a predator had made a meal of a few of the young ducks. This didn’t surprise me as my property backs up to the woods, a creek, and a few thousand acres of absolute nothingness. There have been some small paw prints in the mud around the area so I know there are dogs running around. I never minded them because they stay well out of sight and down in the bottoms of my property. I have seen one out of what I expect to be 3 or 4 of these “wild” dogs. I have had to pop that one in the ass with a pellet gun twice because it was getting closer with curiosity and I don’t need that in my actual yard around my house or other buildings. So, we tolerate each others presence so to say.

Later in the afternoon yesterday I had company on my walk, my 17 y/o daughter wanted to talk to me alone. Without getting to much into the talk right here so we don’t get sidetracked let me just say it was about her boyfriend and some problems he is having financially. In the end I was asked if he could move in. When I am done here I will get into that father daughter talk. That being said, the company was a pleasant change to my normal routine. As she gets older she seems to need daddy less and less each day. So, we walked, talked, and enjoyed the peaceful trek. About 45 minutes into our walk we noticed an odd smell, the distinct smell of something dead. This is a smell, for those of the all who don’t know, that is unmistakable, and as we got closer to the source it became much stronger in the air. She tried to guess what it could be that had perished in the woods and then she began to worry me a bit because she asked “what if it is a dead body?” Where in the hell did that come from? However, one never knows what one will stumble across in the woods while on a walk. Putting on my best daddy face I assured her it was not a dead human body we were smelling and this I know for a fact. There is a distinctly different smell between a rotting circus of an animal and that of a human being. What can I say, I have been around the block once or twice. Just imagine learning some of life’s lessons which can not be taught by another person rather they must be learned by experiencing them. Enough said about that, we have a dead animal to find now. Why? Because if we don’t then other predators will come to investigate the smell of death and then I might have a problem I don’t really want on my hands. The plan was to find it, remove it, and get it in the burn pile before it sparks too much interest with the other wildlife.

We walked ahead maybe 20 yards or so and we found the source. I was actually surprised because I was non this part of the trail Sunday evening and this was not here. There was actually more surprise in my mind than just the fact that it was laid there dead. In all the years I have lived here, pushing 10 years now, I have only seen one other coyote and she was on the other side of the creek heading away from the backside of my property. In fact, that was right about 7 years ago so its not like it is a common sight. Oh sure, we hear them in the dead of the night in the far off distance but never see them or any of their activities. But here we have a dead juvenile coyote. I flipped it over looking for obvious injuries and see nothing. I actually expected to see a bullet wound which would mean it just wandered up here and died from its injuries. But there is no clear sign. I called a friend of mine who works with the state of Texas wildlife department to find out what I needed or could do. He told me to just wait and he would come check it out. After he arrived and checked it out it was determined to be a natural death. We loaded the coyote into the bed of his personal truck, said our goodbyes, and that was that. I was in a hurry now to get up to my shop because I had a bag of lye  which I wanted to spread out where the coyote had been to get rid of the smell. Once that was done I had to go shower to get cleaned up for the night. Something my daughter had already done.

I see now that I will have to keep an eye on my land down by the bottoms because I do not need the predator threat around here. I may need to start walking with more than just my stick from now on for sure. Later last night my daughter was on the phone with her boyfriend where I heard her tell him that we had talked and about how our walk turned into a gruesome discovery. I giggled to myself as I walked by because I thought it was it was great, personally, walking and talking with the daughter who seems to have outgrown her daddy.

Make This Weekend Your Magic Weekend!

The Magic Weekend

The weekend is almost upon us and y’all know what that means. No? It means y’all need to get up off your lazy asses and do something fantastic! Then, when y’all are done I want you to submit your story to The Sting Of The Scorpion so I can share it with the world. For those of y’all still worried about your personal identity being known just remember to tell me to leave it out and change up a few things for you (like location). There have been many great submissions from everybody around and I would like to keep that an upwards trend. Do not underestimate the power of PICTURES.

So, what will your weekend involve? Sex, Jail, Money, Blood, or Fame?

Visit https://thestingofthescorpion.wordpress.com for past submissions and further information.

When you are ready then prepare your story in an e-mail to send to thestingofthescorpion@gmail.com and be sure to include all your pictures.

Thanks for visiting you magnificentsonsofbitches!