2016 so far in Austria

As we come to the mid-point of the season, it seems only right to reflect on the highlights of the last two months. We've had some amazing guests, memorable nights out and traumatic skiing sessions. But there's also been some low points, namely losing two of our favourite guys Mark and Aitor. We miss you guys so much and life is not quite the same.

Work

Despite my last compelling post it appears my moaning hasn't changed anything. The toilet roll holders are still being polished and I'm still not allowed to carry a glass or piece of cutlery in my bare hand without running the risk of offending the guests. A truly, ungodly sight. I tried to form a Hotel Assistant Union and challenge the oppressive and quiet frankly dangerous practise of hoovering the stair case. This fell on deaf ears, but my campaign to stop wasting napkins is going fairly well. We're probably only binning 50 napkins an evening now instead of 75. I like to think of myself as the modern day Winnie Mandela. My struggle will continue, but I will never give up what I believe in. Delivering not an excellent, but a perfectly adequate 5/10 customer experience.

After the fall of our great brother Mark, we've all had to help out a little more in the kitchen. For some people this has worked well, Billy has been in his element on the KP and Mrs Peanut has learnt how to hold plates more firmly, after previously smashing 11 pieces of crockery in a week. Things have also gone a little wrong. Namely, after I confused ' grate the zest of the lemon' with 'grate the whole of the lemon' giving Thursday nights starter's somewhat of a bitter taste.

In my last post I talked about the HA team, so it seems only right to now give credit to our chefs. Fortunately none of them posed for a group photo so I did what I do best, stalked their Facebook's for hours on end.

So, first we have our Spanish head chef Aitor. Aitor is the most placid head chef and can only be compared to an angel. He makes the best mushroom pasta in the world, pulls out some show-stoppers when playing cards against humanity and loves a slice of chocolate cake with a cooked breakfast.

Then we have Mark, our CDP. Mark brings sunshine too everyone's day with his twisted sense of humour,crazy skiing and creepy ass laugh. Our Commi Chef is called Joe. We hit it off instantly with a mutual agreement. As long as I bring him coffee and maintain my Dobby like loyalty, he will reward me with the scraps of blue cheese, my own personal meth.

DJ Joe

Mark (creep in the back)

Then we have the two laziest boys in the kitchen Harry and Jack, our kitchen porters. When Harry's not acting out scenes for his latest Rom- Vom-Com with his damsel in distress Lydia, he's chopping onions in a pedantic fashion (and probably thinking about his next nauseating act and consequential emasculation). Harry is the life and soul of the kitchen with his dad dancing and brings order to the kitchen by making sure people only take one sausage at breakfast. Any more than one would be a true sacrilege.

 Farry's glory days

Then there's Jack who loves nothing more in life than a bowl of porridge and six boiled eggs. And that's all there really is to say about him. Pretty insignificant.

Enjoying Life to the full

Living with a demon

When we first arrived in resort we were all relatively surprised with the gorgeous accommodation we were allocated. We had heard the horror stories of the damp crammed rooms with copious amounts of weird room mates( luckily I only have one room mate who steals my socks and knickers. Nothing too strange there).

Crazy room-mate and I

 We saw the showers with hot water, the PVC sofas, the British heart foundation décor and thought we had hit the jackpot. Little did we know that we had just entered into our own modern day horror story and into the labyrinth of a pure demon. The rules were enforced with a violent fervour, do not touch the curtains, no guests were allowed EVER, and socks must always be turned inside out before going in the washing machine. No shoes allowed in the house, certainly no cooking, no entry to the spa, no cigarettes to be smoked outside the property and no knickers that show more than a quarter of a bum cheek ( any less and she'll throw them on the ground and shout hysterically in German). We've all had an encounter with Lucifer herself, a story to tell. Her latest trick is to hide your shoes if you leave them inside your kitchen and if she's feeling particularly hellish she'll tie your shoe laces together into a knot that is as difficult to solve as John Travolta's sexuality.

Access to one's basic human right of Privacy is a thing of the past. She enters when she wants, be this the middle of the night, whilst having a shower, or even whilst changing. Knocking is a mere social nicety she simply doesn't have time for. She roams the corridors like Argus Flich and Mrs Norris and it's not unusual to find her sniffing round your apartment at 5:50 am.

Of course Lucifer has a spawn, a successor to carry on her tyrannical rule. As time has told, evil always has a back up plan. Dr Evil of course has Mini me, the Kaiser had Hitler and David Cameron has Michael Gove. And the house Dragon has her lizard. As the lizard is the only one who can speak English he often enforces the Dragon's psychotic rules. Last Saturday six of us had a couple of drinks. It was as tame as a your Nan's 60^th in your local church hall with a finger buffet. Things got a little louder when the club banger, 'build you up buttercup came on'. But that was as wild as it got.

The night of the wild party. Population 4.

The next day bleary eyed after a heavy night partying our world was shaken. In a rage doors were swung open at 7:30am, lights turned on and quilts quite literally ripped of naked bodies as the lizard hysterically hissed and told us to check out promptly. It was a confusing time, some thought the building was on fire, other's wondered whether this was the start of the well anticipated zombie apocalypse while some wondered whether ISIS had taken a stronghold in the town It was a surprise we weren't told to lie on the floor with our hands behind our heads. Turns out music is not allowed to be played after 10pm.

Antics

So last time I checked in, It was the eve of New Year. New Years Eve was nothing short of spectacular. The evening started off tame for some of us, apart from Evie who was already swinging off people's necks by 10:30 pm. We all enjoyed the fire works and tried to blag our way into clubs for free. Due to our poor negotiating skills, this of course didn't work so we settled for a tiny bar called Niko's for 15 euros. A real stretch for the seasonaire bank account. The New Year's spirit must of got to some people's head's so much it reverted them back to their teenage years. The scenes that unfolded were strikingly similar to those Friday nights you spent at the Under-age disco. Body glitter on, impulse deodorant level 10. You would lean against the vending machine sipping a can of coke hoping the boy in year nine with the spikiest hair would ask for your hand when the club banger 'who let the dogs out' came on. The night would be topped off with a washing machine snog and a mention in his MSN status. Niko's became that under-age disco as far too many bizzare couples engaged some heavy petting. Some young lovers even took took to humping up against the coat rack. All in all an unclassy affair. 2016 came in for some with a literal bang.

As I mentioned in my last post I gave up the K kebab for a whole month. I did it much to everybody's shock. The 1^st of February was an exciting day for me. The whole day I dreamed of my kebab. The sauce, the meat, the lettuce the tomato couldn't slip my mind for a mere second. I drank the beer, I did the dancing and at 1am I was ready for my kebab. The anticipation was rife, my body pratically shaking as I stood in the queue for my opium. When the kebab man told us there were only four left you can imagine my excitement. Like a child desperate for a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory, I may have tried to wrestle my way to the front of the queue. When I heard the perilous words of 'you're not having a kebab, you are too rude', I apologised profusely and begged him to understand my situation. But he stood firm on his decision, he didn't need an English girl undermining his position as the kebab oversear. I don't really think I can blame the tears that followed or the merciless begging on the alcohol, it was a true raw heartbreak. As I rested my head on the counter crying he ushered me away and I sat under a table feeling sorry for myself sobbing into my hands. People were confused and gave me a few pity bites, but it wasn't the same. And until they lose their first born child I don't think they will understand the pain I experienced in the early hours of February 2^nd, 2016.

What could of been

What I've learnt.

We have all discovered the past few months that the seasonaire lifestyle is difficult to sustain. Drinks are pricey, hangovers at an altitude are beyond difficult, but the Heimnator and I have come up with a few key rules to surviving the season which some of you may find useful.

1. Mind sweeping is everything. At the age of 23 I should probably be buying my own tequila beers, but £280 a month and a requirement to attend a minimum of three nights out a week, means times can be tough. So left over cocktails, warm beer are your new best friends. If you need any advice on how to play the game you can visit the mind sweeping lord ,Scott for advice on how to have a night out on 1 euro and still wake up late for work with a splitting hangover.
   N.B. Keep your mind-sweeping appropriate. Assess the context. Do a HACCP assessment; look for hazardous substance assess the critical control points. Are there any witnesses? Under no circumstance is it okay to mind-sweep a bottle of Moet pour you and your friend a glass and continue dancing with the bottle in hand. Speaking, hypothetically of course.

 2. Lock your bedroom doors. To avoid nude colleagues having a romantic rendezvous between your sheets.

3. Don't beg to get into a strip club. Turns out you can't negotiate your way into the strip club with your six euros in shrapnel. And it doesn't matter if it's your birthday and your mum (aka Robyn) tries to convince the bartender otherwise, you don't get a lap- dance for free

4. Build up a good relationship with the local DJ. Despite, common misconception a little bit of neediness goes a long way. Forget what your counsellor told you use your childhood trauma,
rejection and father issues, use them to your full advantage. If the DJ won't play your favourite song just cling on until he will play American boy, Deja Vu and Fat-man Scoop.

5.Build up a good relationship with guests. Guest's can be hit and miss. But every once in a while you a get a golden egg. A few weeks ago we had a huge party of South African's who were quite simply the best. A couple weeks after we had guests who showered us with Jagger. However, make sure you confirm their relationship status before making your relationship more personal. Some have girlfriends, some have girlfriends with a mortgagee and a dog.

Great Guests

6. Build up a good relationship with strangers. Turns out anyone can be your friend on season. Whether its the semi- naked guy on the pole who shares his Corona around the club. Or the guys who pour Grey Goose into your three euro beer, everyone is their for the same thing.

7. When a middle aged gentleman across the bar buys you a drink, toast triumphantly and give a polite nod. Life is a film after all.

8.Try to stay vertical. Don't do a Polly- Pocket and find yourself lying under cars, lying in the road, being thrown in the air in Fire and Ice or falling down and injuring people's gammy feet.

Polly P down

9. You're bound the get sweaty working in a hot kitchen. But avoid the temptation of ramming a sanitary towel up your armpit.

10. Don't let Connor, Dan or Billy go ahead of you in tobogganing. Unless you have the funds to get yourself out of a law suit for grievous bodily harm.

11. If your pulling techniques aren't working, take a leaf out of Peanut's book and try the straw in the mouth dance. It's been tried and tested. If she bites the other end you're onto a winner.

12.Learn your times tables, study in school, learn what 12+19 is, understand that a little bit of snow won't melt the entire ski resort, understand you can't drive from South Africa to Austria in 24 hours. This should avoid constant mocking, but it's no guarantee

The jeb himself

13. Keep Joe on a lead

14. AVOID THE SNOW PARK.

All in all its been a fun few months. We've leant a lot and are certainly not ready to come home yet. I still need to learn how to ski over a mogul without freaking out and more importantly mend my relationship with the kebab shop.

Ciao for now.