fired.

Before I worked at Vintner's, semi-fine dining in the heart of historic Blowing Rock, I worked at a hotel also in Blowing Rock called the Cliff Dwellers Inn. Before I went there, I wasn't even sure it really existed. It isn't visible from the road, but they do have a sign off the highway that says "Cliff Dwellers Inn," and has a yes or no light-up sign right below giving vacancy information. No one in Boone could tell you what the hotel looked like, but everyone knows the sign. As a general rule, it says "yes."

The Cliff Dwellers was bought last year by a man named Ed, who lived in an apartment within the inn with his wife Nicki. Ed drives a blue truck with a painted picture of a biblical figure walking somewhere and a religious message.

When I went to interview, Ed explained the job to me thoroughly. He also made sure to mention that taxes would be taken out of my check. Innocent Methodist that I am, I was confused as to why he was telling me the obvious. Of course they would. Apparently, some hotels are paid in cash by their guests and then pay their help in cash, thereby removing the government from the picture. But Ed and Nicki were innkeeping for the Lord, they said, and there would be none of that.

For those of you that don't know, hotel housekeeping is one of the most miserable jobs in the world. It is repetitive and simple, except for the fact that there is absolutely no room for error. Everything must be perfect. There cannot be streaks on the mirrors, dust on the furniture, or hairs in the bathroom. That would be simple, except that you're, or at least I was, expected to spend less than half an hour in each room. Actually, at first I was expected to spend 45 minutes, then half an hour, then down to 20 minutes when I stopped working there. You had to be fast and thorough, and while I could get one or the other, I never managed to get a handle on both at the same time.

I was making $8 an hour, which would be okay if I ever worked. Even with only 19 rooms, Cliff Dwellers was never full. Ed didn't like me, so I was always the last housekeeper called. So I worked weekends, when Ed was generally able to turn on the "no" sign at about 10 pm because all the other hotels were already full. I made about $200 a month, which was also exactly what I paid in rent. Ed kept insisting that we just weren't in the big season yet, even in July. Yes, I can see why most people wouldn't want to come to the mountains where it's less than 80 degrees in the middle of the day. They'd rather stay in Florida.

Wretched job that it is, it was made even worse because of the fact that Ed was just plain crazy. The man was in his forties, yet he talked like a child. When he checked my rooms, if there was a particle of something on the floor, he called it a "specky-decky". We had what looked an awful lot like a dustpan, but was in fact a "scoopy-doo pan."

He also apparently had a very low opinion of my intelligence. For when he explained something, he felt the need to explain it thoroughly, then explain the reasoning behind it (which was usually quite obvious), and then sum up. That all wouldn't be so bad, if not for the fact that he generally told me the same things every day. Apparently, I appear to have trouble with the idea of stripping the linens first, and therefore need to be told every day in great detail. And even though I had been stripping the linens first, I definitely needed to be reminded again and again.

I lasted two months. About every day that I worked, I would decide to quit, then lose my steam by cleaning vigorously. I had already applied for other jobs in hopes of finding a reason to quit. But one Saturday, I got a call on my cell phone as I was pulling into play practice. It was Ed, explaining that there were no cups in 105 and that he was going to have to not use me anymore. Apparently the occupants of 105 were very upset about the lack of cups in their room. You know how it is. I wish he'd just said, "You know, you're really bad at this, and I can tell you absolutely hate this job and me. Maybe you should find other employment."

I was pretty upset. I'd never been fired before, and as a general rule, I'm not really big on failure. I may be allergic to it. Within a week, I had the job at the restaurant, which has proved a much better job by far. On my application, I didn't list Cliff Dwellers as one of my previous employers because I knew the kind of review I would get. I still feel vaguely guilty about it.

Only at Blowing Rock's busiest did Cliff Dwellers' "no" sign ever go up before nightfall last season. I was pretty sure that Ed and Nicki's financial venture would not last. Even though the experience was one of the more miserable in my life, I felt bad that they were going to fail so ridiculously. They seem to be doing much better this year, though. I like to think that I'm not bitter.

Ed and Nicki have become friends with my current boss, Joe. They send lots of customers down for breakfast, and those people get a 10% discount on all non-alcoholic purchases. Sometimes I ask them how they like the inn, and I want to ask whether there are cups provided.

Sometimes Ed and Nicki come to Vintner's to eat or talk business with Joe. They've seen me a couple of times, and it was obvious they realized that I was familiar even if they didn't realize why my face gave them a sinking feeling. I have no intentions of reminding them, and pray that they will never sit at one of my tables. I hear they are demanding customers and that they tip poorly. I am not surprised.

Besides, if I had to wait on them, I'd be so tempted to just never bring them any beverages.