This Sunday was the worst day ever. I hate working on Sundays, I really do. The odds of me ever getting a day off are slim to none too.

For starters, every one of my 12 rooms were trashed. Garbage, bottles everywhere, things missing, all the towels and ameneties were bused or missing, cots, spills, scummy tubs... etc. Each room was taking me at least 45 minutes.

I got called back to a jacuzzi room to clean the mirrors around the large tub and the tub itself. It had been so scummy that even after a thorough cleaning, it required more elbow grease.

I got called back to two more rooms to clean the shower tiles that still had water spots. The bottom part of the shower tiles were so full of scum that when I had sprayed them with soap, rinsed and wiped, there was still some residue left and had to be re-cleaned. All in all, this took another half and hour out of my time.

I hate when six people share a room. I especially hate when they're sweaty teams they all shower and leave body scum all over.

I have to feel the inside of the tub to make sure it's smooth and clean and many times it wasn't. I could scrape... nevermind. Just know it was bad.

I had to take two recyling runs in a row when I hit this one room. My load was already full so I had to empty it. I guess I drapped the bag along the carpet (it was pretty heavy) and it would seem I left a stain. On the brand new carpet. I filled up the bag again with the contents of just one room and took another load down to hear my manager point out the rug to me and insinuate that I have ruined it and there is nothing I could do to fix it.

I think the first time I cried for the day was after that while I was making beds.

The tub had beer floating in it, along with the now soggy, beer and water logged box for them. The floor was wet with beer and very slippery. Another room was similar to it and I had slipped while cleaning the tiles in a tub, landed with a thud and sprawled over the tub. It hurt.

Another thing that hurt was when I was making the king sized bed in a jacuzzi room and didn't notice the two inch of frame poking out from the bed. I ran my leg right into it and I have a cut and bruise surrounding it right above my foot.

I swore a lot that day.

I think I cried again when I saw the other girl on my floor getting help while I was still left to go it alone. I needed the help and it would really have boosted my morale. I still had three rooms left to go and only 50 minutes until we were supposed to be ready to go home. That means all rooms finished and checked, cart stocked with linens, emptied of garbage and recycling; Chemicals, soaps and coffees replenished. That cart thing takes about twenty mintes. So I had 30 minutes to be done three rooms, plus I needed to be done in forty minutes to catch my bus so uncle John could pick me up at the closer bus stop.

I was hot, I had skipped my break so that meant no sitting or water. I needed the time more, I thought, than sitting and water. I was freaking out about being stranded at work, because uncle John and Anne-Marie were having guests over and couldn't leave them to come get me at work later. I was angry at the guests who had been so inconsiderate to leave such an audacious room, with no tips may I add.

So when I was washing a glass in the bathroom, I had a momentary lapse and keeled over in the sink, smashing the glass down and I cut my finger open. It was bizzare, almost as if I was being pulled or pushed down by my own body. It wasn't a serious wound, but the blood that came outta that thing was unbelievable. I tried to wash it off but more and more came so I gathered up the glass and went to the pantry and dropped the glass of on a stool. I walked to the laundry room and held up my bloody hand to the laundry girls and asked if they had a bandaid for me.

They are mostly portugese and the one woman, Franchesca gaped, "Wha' happen to you?!" I began crying uncontrollably and I wasn't able to stop. I was led by a couple girls to the other end of the laundry room and I began hyperventilating.

Sandra rushes in, as she ususally rushes everywhere and took some action: Sit down! Head between your knees! cold cloth! Then she ran off to finish up my rooms for me.

Franchesca is getting me water and cold cloths and my supervisor and manager come in and they arrange for me to go home. I'm trying to tell them that I'm sorry and what had happened, but I'm still crying and my breathing feels like it could begin heaving on me again.

Mike picked me up and took me to the hospital. I didn't want to go but because this happened at work and it could have needed stitches, I had to go.

I was in there for an hour and a half and all that happened was my cut got cleaned and bandaged up. The end. It was a little embarassing when the doctor asked if I wanted to come or if they made me. I at least had the comfort of saying they made me and I was not such a wimp that I felt the need to come in myself.

But that was my horrid day. I hope I have no more Sundays like that one again. I think I found my breaking point yesterday and I'm afraid of it happening again. I hope it doesn't.

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