Psychosis

I am at work now, so therefore as I always find myself when I'm at work I am deeply depressed and full to my inner brim with dark thoughts.

It all begins as it does each night at 7.30 when I shower and grab a coffee, chill a little and enjoy the remaining few hours before the slog begins at 1030. The same routine follows the same routine each and every night; attend to our guests needs and do some tidying up.

I clean the drawings off our walls covered with fine expensive wallpaper, drawings made with crayons or felt tip pens which are just a twat to remove. Our guests have fine tastes when it comes to little Johnny's artistic attempts-only the finest furnishings will accentuate his talent.

I clean toilets left unflushed as our guests would never sully their manicures by touching anything as common as a toilet handle.

I dispose of the remains of dinner which lay scattered about our restaurant carpet, deposited there by soulless diners who do so like to show their fun side by wisecracking our Spanish waiters who speak only a modicum of English.

I patrol the corridors as security three times during the night and frequently have to ignore what I hear screamed from within locked rooms.

I assist those unable to make it to their rooms as they can barely walk through intoxication.

I clean the many period photographs of Beatrix Potter and do my best not to grimace at the spit and snot that is wiped on their surface.

I open the doors at six in the morning and neatly stack the days newspapers so our guests can get to them easily. I prepare the restaurant for breakfast service, each table given the same amount of care and polish as if her majesty was attending.

Finally before ending my shift at Eight I grab a sandwich and a cup of tea before shuffling across to my single room, and after each shift I sit and think of ending it all.