What am I your Slave Mr. Uberman?

Boy, has it been a long time since I posted. I keep meaning to, but I guess I am just plum lazy. If anybody is reading this and interested, I am sorry. I hope to be more vigilant in the future.

I have been reading the writings of an interesting Night Auditor at Hotelblues.com. You may want to check it out. The hotel this guy worked at really liked to screw their employees.

Me, most things have been same old, same old. I do get frustrated from the jackasses (I'm sorry, I should be be more professional and call them Guests) that stay at my hotel.

A couple of nights ago, a Male guest(German) with 3 guy friends and what looked like their hooker came to my door at 2:30am asking if I knew where a liquor store was located nearby. I informed him the nearest place that would be open had liquor at this time was a drugstore a couple blocks west of us, but they probably won't sell it at such a late hour due to California law having a cut off time for when businesses can sell booze.

He then asked if we had something in the room. I told him no we don't. He said "OK!" and the group went to his room.

10 minutes later the Nazi who I will refer to has Mr. Uberman called me down in the lobby and said in a demanding voice, "Look! You will go get me some drinks and bring them to my room."

Me: "No! We don't have any liquor on the premises, but like I informed you, there is a 24hour drugstore nearby that does has liquor, but they may not sell it at this hour. They do have other non-alcoholic beverages and we have a soda machine next to the elevator on the second floor."

Mr. Uberman: Listen to me! I am giving you money and you will go out and get me and my acquaintances drinks.

Me: (full of anger, I am not your fucking slave boy asshole.) Listen to Me! That is not part of my job duties. I do not have liquor and I do not leave the Hotel property to run personal errands! We have a soda machine by the elevator on the second floor, or YOU can go to the pharmacy I mentioned and try your luck their!

Mr. Uberman: OK. I'm sorry. (phone goes click)

I do not like to be told what to do. I get paid to do my job as a Night Auditor, not to be your slave and be ordered around by Mr. Uberman and is like. I hope he dies and goes to hell to serve Hitler for the rest of his existence.