I work in a hotel.
You see some things, working in a hotel. Drugs, alcohol, needles, diapers of all stripes, mayonnaise on the ceiling (don’t ask, I still haven’t figured that one out). There’s rarely a truly dull day. Today I was making my last bed when I stubbed my toe on something very solid. “Somebody leave a weight?” I mutter, reaching down, picking up the thing and
OH BOY WHOO-WHEE THAT IS MOST CERTAINLY A GAT BOY I TELL YOU, YES INDEED THAT IS A FIREARM, IT IS, THAT IS INDEED A GUN
“Shit!” I say, very wisely NOT dropping the very possibly loaded piece as I decide to call my boss on the phone.
“I might’ve slightly found a gun.”
“DO NOT MOVE. We’ll be up.”
We spend about eight minutes gawking at it before looking up the records and then confirming that yes, we need to call the cops and yes, I’m going to have to give a statement.
Never a dull day there…