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FAQs
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What if you had someone do something for you (locksmith, plumber, etc.) and you refused to pay them?
Someone refused to pay me. Here's the story.A friend from AA needed some work done on his house. It was sagging badly in middle and needed to be shored up. I gave him a fair price and he started poor mouthing. He said he only wanted the dip in the hallway to be fixed, I explained to him that the “dip” was the length of the house, not just the hallway. He said, “it doesn't have to be perfect. Just raise it up the best you can”, so I gave him a price. He paid half upfront.I've shored up so many houses that I know what to expect, but when I got under this one, it was a mess. I had underbid and had to spend well over the upfront money just to get materials. I will not increase the price of a job over my mistake, so I sucked it up and finished the job.I go into the house to get paid. He tells me, “Billy, I'm sorry you were unable to finish the job”. He knew what he was doing, and I knew as well. He had done it to others but we were both members of the same AA home group for years, and I admired this man immensely. I didn't think he would do me this way. But he did.When he tells me he can't pay me bc I wasn't able to complete the job, I got up out of my chair, said “alright then”, and started out his front door. He knows me so I can't imagine he didn't know what was coming.I went out the front door, around the side of the house, crawled under, and smashed the screw jacks out from under the house with a 10 lbs sledge hammer. I got in my truck and left slinging grass and dirt across his front yard. The only thing I regret is leaving one of the jacks in place. I was so mad, I forgot about it.I volunteer to help people who need it. I will fix anything for anyone in an emergency. I take leftover materials and use them on jobs to help people who are strapped. I do it bc it feels good. Helping others is a high for me, but don't fuck me bc I will fuck you back with a sledge hammer.Merry Christmas!
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What is the most badass thing your parent has ever done?
My dad’s photo should be in a dictionary under the definition of badass:Our neighbors’ son - a promising young engineer - suddenly developed paranoid schizophrenia and started running away from home. My dad would always go retrieve him and bring him home. The guy was violent but for some reason he was peaceful with my dad and just followed him. Last time he ran away from a mental institution and threw himself under a train. My dad went and retrieved the body and brought him home to his parents for the last time.When my grandpa was dying from a string of terrible medical errors, he told my dad: “Take care of your mother. And… don't let them cut me anymore.” When the coroner tried to cut grandpa’s body, my dad told him not to. The coroner complained and said he will call police. My dad picked up a scalpel and said that if coroner cuts grandpa’s body, then my dad would cut him. He was able to wrap grandpa into a bed sheet uncut and bring him home. He was 20 years old.One time he was driving down the street and he saw me up against the bush and a boy from my class holding me down and violently rubbing snow in my face. (Charming Russian schoolchildren tradition). He stopped the car on the road, walked over, picked up the boy by his clothes and said: “Touch her again and I will break both of your legs. Do you understand me?” After this no one including this boy ever harassed me.In the army he drove a tank and was an expert marksman. So much so that when some soldiers from Georgia complained why he was the only one allowed to keep a mustache (even though it was more important culturally for them to keep it), his commander said: “If you shoot as well as Roman, you can wear mustache on your ass, I don't care.” He also played in a deaf-mute chess competition in the army (he's not deaf-mute but thought it would be fun).One time his friend told him about a young relative who became addicted to heroin. The guy was well over 6 feet tall member of a mafia and a former wrestler. Who was the only person who dared to go to drug dens and retrieve him? My dad. I found this out when we were parked on a side of the road and a giant guy stuck half of his body out from a passing car and waved at my dad enthusiastically.One time (in the 90’s) my dad was carjacked, tied up and thrown into the trunk. He managed to escape and report the car missing. Two weeks later he found the men who did it, beat the crap out of them and took his car back. He then drove back to a police station, parked in front of it and asked: “So did you find my car?” The police said: "Yes, brother, we are looking very hard.” Later he found out these same men were killing the drivers and dumping them in a steppe.When I was a teen, my dad told me: “If someone ever tries to take you away or hurt you, tell that person that: ‘My dad will find you and after he's done with you, your family will be scraping your brains off the pavement.’”I actually used this phrase when my friend and I were kidnapped when in college and driven to a different city. We were released on a side of the freeway unharmed.My dad’s friend’s daughter was married off into a very bad family. Her husband beat her all the time. But she wasn't allowed to leave and the neighborhood was full of thugs so even police dared not to go there. My dad took the girl’s dad and 20 of his friends. They went to the neighborhood, took the girl, beat the living crap out of her husband and his buddies and brought her home.He is also a master prankster. One time he invited a friend over to our house. And carefully tied a bunch of tomatoes to an apple tree to shock him. It worked. As a kid in a summer camp, he left a plateful of spaghetti with sauce under his counselor’s blanket. Enjoyed the screams.He loves animals and animals love and follow him. Every pet he got for us ended up as his pet. One time I had a bad cold and to cheer me up he brought me a giant St. Bernard puppy - the cold was cured. Yes, she ended up falling in love with him and became his dog. He also had canary birds and cats. Unlike me, he grows plants really well and they always thrive in his care.All kids adore my dad and like to play with his mustache. Even recently he has been going fishing in the lake to enjoy some quiet time and he met this Ukrainian widow with 5 sons. The smallest one got attached to my dad but he would always make some noise and was being annoying. One day my dad chewed him out but the next day he made him a tiny fishing pole and brought it over. At the same lake he has a pet duck now who always comes over to him because he “saved” her after she was choking on a piece of fish. I asked him who gave her the fish. He said: Maybe I did.My mom was absolutely gorgeous when she was young. But she had 6(!) older brothers who were very tall and strong. They also drove her to and from school every day. No boys could come anywhere near her. When my dad met her at a New Year’s party, he walked over to her and said: “You will be my wife.” He then went to her parents and asked for their permission to date her and marry her. Permission given and they've been married for 40 years now.Anyway, I could go on forever. My dad is a badass. I named my youngest son after him and now he's a little badass too.P.S. I have to say even though he seems like a really tough guy, he absolutely can’t stand my tears. So I used it a lot to get my way when I was a kid.Edit: Uploaded his picture per popular demand
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What is it like to be a broke student at Stanford?
I was accepted to Stanford on a full scholarship as a transfer student from a California Community College at the age of 28. My husband was very sick at the time and couldn't work, so we made do on food stamps and AFDC. I worked as much as I could (under the table) to keep a roof over our heads and pay for his medical bills, going so far as to take a nannying job 3–4 nights a week, caring for the 3 year old son of a single father who was also the graveyard shift on-call oncologist at the medical center. He paid fairly well, but we were always one small disaster away from homelessness.i managed to get pregnant at the beginning of my last year, a co-term year during which I earned my master’s degree. You haven't lived until you've spent nine months working towards a post-graduate degree at Stanford, growing more and more pregnant by the day, juggling four jobs in two counties, wrangling with a social worker who keeps telling you to quit school and find a job making $10/hr as a fry cook, commuting 2–3 hours every day from Santa Cruz to Palo Alto and back over a tsignNowerous mountain road with NO PUBLIC RESTROOMS AT ALL to care for a husband who could not walk, needed to be rushed to the emergency room at least three or four times a month and whose doctors gave him only a 50/50 chance of living to see the birth of our first and only child.I would listen to my classmates talk about their family villas on Majorca, using “summer” as a verb, while calculating in my head if I could find enough change in my sofa to buy a bag of dry beans so we could eat for another week until the next month’s food stamps came in. They would discuss their plans to kayak some fjord in Iceland over spring break while I looked forward to working triple shifts and standing in line at the grocery store, getting dirty looks from disgusted customers who didn't like being held up by the clearly lazy and irresponsible welfare queen who was using a WIC voucher to pay for a carton of milk, a can of tuna and a tube of frozen orange juice concentrate. They asked me to come along in their BMWs to go wine tasting in Napa for the weekend while I wondered if I had enough bus money to get back to Santa Cruz to sign papers and advocate for my incoherent husband, who was in the hospital again and in danger of receiving treatment from one of his six specialists that could render useless or even combine lethally with the treatment prescribed by another, because they didn't bother to communicate with each other. And all the while, of course, thinking “okay, I can't afford maternity clothes, so I'm wearing one of my husband’s old workshirts every day, but can you not clearly see I'm as pregnant as fucking octomom?? I can't remember the last time I even had a cup of full-caff coffee, let alone a glass of wine! DUH!”When I got too big to ride my bike around campus, I would take the shuttle to my classes, where too often I would end up standing for the whole ride, because the seats were all full of students too consumed by their phones to notice the whale of a person standing in front of them trying to stabilize her center of gravity because of the 8 pound baby in her uterus and the 30 pound bag of books on her back. I had to battle the urge to challenge all of them to a fist fight for their obliviousness.Toward the end of that year, as I waddled toward the finish line, I found myself almost delirious from chronic sleep-deprivation. The one thing that kept me going was the miraculous fact that my baby was not due until a couple of weeks after graduation. Somehow I became fixated on the idea that I would get to go see a movie, for fun, between the time I graduated and the time I became a mother. It was all I thought about, honestly, as I trudged from one obligation to the next. I would be sitting in the dark, by myself, in a chair that probably was too small for my now-grotesque body, out of which I would have to heave myself every 15 minutes to use the bathroom, but damn was I ever looking forward to it! Two whole hours to myself, with no more bitchy egotistical TAs to contend with, no more deadlines, no more cramming for finals, no more arriving home after a fourteen hour day with feet so swollen and painful that it took me ten minutes to ratchet up the nerve to pry them out of my shoes. Maybe I would even fall asleep over my unbuttered, unsalted popcorn for half an hour!it was with this decadent fantasy in mind that I sat to write my last essay. It was, as I recall, an analysis of William Faulkner’s “Absalom! Absalom!” Twenty minutes in, I began to feel a little funny. I tried to write it off as indigestion, but by the time I was halfway though with the paper, i could deny it no longer. I was in labor.i finished my essay, breathing through the contractions, pushed “print”, sighed a little sadly, packed a bag and drove myself to the hospital, where I gave birth, with no drugs (except a well-deserved shot of Wild Turkey when it was all over), even when the baby went into cardiac distress and they had to rip me a new vagina in their haste to get her out, not even when they put in 36 stitches afterward to sew me back together. When they whisked her away to work on her, and I was alone again, I pulled that last essay from my bag, walked myself down to the nurse’s station, stitches and all, and faxed it to my professor with a note of apology, hoping he would understand why I couldn't be at our planned meeting that morning.I graduated five days later, with high honors. I still have the picture: my diploma in one hand and my baby in the other: My Week in Review.It was hands-down the most stressful year of my life, including the time of my husband’s actual death, which came not too many years later.When I look back on that time, my heart nearly bursts with gratitude, for my incredible husband, who suffered grievously but tried to hide it for my sake, and who was overjoyed in spite of his suffering about the birth of our daughter. I am grateful for his nurses and orderlies, who went the extra mile to care for him when i couldn't be there. I am grateful for my understanding, compassionate professors, who reassured me that everything would be okay and who let me get up in the middle of class whenever I wanted to relieve the pressure on my tailbone. I am grateful for my social worker, whose sternness and admonishments could never hide the fact that she was rooting for us to make it. I am grateful to the government for the $92 a month that allowed us to eat when I could no longer work. I am grateful beyond words for the forces that gave me the opportunity to study with the world’s most renowned minds, to earn a degree in a field that I'm wildly passionate about, at a school that any student would be proud to attend, that gave me the will to carry and deliver a healthy baby and that gave her father the strength to live long enough to receive her into his arms and to shower on her all the love that he could muster, and all his hope for a bright future, in spite of his suffering and the knowledge of his coming death.Now, 17 years later, I'm a tenured college English teacher myself. I never did get to see that movie… but whenever I think back on that time, overwhelmingly and unmitigatedly, what I feel is gratitude.That is what it's like to be a broke Stanford student.Edit: So many thanks for all the encouraging comments. To clarify: I don’t consider myself all that extraordinary. I think most people are stronger and more resilient than they think they are, and this year proved that to me, without a doubt. I didn’t do it alone, however. I had many resources that others do not have, and I never felt for a second that the universe was being unfair to me or my family. Everyday, I see people who manage to spread joy and compassion in the face of what seems like unendurable hardship. My own students inspire me all the time, as I see them struggle through poverty, sickness, homelessness, abusive situations, substance abuse, and countless other stresses.If I could manifest one change as a result of this experience, it would be to free people from their own judgmental reactions when they encounter welfare recipients during their daily adventures. Yes, it’s true that there are some folks who take undue advantage of the safety net that this great country provides (as modest as it may be) but it has been my experience that the vast majority are doing the best they can with what they have, and take their first opportunity to leave government aid behind and join the ranks of contributing taxpayers. I was stunned by the number of nasty comments I got from people as I tried to pay for my meager cart of groceries with food stamps or WIC. Yes, I was pregnant. Yes, for all intents and purposes, I was a single parent. Yes, I was attending one of the most elite and expensive schools in the world . That was only part of the story, though. I wish more people would be mindful of the fact that facing such judgement is humiliating, exhausting and discouraging when one is just trying to get through the day, especially on top of all the other challenges that made it necessary to apply for aid to begin with. I can easily see those comments being the thing that at the end irrevocably breaks the spirit of a person who is trying harder than most people can ever imagine, for longer than seems humanly possible.Once in a while I would receive a word of encouragement or a smile. I remember every one of those moments from compassionate strangers . I stored up their supportive words as defense against the days when it seemed all too easy to just give up. I make it a point now to do the same when I see someone who looks like they might be struggling. I always want to say, hang in there. Things actually do get better if you just keep putting one foot in front of the other. Don’t give up, in spite of all the mean spiritedness that might come your way. There are more people out there who are kind and understanding, and who are on your side, even if they don’t say it out loud.
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Have you been deceived by a military recruiter?
Yes. And when I got back home I bashed that motherfucker's face in with a shovel and stuffed my crappy contract up his ass-cuz that's where shit belongs.Okay I'm kidding. Let me begin by saying that I have never been a recruiter, and I was so hype about joining that mine was ecstatic when I walked in the door-easy day. But, I still think we should cut the poor bastards some slack. They have been tasked with quite the job: “Sell the possibility of death for honor …and a few bucks.”Think of being a salesperson for jail cells: You have to convince people to purchase a timeshare in the local prison. Of course you're not going to give the “low-down” on crappy food, disgruntled neighbors and the pedophile living next-door. No, no, The pitch would sound something like; “…the cell has a great overview, because its on the penthouse level.” “…The neighbors work out together, and are very interactive.” “…in fact, there are various groups one may join depending on personal tastes and interests.” “The timeshare management is very security conscious: 24 hours a day, security personnel patrol the neighborhood to ensure the safety of the residents - No noisy kids running around, three free square meals a day, and the opportunity to work from home making license plates.” ”…Where else do you get free cable, phone service and room service?” The prison home is the best kept secret of humanity.An honest recruiting effort is somewhat similar; “Welcome to the armed forces recruiting station. Have you made up your mind yet? Yes? great. signNow. No? Okay sit down; blah blah benefits, blah blah free tuition, blah blah see the world. Ready now? Outstanding! signNow. … Wait. You don't smoke weed right? Eeeh, you know what… the last asshole I saw said the same thing, and as it turns out, there were more drugs than urine in his system. Go take a piss in this cup real quick.” **Fast-forward to three minutes later**“Congratulations! we're going to MEPS tomorrow to swear in although you're so fat it's going to take at least a year for you to get in shape and be ready. Happiness all around; I meet my quota and you get this cool baseball cap and book bag that say “Army strong.” Now you can walk around like the future “Green Beret” you are. So... Whaddya think? …oh you don't want to shoot anyone. Um, …fuck it - you won't. Don't listen to all those gung-ho infantry fools. They are all from Alabama and Kentucky - all they want to do is shoot crap.”“Listen, you join now, we pick “cook” for your MOS… this way we can ensure you are not deployed. Don't tell anyone… I'm not even supposed to know, but the Army is going through some changes; word down the pipeline is that they are doing away with Army cooks - civilians cook our chow now. What this means is there is a good chance you will be able to apply for “airborne school” instead, then try out for the “Rangers.”How many college credits do you have? Uh..3 is good!! You'll only need fifty-seven more, and then you’ll be well on your way to Officer commission - with the way you carry yourself; shoo-in! Guess what else: If you enlist for six years straight, Uncle Sam got you - GI bill baby!! Think about it; Military uniform plus college equals Girls. Six-pack from basic training equals more girls!!! You get to live for a higher cause, and did I mention girls? All your civilian friends will be jealous. Now the kicker - read this part of your contract, we got you the “college-first” option, so still no war, …just girls.- Fast forward to the military entrance test; the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery” (ASVAB) day. “Hmm thirty-one… not bad, not bad, okay so maybe the cook strategy is out the window - you need a thirty-two for that. Hmm you know what, we’ll do infantry, then when you get in you can retake the ASVAB again, get a 90 this time, and re-class no problem!”So the “luckiest recruit in the world” signs up, and three weeks after basic training is over, he is sitting in Afghanistan hot and pissed off . He can't wait to get a hold of the piece-of-shit son-of-a-bitch who sold him the horseshit about “college” and “six-packs” and “girls.”Buuuut, lets review what “Sgt. Jones” the recruiter actually said - technically none of it is a lie because in every military contract, in some fashion, exist the words: “This document and everything stipulated herein may be subject to change based on the needs of the United States Military.” And “Anything not specifically mentioned in this contract is not actionable.”So, finally, with regards to your question, recruiters are like used car salesmen - check the Car-fax and Kelly blue book before you talk to them. Remember it's their job to up-sell, not down-sell you. In fact, ask a non-recruiter what they think first - just not your grumpy uncle from Vietnam; what those guys went through… yea… just don't.
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What sort of curriculum would be offered at the International School of Evil and World Domination?
I'm not at liberty to discuss the current offerings at the ISE&WD due to some confidentiality agreements, and what-not.I can share the 5 Least Enrolled-In classes, courtesy of an inquiry I made a couple months ago.This is the body of the text that was sent, the fax follows.Dear
Mr Wilhelm, Thank you for your recent inquiry, and your interest in returning for the Fall Semester 2013 here at the International School of Evil and World Domination - Arkadelphia campus. I have enclosed your Welcome Back Packet*, filled with informational tips and guidelines, to help you through your transition from law abiding citizen to villainous mastermind.As you are aware, the ISE&WD is a global leader in the grooming and preparation of young minds into a life of jack-assed-ness. Our top-rated Engineering programs, world-class Science and Research facilities and Political Insiders all combine to make the ISE&WD experience extraordinary. Coming in Spring 2014, we will be adding the General Bullying/Racist Prick and Amusement Park Ownership degrees back to our curriculum.Per your request, please find below the Five Lesser Known and Least Attended course offerings;010-ACT - Introduction to Acting - This course will introduce tips such as, "How to make them think you're not planning on taking over the world thus reducing your false sense of security to expose yourself way too early and giving them time to counter-attack your intricately detailed plans". There will also be a school play of Despicable Me performed. 021-PTM - The Importance of Project & Time Management in Modern Domination - A mid-level class that builds upon the fundamentals of Prerequisite 010-PTM. In this course, we will introduce the use of Check Lists to cover all your bases, practical tips and tricks for reducing the temptations of unproductive taunting and the resistance of adding ova-encased poultry to your numbers prematurely. As a side elective, students are able to work on the yearbook staff.211-TIE - Rope Assemblage and Jumblefication - Basic level "How to tie a knot". Working closely with guest instructors from the Navy and Boy Scouts, participants learn how to effectively tie-up any, and all, potential hero in a manner that said hero will not escape just in time to foil the evil plan.412-SHH - Advanced Silence (How to STFU for Success) - Do you like to talk? Do you feel the urge to divulge your intricately detailed plans before you execute them (see 010-ACT)? Do you prolong the showdown, waiting for the hero to say a catchphrase or trailer clip line? Well, then this class is for you. Learn how to not do that. Just shut up. You don't need friends, you're taking over the world. Note: There will be no instructor in this class. Students are required to sit in an empty room for two hours, three days a week in complete silence. It's the only way you'll learn.334-DUN - The Art of Closing the Deal - Affectionately known as the "Shoot first, ask questions later" course. We'll cover the basics on "Effectively stating your objectives and goals to a less-than-live crowd" and "Always Get the Last Word". Why this class isn't mandatory, nobody knows. Once again, thank you for your interest Mr. Wilhelm.We look forward to seeing you again in the fall. Don't forget to sign up for the Job Placement Assistance, contact any Career Counselor for details.*Please note key fob, bumper stickers and decal.Here is the fax: -
Between 1998 and 2019 what are some of the most drastic differences in society?
I had my first e-mail (with hyphen) address in 1996. I still had it in 1998. WonGoodGuy@AOL.com. Everyone thought I was Chinese and just called me Won. A couple years later, I changed it to WunGoodGuy@AOL.com because I lapsed using it for a few months, and it expired, and when I tried to use it again, I discovered that someone else had taken it as theirs. Whoever you are that stole my WonGoodGuy e-mail… I’m still looking for you. In the end, it turned out okay, because I was no longer assumed to be Chinese. So… drastic changes? E-mail was spelled with a hyphen. E-mail addresses expired and could be reassigned. And AOL was mostly the only game in town.I still have a whole lot of stamps from 1998. And then a whole lot of various small denomination stamps bought every couple years, so that I could use my no longer correct denomination stamps due to yearly postal hikes. I will never use all the stamps I have. I average using less than one a year (or rather some combination less than once a year). They will be found by my daughter in my desk drawer when she goes through my stuff after I die. Drastic changes? Postage stamps were bought in bulk… frequently. And they had to be licked. Pulling a backing off them like a smiley sticker was a miracle once they came out, despite the fact that stickers had been around for decades. And there is no longer human saliva on both the fronts and backs of all letters.In 1998, I was filling up my hard drive with mp3’s from Napster. I had about 5000 songs, thereby forcing hundreds of musicians into abject poverty, until big stupid-head Metallica made a big deal about it which eventually put Napster out of business. But it’s still a fact that I would not have bought any of those albums in any case, if I couldn’t get them from Napster. Drastic change? Napster is gone. But people will still give me a hard time about it.In 1998, there was still a Twin Towers in NYC.In 1998 far far fewer people knew where Afghanistan was. The three words “War on Terror” hadn’t yet been put together into one phrase. If it had been, I’m guessing a substantial number of people would have guessed it was some kind of mother’s group that wanted to do away with scary movies at the theater. Speaking of Twin Towers… I found out about the attack at about 2:00 that afternoon, when I received a telephone call from my fiance` in England. When she started yapping about it and saying the two towers fell, I thought she was off her rocker. And when she convinced me to turn on the TV after having said the towers “fell”… I totally imagined that by “fell” she meant they tipped over. I was picturing half the city smashed by those two super-tall buildings falling over sideways. Who knew, before then (except maybe building demolition people) that buildings collapsed like that, in one spot?! Not me. Anyway… her phone call woke me up at 2:00 in the afternoon because I had been up all night selling, listing and packing all the items I was selling in my E-Bay business. I used to buy tons of collectibles (ladybugs, elephants, dragonflies, piggies, light houses, dragons, etc.) at the Dollar Store, and sell them to collectors all over the world for $5 - $20. My customers loved my items and my write-ups. It was the first time I had fans of my writing. Quite a number of people said they came to my E-Bay site just to read my product descriptions and my creative photos. So… Drastic changes? Twin Towers still existed, America was still somewhat respected around the world, nobody thought too much about the Middle East except for Israel-Palestinian conflict, and…. you could buy things like this dragon for a dollar and sell them for $20 if bidding went that high. (But I usually sold them in groups of three).In 1998, I wasn’t yet married to Abi, my groovy English girlfriend. I hadn’t yet moved to the UK. And I wasn’t yet divorced. I was still a romantic. Drastic change? There was still one more romantic in the world.
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Is there an online service with a REST-like API for sending faxes?
You might want to take a look at Aculab Cloud (http://cloud.aculab.com). They have Python and .NET APIs for writing fax broadcast or fax reception applications. Features include: T.30 fax termination up to V.17 speeds, call progress monitoring (incoming and outgoing), automatic detection of fax calls, dynamic switching between fax and voice within a call, Group 3 TIFF image file manipulation library, supports multiple page formats and properties, application control of individual pages, supports unlimited page length and header/footer formatting, supports fax on demand – polled mode. You pay per minute whilst your fax application is running. There is also free sample code on the site to help you get started.
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What are some of the most interesting experiences you've had at a hotel?
Porn ShootDuring the 1990s I briefly worked as a front desk clerk for a hotel. My shift started at 10PM and ended at 7AM. It was generally a quiet shift because most guests would have checked in before I arrived and few guests ever needed anything after getting settled in their room. I spent most of my time watching TV and running reports until it was time to get breakfast ready for the early-risers. Usually, another desk clerk would be there with me until 11PM and then I was on my own until 6AM.One slow midweek night I answered the phone and the woman on the other end asked if we had any jacuzzi rooms left. We had plenty because it was quite slow that night, so I told her we had several. She asked to reserve one as far away from other guests as possible. She told me they would be there in about an hour. I blocked a room on the computer even though it was so slow there was no risk of anyone coming in to take it. An hour passed and a white van pulled up in the parking lot. Two women and two men got out of the van and then began unloading professional camera equipment. One of the women walked into the lobby and to the front desk. She told me she was there for the jacuzzi room. I told her I had booked her into a jacuzzi suite for the same price and finished checking her in and issuing a keycard. She and her companions grabbed all of the equipment and went to the room. I figured it was odd but I knew I wouldn’t want to leave that kind of equipment in a vehicle overnight for fear it might be stolen.I got busy doing nothing since no other guests were expected and no one was hanging out in the lobby at that time of night. Maybe an hour passed and I answered a call on the housekeeping line. It was the jacuzzi suite woman requesting extra towels. On the overnight shift the front desk clerks often handled housekeeping requests unless the hotel was mostly booked. I told the caller I’d be up in a few minutes with a stack of towels. I posted a sign at the front desk and went to the housekeeping room to get towels. After grabbing a tall stack, I went to the guest’s room. When I arrived and announced myself as housekeeping, the door was opened by one of the guys. While I stood in the door handing over the towels, I saw the camera equipment and lights all set up and in use. One of the women had a towel wrapped around her and the other was naked in the jacuzzi. The one in the towel said they were shooting a movie and said I could watch from the corner if I wanted to. I told her I had to get back to the front desk in a few minutes but could hang out with them for a moment. It was quite interesting seeing the production side of a porn shoot. It was definitely the most exciting night of my time working there.
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