Firstly, let me just say… I technically did not get the white Christmas I so desperately wanted. There was snow, but it was definitely not falling. But week 3 WAS made up of multiple “firsts”… First week of guests. First Christmas away from home. First time I worked Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day (and worked hard too).
Most importantly it was the first time I (and probably the only time I ever will) put a carrot out for Rudolph on behalf of a child. I was a little excited by the glittery “reindeer food” they left out on the lawn… until I thought I might have to clean it up.
We were warned that this would be the hardest week of the season, but we breezed through it in a haze of excitement. We danced A LOT and we drunk A LOT.
Sure there were lots of hours at work too. In fact, I was averaging about three hours sleep a night. The night before Christmas Eve I think I slept for two hours and then worked a twenty two hour shift to ensure that I had a spare time on Christmas Day to take the gondola up the mountain. Just to say that I had opened my presents on a mountain this Christmas.
Christmas Eve is supposed to be about getting drunk with your season friends…. but that wasn’t the case for chalet chef girl. Instead, I got well acquainted with parsnips.
As things are pretty hectic over here (kinda evident by my lack of presence on Moomads) I’m currently trawling through my social media feeds to see if anything else of any real interest happened during Christmas week.
>I vaguely remember getting a right telling off for having a suspiciously awkward “bruise” on my neck the day before our first arrivals. The conversation resulted in me vowing not to drink for the foreseeable future. Which obviously did not successfully happen, as today I had two Baileys Espressos just for shitz and gigz (and because they’re only 2 euros each).
One of the guests got so mangled on his last night out that he gave up on the thirty minute walk home and fell asleep curled up on someone’s porch in as little as a t-shirt and jeans. The next door neighbour gave him a coat and informed the police who escorted him home. That coat has now become the Communal Bin Coat and it is law that one must wear the CBC when taking the bins out.
Before we knew it… the week was over. Our guests were going home and I was almost in tears. Almost. If I did cry it was because I had to get up at 3AM to put out coffee for early departures.