Monday, July 27, 2009

Tales of Interest

BITCH here...

As my co-author pointed out, most of the guests we deal with are polite, rational, check in as they are supposed to, refrain from doing anything disgusting and so forth. BUT, why write about them? Normalcy is dull.

In light of that I provide you with the following anecdotes:

Randomly Racist Guest:
Our hotel changed operating systems recently, an "upgrade" than only occasionally feels like an improvement. Nothing new under the sun there, technology fails us all. However, due to a glitch in our system it was taking me a bit longer to check this group in. The guest noticed the sign by our desk listing the main corporation that owns the hotel, a corporation bearing a HINDI name. He piped up and announced "Well there is your problem! This place is run by a bunch of towel heads!" "Sir, that name is Hindi, not Arab. Not that that would have any bearing on the computer's operating system." "Well, it's the damn Jews and Arabs that are fucking up half the planet, I might could tolerate it if this was just owned by them fucking Jews. Don't take this personally now because I think you might be the cutest thing I ever done seen in all my days and it ain't your fault you gotta work with these people."
I am Jewish.

The Adulterer:
I was at the desk and a gentlemen I had just checked in meandered back to the desk and leaned slightly over the counter. I said, "Sir, how can I help you?" "I have a question. Do you ever sleep with married men?" "...ah, no." "That's quite a shame. Do you have any friends that do?" "No sir I'm fresh out of morally bankrupt friends looking to sleep men who could be their fathers. but should any of them decide to take a nose dive into depravity I'll give them your number."

The Panic-Stricken Wife
One evening my phone rings. It's the wife of a hotel guest she asks that I transfer the call to his room which I obligingly do. When the guest does't answer it rings the front desk again. She then asks me to transfer the call again. I inform her that he is not answering his phone she begs me to transfer the call anyway, which I do. It then rings the front again and the entire exchange is repeated. She is getting more and more agitated. She then erupts in a burst of irrational emotion yelling "HE'S HAVING AN AFFAIR AND HE'S STAYING THERE JUST TO CHEAT ON ME I KNOW IT!!! YOU'RE THE ONE HE'S THERE TO SEE AREN'T YOU!" "Ma'am, how could I be the one he's sleeping with at the moment when I'm here transferring your calls?"

Indoor and Outdoor
A guest walked up to the desk as they often do and asked if we had any outdoor rooms. I found this question odd as you have to drive past half the length of the building to get to the lobby entrance and it is clear there are no outside doors to the individual rooms but I simply assumed his powers of observation had failed him. I asked, "Do you mean rooms with direct access outside?" "No, I mean outside rooms." "Sir, I'm sorry but I'm not sure I follow you. What do you mean by outdoor rooms?" He groaned in exasperation and repeated, "I mean outdoor rooms!"
That's called CAMPING. the Pool
Awhile back a child had an accident in our pool. Let's just say it wasn't the kind that goes unnoticed in a pool. Or at least one would think. The completely embarrassed mother came to the desk to inform me of the problem and I went to the pool area to investigate (against my wishes as you can imagine). I find a pool with six ADULTS standing in the water watching a brown thing float in the center of the pool...I had to tell the adults to get out of the water...this did not occur to them on their own...

Please note, all future guest to this unnamed hotel, we cleaned the pool...

The guests from hell.


I recently checked in a group of guests, and I'm pretty sure they are all the work of the Dark Side trying to lure me in by killing nominally innocent people.

Let me preface by saying: I don't mind mentally handicapped individuals; I'm not an asshole (believe it or not). A friend of mine works at the local MHMR clinic, and I'm an empathetic person.

I do, however, wish that when I was working, you would keep the son you didn't want from harassing me every ten minutes. I do have other guests to attend to. It is not my job to give him attention and to "fix" the computer when it won't let him watch porn.

I hate when guests pay cash. I hate it because they are assholes about having to pay the deposit; then once I get the to fork over the deposit, they don't want to pay the room rate up front as well. These guests were dicks about that, but they didn't understand me and I had to repeat to them multiple times why this is our policy. This policy exists because of people like this, actually.

They ask for the weekly rate, but because we were booked on Thursday night, I couldn't guarantee them a room. They bitch and moan to the point where I just give them the no-walk rate ($55 plus tax) and take one $100 deposit for the room.

Then the fun really begins.

Two kids, about 18 years old, come down to the front desk and demand a room. I tell them that the only rooms I have available have one bed and are smoking rooms. They scoff and tell me I'm lying. I tell them we have other rooms, but I have to have a credit card for those rooms, and they also only have one bed. They ask me what the rate is on the smoking/king room. I tell them $74.99 plus tax, which is our regular rack rate. The guests look at me angrily, lean over the counter, and yell at me that I'm lying. I tell them I can give them the manager's special of $64.99 plus tax, but that's the best I can do. They then tell me that I have given their friends a $40 rate, which is a lie, and storm angrily into the atrium. I, thinking that they are not registered guests, watch them wander aimlessly around the atrium, probably drunk (since they were such assholes about the rate thing right before), disturbing other guests, and then park their wannabe thug asses in the business center.

At this point, I'm faced with a dilemma. Do I go in there, a 5'4" unimposing white girl, and ask them to leave, risking both kidnapping, rape, murder and/or assault, or do I call the cops?

You know exactly what I did.

The cop gets here in about 10 minutes, and I explain to him what has happened. I tell him that I didn't confront them yet because they really scared me with their body language, and that they don't need to be here taking up the business center without being registered guests. The cop goes to talk to them; then he beckons me over. I go to him, only to find out that these ARE registered guests and I can't kick them out. *facepalm*

Then they come back and rent a room at the same rate as the other rooms, because mommy calls and is a total bitch to me. At this point I have no energy left, so I just rent them the damn room. The kids tell me that they will be staying four nights like the rest of the party, so I check them in for four nights. Later on, I find that they only stayed in the room one night and didn't bother to let me know or check out (nor did anyone else). The room wasn't cleaned by housekeeping and as of right now I can't rent it because the housekeepers have gone home and the room is still dirty.

Meanwhile, beginning about the time the people check in, their severely acne-ridden, overweight, retarded (and I do mean, mentally challenged) son, that apparently no one wants to help take care of, or even, god forbid, keep in the room, starts wandering around the atrium and moseys on into the front desk area. He butts in front of two other guests waiting in line, and asks if I can give him directions to a restaurant. I tell him that I cannot, that I can give him a map if he can wait for me to help the other guests.

Ten minutes later, Mr. Pimpleface comes back to ask for five extra towels to the room, after butting in front of other guests yet again. I tell him that he will have to wait for me to finish helping the other guests - AGAIN.

Ten minutes later, he comes in and asks for me to fix the business center computer. I tell him that I am not tech support and I cannot fix it. Ten minutes later, he comes in and asks again. I tell him there is nothing I can do; he tells me he will pay me, and I politely walk with him to the business center, where I find that he is trying to access a YouTube video that will not play. I again tell him that I am not tech support and I don't know how to make it work. He leaves me alone the rest of that night.

The next day, these two rooms accost housekeeping, asking for five extra rolls of toilet paper. We are running low, so housekeeping gives them two and tells them that's all we can do. Then, they start asking for Kleenex. We don't give them any.

Mom comes it at some point in the evening shift to tell me her keys aren't working. She then removes them from her bra, hands them to me, and I (choking back vomit, of course) reprogram them. She is about 300 pounds and wearing a tube-dress, might I add. You're welcome for that mental image.

Mr. Pimpleface then asks the morning clerk whether she can fix the computer in the business center again. (In the meantime, we realized that he is probably trying to access pornographic sites and is getting blocked from doing so.) He then CORNERS her in the business center and demands that she give him a hug. Luckily our manager was there and yelled loudly, distracting Retard Boy and allowing F------ (name redacted for her safety/privacy) to make a hasty exit. Do you see why I don't feel sorry for him now?

Idiot brother who I called the cops on also comes in and asks me about some website -, although he pronounces it so badly I'm not sure what he's saying and I have to repeat it back to him about three times. I realize he is asking me how to spell the site, so I write down the URL and he asks me how to spell "Costello" and "girl." Really, dude, girl? Are you illiterate?

Today, they have harassed housekeeping, asked alternately for ten or more bottles of shampoo and more toilet paper, as well as more towels (and I'm sure housekeeping didn't give us the whole story; these asshats are probably Cart Raiders to boot). They have come in and asked me for five bottles of shampoo; I gave them two and said that was the best I could do. Retard boy came in asking me for a comb; he always seems to ignore all of the other people in the room and butt in front of them to demand attention from me. He also has an unnerving habit of rolling his eyes repeatedly while looking at you; I suppose this is probably not his fault, but he's an ass and I don't care. It's weird.

Since these are cash-paying guests, they have to pay every day. They call down to the front desk and the manager (not realizing what guests are in these rooms) approves them to come in and pay at 4:00 PM. Four o'clock rolls around and no one comes by to pay. We give them until 4:30, and at this point we call the room and tell them that they have to come in and pay or they have to leave the rooms. They tell us someone will be right down to pay them up for the day. 5:00 rolls around, and still nobody has come to pay. At this point, knowing everything that she knows about what a pain in the ass these guests are, manager K------ (name redacted for her privacy/safety) tells them that at 5:30, the cops will be waiting at the door. Unfortunately (I wanted to kick them out so bad), they show up at 5:10 to pay the room. From Titty National Bank again, I'm sure (I didn't take their money).

Then, the kids I'm pretty sure are staying in that room come in and ask me for scissors, and get angry when I tell them they can't take them away from the front desk. Another kid comes in and asks me for the zip code, but apparently she's too stupid to remember it and asks me to write it down. I hand her the business card, and she asks me if "the number here" is the zip code. I tell her yes. I'm pretty sure at this point that the whole family is illiterate. I'm also pretty sure at this point, considering how much shampoo/toilet paper they have requested, there's at least 15 people staying in those two rooms, but there's no way we can prove that to kick them out. Dammit!

P.S. What the fuck are you letting breed in Arizona? Jeezus!

Post-P.S. Scissor kid just came in here to ask for change and talk to me about the suites. I told him all our suites are booked and THEN he asked if he could see one. I said, "Booked means there are people in them, so no, I can't show you one. It's just a larger room with one king-sized bed." Then he started rambling about how much they might cost and said something about $200 a night so I kind of nodded and eventually he wandered off. Then illiterate thug angry brother pokes his head in and goes, "Hey, girl" like he knows me and asks if they can be in the atrium. I was really tempted to say no.

Mom called about 5 minutes later, and here is the conversation, word for word:
Mom: "What kind of washer and dryer do you got up in here?"
Me: "We have a washer and dryer, but our washer is currently out of order."
Mom: (pause) "OH GOD."
And she hangs up.
This coming from the room that asked for 5 rolls of toilet paper and when given only 2 started to ask for Kleenex? I'm a little worried.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Epic Fails and Stunning Stupidity


One of the perks of my job, other than getting to steal free cereal out of the breakfast room as often as I want, is that I am constantly exposed to the unending stupidity of the unwashed masses.

Now, don't get me wrong - I'm no elitist; I think most people are moderately intelligent, polite, easygoing, etc. But then, there are the literally unwashed masses that come through our door. Ninety-eight percent of the people I check-in aren't stupid; they ask politely for a discount, they ask for directions to a nice restaurant, they take their keys and don't smoke in the room, they check out before noon without making a complete ass of themselves.

Ah, but the other two percent. The other two percent make me shudder to think that I share the road, the grocery store, public toilets with that kind of human being.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present for your reading pleasure: the epic stupidity of the XXXXXX Inn.

Not one, but TWO guests in the span of three days came in to the hotel - CLEARLY marked with our chain logo, outside and inside behind where I stand at the front desk (with about a 3 foot wide sign behind me, mind you), and ask: "Is this the Red Roof Inn?" (I realize that this is lost on you, but let me assure you - the chain I work at is NOT RRI, and the Spanish tile roof is more of an orangey red and comprises the roofing of choice for many a-building here in the Southwestern US.)

We are a pet-friendly hotel-motel. But since no one wants to mop up dog shit and cat piss from the atrium floor, we keep all the pet rooms to the outside. One guest by the name of Dagmar requests and indoor room; we kindly explain this policy to her, and put her in an outside room. Five minutes later, she comes in complaining of a strong urine odor, so I move her to ANOTHER outdoor room. She complains again and asks if she can be moved to an indoor room. I'm sorry, but your complaint will not change our pets-in-outdoor-rooms-only policy. Not in five minutes. Not in three hours. Not during your entire stay.

Guest asks the hours that we serve breakfast. I tell him, "Six to ten." He replies, "A.M.?"

Guest does not understand that I cannot rent out our suite rooms without a credit card. He hands me a debit card, clearly marked "DEBIT" right above the big VISA. He then proceeds to debate with me, telling me that it is indeed a credit card, progressively angrier, until he gets so tired of hearing himself yell at me and realizes that no amount of whining is going to change that card into a credit card and thus change my mind.

This one, courtesy of my manager. Guest comes in to our hotel, which is booked that particular night. She - wearing a silver pageboy wig, mini-dress, and six-inch heels, not obviously a member of any notorious profession or anything - refuses to understand that we are BOOKED - meaning, NO ROOMS AVAILABLE. She then proceeds to scream at the desk clerk, "YOU WON'T RENT ME A ROOM 'CAUSE I'M BLACK." My (Black) manager walks around the corner, looks at the woman, and tells her, "We are in the business of renting rooms, not turning people away. We can't rent you a room when someone is already in it. Now the fuck out of here." (Paraphrasing, of course.)

Guest comes in, slams down his cell phone, and says, "I'm looking for a hotel, but not this one." I politely respond, "Which hotel are you trying to find?" He replies, "Well, I don't know." I stare at him blankly for a moment (a move I'm working on calling my signature), and then say, "Sir, I can't give you directions to an unknown destination." He then launches into some whiny story about how his cell phone died, and I tell him that no, despite the fact that there are available electrical outlets behind the front desk, he cannot use them to charge his cell phone unless he is a registered guest.

Adorably cute but stupid teenage guest (I swear he was 18, don't worry) comes in to inform me that the business center computer is too slow to use Facebook. I tell him that I am sorry. He then leans over the counter, brushes his hair out of his eyes, BATS HIS EYELASHES, and says, "Maybe if I come back later, could I use your computer to check it?" I tell him that I can't access anything other than work-related sites. Which is obviously a total lie, especially since there is a window that faces the back of the front desk and guests can see me accessing FB regularly. He falls for it, and leaves me alone.

Guest asks me where we are located. I tell her, "On the corner of Highway XXX and I-XX." She then proceeds to ask more detailed directions; I tell her to take the interstate exit on the highway, and she responds, "You're located on the Interstate?" Duh, lady - what else does I-XX mean? (NB: This would make a lot more sense if you would replace 'I-XX' with an actual interstate number.)

Guests come in to complain that the ice machine isn't working. I tell them that my manager is on her way with 160 pounds of ice. They ask, "Will she bring it to our room?" I kindly explain that she will use that to refill the ice machine, and that no, she will not be delivering the entire 160 pounds of ice to their room.

I will paraphrase the conversation, to make you better understand this epic stupidity.
Me: What can I do for you?
Stupid Guest (SG): Are you aware that there's a dead body in your utility room?
Me: (laughing lightly) Okay.
SG: I'm serious.
Me: (still staving off laughter) Uhm, what gives you that impression, sir?
SG: It smells around that door.
Me: Oh. Well we just exterminated; maybe a rat got in there and died, and we haven't been able to find it yet.
SG: No, this is definitely a human. I've smelled dead bodies before.
Me: No sir, I don't believe that's what it is; with the heat in that room I think the smell would be unbearable.
SG: Well, it's really bad. It hits you like a wall when you walk by.
Me: Sometimes decaying animals smell much worse than it would seem like they should. I'll put in a maintenance report.
SG: No, you need to go check that out right now.
Me: Sir, I really can't leave the front desk.
SG: I'm serious! You're going to open up that door and there's going to be a dead body!
Me: Sir, I'll put in a maintenance report. That's all I can do.

About once per week, I get told that I am not in a guest's GPS. I respond by telling them that there is nothing I can do and that they should contact their GPS provider.

And with that, I bid you all adieu.

Monday, July 20, 2009

An Introduction is in Order

I feel compelled to also post an introductory message as my blog co-author has done. While she is the "doormat" I appear to be the "bitch". A litany of jobs which involve people yelling at me, belittling me, or requiring me to be vomited on or deal with dead rabbit corpses have left me jaded and unable to suffer fools lightly.

You might be asking yourself, "Why would a person willingly subject themselves to such an existence?" The answer is simple. Throughout my college years I found the jobs that best supported me and assisted in paying for school. This is just one of many. Herein lies the motivation for this blog which I hope to turn into a part of a book that will take a critical look at the state of the massively rising costs of our higher education system and what that means for those of us with no parental support.

But I am getting ahead of myself. For the time being I, and my co-author, share these stories of stupidity, absurdity, and overt rudeness and depravity purely for your amusement. OK, partly for ours as well.

Ladies and Gentlemen... The Doormat.

I'd like to take this opportunity to introduce myself. Mostly because I'm an egocentric idiot who thinks you might care.

I am The Doormat. I'm one of two posters who plan on using this blog to regularly post crazy stories from the **** *** *** ******, the hotel-motel currently serving as my summer job. So I suppose a bit of background information is in order.

I am NOT an idiot. I don't plan on working in hospitality as a career; I just took this as a summer job to work my way through school. Professional school. Code for: I'm smarter than your ass, so stop acting like you are so much richer, more educated, and generally all around better than me, you cheap fucking bastard staying at a hotel and complaining about the $80 weekday rate. Please.

Generally I love my job. I get paid to knit and to endure the hilarity and excitement of being in this industry every day, and in this economy (whether you want to pretend that it's not in the shitter or not, I don't care, it's hard to get a job when all you have is two years of post-grad and a college degree) I'm glad. I'm not scrubbing up shit/blood/semen stains from a crime scene, I'm not plunging a toilet, I'm not extricating dead animals from underneath houses for a living. So don't get me wrong: I'm not complaining; I'm sharing. It's therapeutic.