Tuesday, May 25, 2010

100th Post: Caffeine!!

Greetings Friends!!

As the astute among you might have noticed (or inferred from my clever and subtle title), this is my hundredth blog post since I started back in January 2009. I could spend this entire post waxing on how much I've learned, what exactly it is that I have learned, and the profound impact on my life.

But you're not here to read about that.

And honestly, I don't think I could suppress giggles and feeling of hoity-toityness to get it done.

Instead, I will highlight that which has been my close companion this year and a half.

And what has often brought you late night blog posts.

So without further ado:


Saturday nights/Sunday mornings are usually pretty rough. Often, I get out of work pretty late, and then have to turn around and get up for church which starts at nine. Lately, it's hit or miss on if I make it.

This last weekend, I decided enough was enough. Was I going to church or wasn't I?

I was.

For those of you who say "If you ask God for the strength to stay awake, it will be granted. You have no excuse!" I say...you are correct. I have done that. But that is not to say that He does not also provide tools for us to use if we are willing to pay the price.

The night drug on further than I would have liked and when I finally bunked down and looked at the clock, I would have to be up in less that 2 hours. More like an hour and 15 minutes. What was the point of sleep now?

Kick in the overdrive.

Since my coffee pot died, I've been having a morning cup of espresso instead of my morning pot. I really do like lingering over several cups, but there is something about getting your entire pot's worth in one cup.

And it is very revitalizing.
So. Take a look at this:

It may look like an innocent hot chocolate container given to me by a friend at Christmas, but it also doubles nicely as a water-tight espresso thermos. You see, I knew I could drink all I wanted before church, but I really need that extra jolt between the two sessions.

So I made one batch, and poured it off to cool. I waited a bit, then thought I needed to get the second batch done. Anyone who has used an espresso machine knows that you leave them to cool off because of the pressure and remnants of steam.

I gave it what I thought was sufficient time, grabbed a potholder and attempted to loosen the lid. It was on tight. So I figured I would get the coffee part out of the way. I reached up and loosened that little coffee thingy.


Coffee exploded everywhere. All over me, the counter, and the machine.


Of course that meant that the top would come off because there wasn't a head of steam anymore. My thumb only got a little red from the steam the dried out the coffee grounds instantly as it flung them around like powder. The time I spent cleaning up THAT mess would have been ample time to allow it to cool down. Ah well.

By the time I was done, I had my cup and a half of espresso (equivalent to roughly 5 shots) and had the other 3 encapsulated in my little container. I jumped on my bike and twiddled off to church.

When the break came, I went back into the narthex. Time to down my elixir of life. But somehow, it didn't seem right to just bust it out and knock it back in the light of day. It felt too much like shooting up drugs during the family dinner at the table. With the Pastor over. (not that I would know what that feels like...honestly!)

So I went into the bathroom. And felt even more illicit when I knocked it back. I could feel the caffeine hit my blood...wheee!
I put my twitchy hands under the faucet to further the illusion that I had been in the stall for the intended purpose.

I had slight problems paying attention. My stomach felt a little funny. My eyes were very shifty and my writing was not the elegant scrawl it normally is. (I normally have very nice handwriting). But no matter, I would go home and have a nap before work at 3.

Except that after church, some good friends wanted to go out to lunch to catch up. Couldn't pass that one up, could I?

My stomach is increasingly feeling queasy, but I'm allotting that to the amount of espresso. I end up getting a soup for lunch...not something I normally do...and feel increasingly ill.

I go home and fall into bed for a half hour, hoping I will feel better when I get up.

Nu-uh. Doesn't happen. In fact,when I wake up at 2:30, I feel worse. I call in to work...there's no one who could cover for me because Graygirl and Greengirl were doing an overlap. Graygirl has left, but Greengirl doesn't mind staying for another hour or so. I go back to sleep.

When I finally get to work and have a chance to just sit, I recognize the signs of food poisoning. (I've had to go to the doctor once for a bad case)

So all that angst about it being ME that had brought that horrible condition on myself through over consumption of caffeine, it was something else all along. So it really serves me right for breaking the unspoken rule about what you're allowed to expect from your body.

I would like to think I've learned my lesson.

Sunday, May 23, 2010

No One is There. And We Do Not Have Your Stuff.

Our nicest suite, which I will henceforth dub "The Bridal Suite" was the center of all *sorts* of excitement yesterday.

Our journey begins with the reservation. The guest staying the night was upgraded at no charge per Lindsay (GM). Let's call this guest Maggie.

Ok...no problem. Our online reservations had kind of overextended us on our Single King rooms. So right and left, I was upgrading my favorite guests to various suites. Looks like Lindsay had beaten me to it.


I just get on shift at 3 when the phone rings. It's a woman with child/kitchen noises in the background wanting Room 888 (Bridal Suite, for our current purposes).

"One moment please." I mean, she could have checked in early.

Hour and half later:


Her: Room 888 please.

Me: One moment.

I start to think. Did she check in? Hmmm....

She hadn't.


Hour later:


Her: Room 888 please.

Me: I can transfer you, but I thought I'd let you know that they haven't checked in yet.

Her: What??!! They were supposed to be there hours ago!

Me: Who exactly are you trying to reach?

Her: The Huxleys.

Me: (searches) The Huxleys aren't staying in that room....In fact, I have no record of Huxleys staying here currently or coming in at any time.

Her: (goes through the classic stages of mourning, K├╝bler-Ross style. let's start with denial!) That can't be true!

Me: I'm afraid it is. (I go through first names too...)

Her: (loses it. of course we made the mistake. she says belligerently...) This IS the Snappy Hotel is it not??!!

(anyone?? that's right. Anger....grrrr)

Me: Ahh, no, this is the Happy Hotel.

Her: The Happy Hotel. That can't be right. (we argue back and forth for a few minutes. though how that will change the name of our location...oh yeah. that would be bargaining rearing its ugly head)

Her: This is horrible! They were supposed to be here! How am I going to find them? What am I to doooooo?? (ok, I emphasized a tad, but that's what the caterwauling felt like. starring: depression)

Her: Do you have any Snappy Hotels in the area? Do you know their numbers? Can you get those for me? (finally. acceptance. except now she won't stop trying to get me to help her. I don't know where a Snappy Hotel is. dang it.)

Finally, she hangs up


The joys of Room 888 are not over, however.

A woman comes into my lobby. She's stayed here last week. She left a pair of glasses in the bedside drawer she says.

"I'll call housekeeping to check their archives" I say.

But this will not do.

Ms. Botheru says "is anyone in the room now?"

Me: Someone is in it for tonight...

Ms. Botheru: But are they in the room now?

Waaait...are you really asking what I think you're asking?

Ms. Botheru: Because they probably missed them when they were cleaning. Do they even check the drawers? I could just run up and check-"

Ah. You are. Very well then. War!!

Me: I'm very sorry, but the room is occupied. (remember, I've been getting calls, and at this point I assume the room is occupied) I can't let you enter.

And why you would think that would be OK is beyond me.

I call housekeeping and they check their lost and found. Nothing. I check the room and *shock* no one was in it yet! I asked Ms. Botheru where exactly she is so sure she left it, then send housekeeping up.


Ms Botheru: Are you sure I couldn't just...

Me: Yes.

(she leaves)


And guess who it was?

It was Maggie. Cancelling her first night in Room 888

Enough already! Troublesome room....

Lost: One set of Huxleys and eyeglasses

Saturday, May 22, 2010

In Which I Encounter a Dog...figuratively speaking

A "Ms. Nord" checks in with her guide dog. We've put her in one of our pet friendly rooms.

When she starts asking questions though, I begin to realize that my subconscious desire to install her in the East Wing was right on the money.

She's on her way out the door and shoots back a parting question. You know, those questions in which something is asked casually that really should not be. They use their tone of voice to trick you into a lulled sense of security. You'll answer "yes!" and they will be out the door by the time you've had a chance to truly process the question.

Then you will be horrified that you inadvertently gave permission for a goat sacrifice in your bridal suite.

Poor goat.

Ms. Nord: Oh! One other thing: it's ok if the guide dog swims in the pool, right?

Now, notice how she phrases this question. The assumed positive. Think how I will sound trying to say (even nicely) "No, that's not alright." Exactly. Like a dragon.


Me: Actually, I don't think so....

Ms. Nord: (rushes to fill in my ellipses) It's part of the training process! He has to learn!

First off, what does that have to do with a dog in my pool? Second, did you really bring him to a hotel in order to teach him how to swim? Come ON!

Me: Well, I would have to check with my manager, that's not something that I personally can authorize. (I reach over to pick up the phone)

Ms. Nord: He's very well brushed! Very clean!

Great, so you weren't planning on a bath. Still...Dog. In. Pool.

Me: If you'll just let me call my manager and ask-- (please shut up, I told you, I'm calling my manager...see the hand gripping the indestructible black plastic of the phone receiver? I'm not just telling you I'm going to call him, then not call him just so I can say NO to you...I actually want to. If just to hear his reaction. lol)

Ms Nord: (ignores phone hand) And he'll wear his guide dog training vest at ALL times!

Aaaack! DOG IN POOL!!! Seriously woman. Stop talking. Let me call my manager. Whether or not he wears this nifty training vest has nothing to do with the issue at hand. Go away.

Me: Like I said Ma'am, I'll just need to call my manager. (shoo!)

Finally, she leaves. I call Boss. Conversation goes like this:

Me: That lady with the guide dog? She wants to know if she can take the dog swimming tomorrow. In the pool.

Boss: Swimming?

Me: Yes. She has informed me the dog is well groomed and will wear his training vest the entire time she is teaching him to swim.

Boss: Teaching him? In our pool?

Me: Yes....

(Pause--hahahahaha...I love the calls he has to make)

Boss: Ok. She can do it.

Me: Thanks Boss :P

It's interesting how so many people can't seem to identify the root issue of the problem. With Ms. Nord, she didn't see the ground zero issue. Dog IN POOL. Instead, she tried to distract me other other non issues.

I'd love to hear of any similar experiences any of YOU all might have had...

please don't make me go in the water....??

Friday, May 21, 2010

I Won!!!

Extreme excitement here at the Happy Hotel. Redgirl has been seen to be grinning in a slightly disturbing manner.

"I'm so happy, thrilled in fact!" she has been reported as saying. "Now I get my very own sun at night!"

Although unsure exactly what she is referring too (concentration minimal, eyes glazed every time a question was put to her), we congratulate her and enclose her entry into the contest.

We present....The Golden Manatee Award

Check out lifeshighwaygame for details :)

Miz Bee Comes to Stay

Miz B checks in and I give her keys for a room on the second floor.

10 minutes later, she comes down.

Miz B: There is a buzzing sound in my room! It's probably a light or something, but you people need to fix it! (you people should be another character on my sidebar...as soon as I figure out who they are...)

(I think I hear something buzzing!!!)

Me: Ma'am, would you mind if someone went up now?

Miz B: Sure, it had better be fixed by the time I go to bed!

I spot Juan entering the lobby. "Juan," I say, "please escort Miz B up to her room, and see if you can locate the cause of the buzzing."

Off they go.

I get a call later from Juan. He's on the third floor checking to see if the room over hers was the source. No go.

I'm starting to think I'm going to have to change her room. Which I really don't want to do, considering the behavior I can see lurking below the surface of her casually draped scarf and coiffed silver hair.

A little later, I see Juan. I remember that I never heard if we will have to move her.

Me: Juan, what ever happened with Miz B?

Juan: (starts smiling) She'll be fine.

Me: What was the buzzing?

Juan: (starts laughing) I took apart the light, she was running around saying "Move this! You'd better find where that's coming from...don't make me move!" and generally being upset. I picked up her suitcase to move it and I said "Ma'am, your suitcase is buzzing." She grabbed it from me. Her face was all red and she tried to make me go out of the room, but I had to hook up the fridge and microwave again. She said it was her electric razor. She kept saying she was sorry.

Me: ??? (I didn't think women USED electric razors....anyone? I have my thoughts on what else it could have been, if you know what I mean....lol)

Juan: Yeah, and then she gets even redder and says "don't tell the lady at the front desk."

Me: (snicker) How could she think you wouldn't tell me?

Hahahaha...I mean really. Too funny. She'll probably try to avoid me for the rest of her stay, which will be difficult considering I'm on for the entirety :D

Thursday, May 20, 2010

Those Pearly Whites

The other evening in Salsa dancing, Val complained that everything tasted funny because she had brushed her teeth.

Thus, her margarita was less than satisfactory.

Em says: "You should have brushed your teeth with a bottle of Jack"

Thank you, Ke$ha, for such real world advice on personal hygene and dental tips.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Salsa Night!

Gather 'round, listeners! Such a tale I have for your virgin ears.

A tale of shimmying. Of shaking. Of tanned legs and short skirts.

Of Salsa Night.

A local bar/restaurant has a different dance nights: Salsa Night, Line Dancing, etc. Roomies and I decided to go for the Salsa one. Tuesday being the only night we had free might have been part of that.

We did not go for the dancing in the strictest sense. You see, we came to watch.

And comment.

We walk in the door in our heels and skirts, hair pinned. While waiting to secure our first drink, Em is approached by German Man. Lets call him Mike. Mike is tall, and wearing jeans and a white button-up with the sleeves rolled casually. He recognizes her from a dance class.

And he wants to show her his moves.

She declines.

Someone else (who apparently didn't see that little exchange) walks by, screeches to a halt and asks her.

She declines.

Me, who like any intelligent people watcher, had packed a little pad of blue post-its in my purse, decided to keep count. Especially after the next man remembered her from one of her other jobs.

I was fascinated. Is this how the other half lives? Being constantly asked to the floor? All fine and good if you actually know how to salsa, I guess. Waltzing is more my thing.

We find a table against the wall, and the only chair left for me is the one with the back to the dance floor. Not Good. I swap, and immediately, Em is beset with her male swains. She was the prow of our metaphorical ship, and she got noticed first. Then Val, and, if they were desperate, me. After 5 more invitations, Em figured out what was happening and made me swap back. But by then, we'd already gone through everyone that was going to ask. (score!!)

I guess they figured that if the other two of the party said no, I wasn't going to satisfy them with a yes.

Then a girl walked by. You know the type. Tall, thin, white top, jean skirt. And tan. That tan that approaches, no, IS a kind of light burnt umber. Her salsa seemed to consist solely of wiggling her hips.

Which, I will admit, she did well.

Could put a hula dancer to shame.

Then came "Bored Girl in Black Dress". Every time she whirled by, I was fascinated by the lack of anything constituting her legs except for (apparently) bone. And the dress was short. I was in fear of a side show. Then Em points out that it is her lack of butt. In my diagram below, you can see that this is indeed the case.

Another couple twirled by. And I do mean twirled, because that was all he was doing with her. The Redgirl Household knows enough about dancing to know when someone has no clue, and Mr. White T-shirt had a great partner and didn't know what to do with her. From the look on her face, she was fed up and getting dizzy.

Smart move, my man. But as good as playing dead is, even dogs learn new tricks.

Now we have the black-shirted men. There are two of them. Since one is taller, we will refer to them as SBSM and TBSM. (Hmm...I'm not sure about these acronyms. They look a little...restrained. Ah well)

TBSM has a clueless partner, but he's a good enough dancer to pull it off. Problem is, she's acting a little listless. SBSM has a very enthusiastic partner. He's not quite as good as TBSM, but he looks like he's having more fun.

Enter Mike. Mike is dancing with a tall girl in white shorts. And it quickly becomes apparent that he's Not Happy. Em says: "He can dance a heck of a lot better than that. He's less than enthusiastic about his partner." Val: "She's also not very good." Me: "Amen sister."

Very astute, Em. "But," I say, "SBSM has an inexperienced partner, and they're doing fine, having fun. What's the difference?"

We all watch carefully.

Ah HA!

Two things: Contact and Enthusiasm.

If you dance in a listless fashion, even the best dance partner can't do anything with nothing. Can't direct the flow of water if there's nothing to direct.

Contact is very important. Goes back to your frame. If you have the right frame (which involves touching the other person; Egads!), then the right action by the male will end up with at least something happening. See the diagram below for clarification:

Her hands were in the position B.

As the song appears to be wrapping up, Mike is trying to leave white shorts girl. She's not getting the hint. He's done, but she doesn't know it. Later, he comes over to chat, and confirms everything, to our immense satisfaction and glee.

An Asian man in his late 40's appears to have forgotten that he already asked us to dance, and comes back to be rebuffed (politely) again. Then we see him on the dance floor.

It's always interesting to see a person who asked you to dance dancing with someone else. Lets you know what experience you might have been in for.

Lemme put it this way. For a social dance, he was remarkably unsocial about the whole dancing thing.

The African guy with the good frame and no technique was fun to watch, but that's not the cherry on the mountain top.

While taking a genteel sip of my Manhattan, something caught my eye.

This couple:
...was trying to do the bump and grind. But they had to do it to a salsa beat, because that was what was on.

It was entertaining.

Oh, and final score?

Em: 2 people she knew, 2 people she kinda knew, and 7 random people.

Val: 6 people

Me: 3 people

Oi! Forgive the drawings. I'm at work, but they had to be made!

Sunday, May 16, 2010

..or not

I'm checking a guy in who is part of the set up crew for a bike function.

I get asked the usual "Are you a student?"

Me: Not right now!

Him: You should finish college...

Me: Oh, I'm going back to school in July. Court reporting...Maybe I'll see you there LOL

Him: Nope, I'm done with that. (completely serious) 27 times. Convictions, that is. I'm out of that now.

And then the convo continues to what exactly he was in for (violence related stuff, marijuana use) and when his first big C was...14...and on from there.

This now gives him the permission to call me "sweetie" whenever asking for anything else. Example: "Hey sweetie, can I get a book of matches?" (sure honey! and did you want your slippers warmed too?)

Because, you see, we've shared a moment.

Update: And then, as he's leaving to go to his room for the night....

"Thanks for everything..."

Um..for what? Those matches?

Friday, May 14, 2010


Definitions to help with day-to-day living:

Bird that won't shut up no matter what you throw at it

Sewer Monster:
The raccoon butt you see disappearing into the drain system outside your apartment. Now you know what lurks beneath.

A cat/ferret mix, of which the only known living example is named Mugwai who lives with me. Not for much longer if she keeps on the way she has been.

Leaf Blower People:
Modern day torturers. They start far too early and even double paned glass doesn't keep them away.

Please submit your own definitions in the comments...

Sunday, May 9, 2010

Say What??

You know when someone says something, and you don't quite understand it? But you kind of want them to think you did so they will leave more quickly?


So I had just finished helping a man. I laughed at something he said (not that funny, but, you know, I have this job where I *get* to be nice to people). He turns back and says:

"If you were any cuter, I'd go on a search for the fountain of youth!"

I made some inane comment, b/c my brain hadn't quite processed it. He steps around the corner and says to his wife in a low voice "isn't she cute?" and then off they go.

I file it away. Then later, pulling it back up, I realized what he had meant.

Even at his advanced age, I think it would take more than the entirety of such a fountain to make it work...

Friday, May 7, 2010

Cougar Shenanigans

So, resident cougar checked in just now (just now!) and Greengirl and I are holding a commentary behind the desk.

Cougar: God, I need a drink

Greengirl: Hahaha...the bar is there!

Cougar goes over and parks her luggage against the wall, goes into bar and stands at corner behind the bar. Bartender ("Jack") kind of ignores her. She is the thorn in his side. She showers her affections on him, and he tries to escape.

It's kind of funny.

Cougar decides she doesn't want to stand, she wants to camp. Grabs a chair and cozies up. Jack still is busy pouring drinks for the people that got there first. I'm not sure if he's seen her.

With the chance to taunt a co-worker lingering in my mind, what happens next is just one of those things you can't control. After all, our previous conversation included his thoughts on her possible breast implants, and, to be delicate, if it had been cold, the results of the obvious sheerness of her shirt might have been excused.

Or probably not.

A woman came up to get change for the bar.

Her: A ten, five and five ones please

Me: Ok (counts) If I give you a little note for the bartender, could you give it to him?

Her: (leers) Got a little crush on him?

Me: (aaaaahnononono) HahahaNO. More like a friendly taunt...

Her: Ok.

She delivers it. He takes it. Looks over at us. (We are standing watching him) Opens it. Reads my "Hahahahaha. She's here!!"

He bursts into laughter, and the entire bar does as well. The kind of laughter that says they aren't really sure what they're laughing at, but that it must be funny. Reeeel funny.

He finally pays attention to her, she grabs two white wines. Starts to leave the bar, and realizes something. Something like...with both hands full of alky, she won't be able to do anything with her luggage.

Greengirl and I agree.

Cougar slurps one down and then wrestles her luggage one armed to her room. Returns shortly with JUST the white skimpy top on (no hot pink jacket, *problem* with top still apparent) and removes 2 RED wines from the bar. I guess she got quite a few, and then hid the extra glasses until she could claim them.


Jack came up later and said that when she had asked for 4, she said "Can't you just give me a bottle?" LOL.

Can't you just see it? "Thank you for staying at the Happy Hotel, here's your complimentary bottle of wine. Chardonnay, Syrah, or Rose?"


Thursday, May 6, 2010

More Smoke

We had sooo many instances with smoke (this is from the last weekend).

Case in point:

Juan let me know (ever so nicely) that someone on the upper floor of our East Wing had removed the screen on their window and was frolicking and smoking on the balcony belonging exclusively to a suite.

I'm not sure if they were frolicking, but it makes me both happy and appalled (for the suite people), but still happy.


This could not go on, of course, so I called the room.

Man: Hello?

Me: Hi, it's Redgirl, from the front desk. I've had a report that someone removed the screen from your room and is smoking on the balcony.

Man: I didn't-wait a sec (I hear sounds that sound like....) My friend's throwing up, can I call you back?

Me: Oh yes, of course. (clicks phone down. looks up at window of room and gives a repulsed shudder)


Monday, May 3, 2010

A Theory on the Art of Creepiness

One of my favorite passtimes is to start with a premise, and work out a theory that, to all MY knowledge seems proper and correct.

Creepiness comes in 2 flavors. One is either creepy or a creeper. Being creepy is something you do. A creeper is something you are.

Let me expand.

Let's say you're sitting on a subway, hurtling through the bowels of some big city. (I've never been on a Subway, aside from eating their sandwiches and riding buses. That along with reading about subways makes me pretty near an expert, don't you agree? That's what I thought...)

You're standing by one of those post thingies, holding on for dear life because there aren't any seats available. All of the sudden, a hand that can only belong to the man behind you cops a feel through your gray tailored suit.

Ooowee!! That was creepy! We can therefore say that, in preforming a creepy act, that our man is creepy.

A creeper is different.

Same scenario: You're on the subway, seated this time, and you get a funny feeling. You look over to your left and see a man in a black coat and black felt hat. There's something off about him, but you can't quite put your finger on it.

Maybe later you find out that he is a peeping tom, or that he steals and strokes ladies'....underthings....

But that is not why he's a creeper. Being a creeper is full time. A creeper is necessarily one who performs creepy acts. They can't help it. And it's not the act that tipped you off. You knew instinctively. (If your creep-o-meter isn't malfunctioning...check those batteries folks!)

More extremely rational theories later...

Sunday, May 2, 2010

Guest Blog: A Dear John Letter

A guest post from my sister Mel. She has a great horsey blog, and she's slowly learning how to be humorous (on purpose)! Give her encouragement by taking a look. And now:

Unlike my sister, Redgirl, who finds amusement in taking uncomfortable situations as far as they will go, I’m just annoyed and uncomfortable, which invariable leaves me feeling a bit angry (and did I mention annoyed?).

An an effort to show Redgirl how normal people react to inappropriate comeons I provide the following situation:

A couple of weeks ago, an unknown production employee left a note/letter in my office door expressing his wish to get to know me better, based on how beautiful he found my picture (I’m a member of management) that is posted in the break room.

Redgirl’s reaction:

Ohhhhh…..how interesting. Where’s my cell phone, I’m calling the number in this letter right now. Bonus points if I can get him to propose, offer to lick my feet, or offer to instruct me in the finer points of spooning in the first 15 minutes! I hope he’s an honest to goodness psychopath – better blog material!

Mel’s reaction

It really pissed me off. Who thinks this is appropriate!!!!!????? Seriously. My first reaction was to send off a scathing “Dear John” letter (but of course I didn’t). Here’s how it would have read:

Dear John (not a real name!),

This is in response to the letter you left in my office door – although my boyfriend admires your courage in reaching out to an unknown member of management, I’m not as appreciative.

Pining after my image as published in the management picture, posted in the employee break room is not endearing – in fact it is kind of creepy. Is this how celebrities feel when a fan professes their love for them? Now, I may be overly sensitive as I have had 2 stalkers in the last 4 years, but I’m DONE with it.

I’m a bit angry that you thought that this was even appropriate. Just because I look 16 and chose to wear a cocktail dress at that particular management xmas party and smiled at the camera doesn’t mean I’m available, interested, intrigued, or even interested in an inappropriate management/hourly union employee relationship. I’m not even considering the employee relations, HR NIGHTMARES that comes of an exempt management employee dating a union hourly employee in the same facility.

I’m sure if you use some common sense and you will probably have better luck in your future romantic endeavors.


Does anyone else have this problem?????? This is the 4th time in 4 years I’ve gotten solicitations that I consider inappropriate – maybe I’m just old fashioned? Maybe I’m being a bit harsh, but I come to work to work, not fend off suitors. How could people even think this is appropriate???????? I’m much more tolerant of people who approach me verbally. A smile, and a simple no usually suffices and no one gets their feelings hurt. The letter for some reason really raises my hackles.

From Redgirl:

First off, remember that I never chase after these ppl like you say I do! The entire point is that I'm minding my own business, remember? Also, they're not uncomfortable. Remember artist man? And just imagine, *John* sitting in the breakfast room, gazing up at your picture, imagining you munching on twin stale breakfast burritos....

Ha ha ha

..It's Like a Magnet or Something

Lots of crazy people in this weekend....artsy people. We stuck one couple in a room that's kind of off by itself at the end of a long hall and through a door that opens into another hall.

The lonesome pine of hotel rooms.

Security Sam comes to the desk and says he smells smoke in the area through that first door. That means that literally the smoke can only be coming from that one room. He wants a second opinion, so I send Nightgirl, the newest member of our staff. (She's the Night Auditor...get it? get it?) After all, with my allergies, a skunk could be patrolling the halls and I would just get all excited about the smell of fresh ground french roast...

But that's another story.

They return with a story.

Sam: (knocks, hears furtive whispering and clinking of bottles. Beer anyone?) Hello? This is security. I just need to let you know that there is no smoking in the rooms. (No response) If you smoke in the room, there is a $400 cleaning fee.

Room: (giggle, clinking bottles) Ok!

Now. The fee they signed for is really only $200, but Sam was just throwing a number out there to get the point across.

Upon checkout: They were informed of the fee, which Greygirl only put $250 on.

Room: We didn't smoke in the room! Have housekeeping check!

Greygirl: We received a report from security that was confirmed by another witness that there was smoking in the room the night before last.

Room: Well..we had the window open, and people were smoking out there. It must have gotten into the room. (and been strong enough to go through your room, under your door, and out into the hall? Please.)

Greygirl: I'm sorry, but you'd have to speak to my manager.

Room: Wait, no, it was the emergency exit door! It was open, so that's how the smoke must have gotten into the hall.

Greygirl: The emergency door is always closed. (That's why it's an Emergency door...)

Room: (Skitters away with manager's card looking petulant)

Myself, Greengirl and Greygirl were rehashing the weekend when someone else checked in. We informed them that, while they did have a balcony, they were not to smoke on them. After they left:

Greengirl: Because the smoke would get into the room and then make its way down to Lone Pine Room.

Redgirl: Because that's where all the smoke in the hotel goes. It's like a smoke magnet.

So: Smoke Magnet Room (or The Smoke Magnet) or Lone Pine Room (or The Pine)?

We need to label this room, and "The Cursed Room" is already taken (as well as not being applicable anywayz.)


Woman comes up to the front desk, wants directions to one of our meeting rooms that's being used for an art exhibit.

Me: Over there, on the second floor

Her: Are there stairs?

Fire regulations clearly state, Ma'am, that stairs are a necessary part of any structure over one story...

Woman takes out one of our bikes and helmet. She returns the bike, but not the helmet. We can't get hold of her. Finally, the next day, she comes to the front desk to take the bike out again.

Graygirl: Do you need a helmet Ma'am?

Ms. Doink: Oh no, I already have one

Graygirl: But you borrowed one last time...

Ms. Doink: Yes, I still have it. I knew I was taking the bike out again today.

Graygirl: We needed to have that for the people who used the bike after you...last night...

Ms. Doink: ...Oh!