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.

Shucks.

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:

*brriing*

Her: Room 888 please.

Me: One moment.

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

She hadn't.

Interesting.

Hour later:

*brriing*

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, Kübler-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

*Whew*

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.

Nada.

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

Me: Yes.

(she leaves)

*brriing*

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

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.

Rarrr

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....??

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

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!

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?

Yeah.

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...

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.

Hmm...

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?"

Please.

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...

Wait...What??

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!

More Life Lessons

The following should quench some thirst until I get my Big Party Weekend notes A) Found and B) Organized:

We'll start off with a few more life lessons with Redgirl. Since I know that all you are running to get pencil and paper for notes, I'll pause for a moment to allow for scurrying.

Ok.

Gather 'round...

First off:

Ginger, while the same color and beginning with the same letter as Garlic, does not taste the same. In fact, no matter how much you add, it still won't taste the same. Instead of having Savory Lamb with Basil Mushrooms, you will have Funky Tasting Lamb with Ruined Mushrooms. And it will be served with a side of Disappointed Taste Buds.

Next Lesson:

If you put a hood on it and it looks like Ted Kaczynski, don't let it in. Furthermore, green plastic bags should not be opened and rifled with unless the rifler is willing to deal with unsavory content.

Let me explain.

Weird old man with thick glasses and big bushy beard was a "walk in" on Sunday. He seemed agreeable, if odd and a bit verbose. I gave him a room. (Which wisely was NOT the Cursed Room...he didn't look harmless enough to take that chance) A few hours later, my maintenance guy (we'll call him "Juan") found a white plastic bag just inside our street entrance door. He brought it up and we both looked at it.

Similar to how you examine a purse for an ID, I felt we should examine the bag. (...and I'm reeelly nosey. This you know) Contents were:

Large bottle of unopened green antiseptic mouthwash

5 Energizer D Batteries (with no devisable thing to use them in)

Full roll of toilet paper, quilted

Green plastic bag with *literature* of some kind in it

A pea green towel (I don't know if it was clean, I wasn't about to sniff it...not THAT curious, folks)

Mystery remained though.

The Green Bag.

As you've probably guessed, it contained things of an adult nature, with an emphasis on young, ethnic, and pierced.

But moving on.

I caught a glimpse that will be seared in my brain for some time, and then Juan and I tied that entire thing up tight. Then we pulled out the hand sanitizer. Then the Lysol wipes for the counter.

I told Juan "I think I know whose it is, I expect him within the hour."

Sure enough, like leopard returning to drag its half eaten bushbuck to a better location, he came back. "I...uh...left a bag by that door over there..." Me: "One moment sir!"

At least, I consoled myself, he was only staying for one night.

Or so I thought.

This all happened Sunday. When I came in for work on Wednesday, I was met by my boss. The first words out of his mouth "Why did you let crazy people in??" followed by "Everyone here hates you right now" and "We thought he was your uncle, because that's the only way we figured you let him in" as well as other things I don't think I'll repeat.

Apparently, he approached everyone and asked if they were a guest or they worked here. (EVERYone) He inquired about the glasses in the room, a la Pen Girl. He terrorized our poor omelet maker so that she couldn't stay at her station. He repeatedly turned up radios and tvs to the point where someone had to go to his room and knock on his door. He proceeded to yell every vulgar and obscene thing in the book through the door. (and the guy who reported that part is probably listed as a contributing author on that book, so he would know)

My response was that maybe I had let him in, but they didn't have to let him stay. (for three days! Three days people!)

Then my boss gifted me with the Ted Kaczynski blurb, which I will keep in my repertoire and use in any situation that remotely calls for it.

Lesson Three:

If a guest reports to you in a jittery and twitchy manner that he's 46 days (exactly) clean from a drug that "makes lines of coke look like sissy stuff", try to avoid prolonged conversation with them. Especially if upon receiving Advil, they tell you they can't swallow pills and find an area to bend over backwards far enough that the pill can drop down their gullet with no help of a swallowing mechanism.

Lesson Four:

If you're a narcissistic boor with the hotel staff, don't expect any real consolation or sympathy when you lose not only your room key, but your government issued phone. If you see a concerned expression, they are probably laughing themselves silly inside. (They also can't wait to tell the rest of the staff)

Lesson Five:

Always make the reservation beFORE you play the squeaky wheel game. Example: I received an email from a woman who could only find Standard King rates online, but no upgraded ones. She also wanted to know special rates for "June Pride Month" (?). Upon inspection of our schedule, I saw we were completely booked for something unrelated. I checked with my boss, and he hopped online and closed the dates out.

Him: Now you can tell her...whatever you want really"

Me: *Evil laughter*

So I email her that she is welcome to make the reservation (knowing full well she can't), and to feel free to call or email that she wants the upgraded room and I would do it...for no cost!

The first part is understandable...to explain that even though there were rooms last time she checked..but there won't be any now is a big difficult, but the latter half was probably a tad gleeful. But see! I was willing to upgrade her! That should make her happy...

Lesson Six:

If you're planning to attend a large event, such as a four year college's graduation, don't call at the last minute and expect to get reservations. I can feel for the people that didn't know there was even a college in town, but the people that are actually coming for the graduation make me a little agog.

Really. Think about the number of people graduating. Their families will have to stay somewhere. Calling anything less than five months ahead means your chance of getting a hotel in a 15 mile radius is less than your spawns chances of getting into the university in the first place. Yeah, so good luck with that.

I've rambled on enough. Mrs. Chatterbox should probably have her own post...

Insane Night. Not Even Kidding.

I sit here cooling my heels...lukewarm decaffeinated coffee in one hand, brandi-new Dresden novel in the other.

A lazy evening at best.

My faithful readers might notice that I've connected my site to my Google Buzz thingy. This is to spread my domination. I also very much appreciate all of my followers.

Being a follower is easy! It makes me happy too...gives me warm glow-ee feelings. The result of this is that I tend to post more. So if you're reading, comment! Follow! Subscribe! Show the love!

These complacent fuzzy thoughts were interrupted by some rude people. People who had the nerve to check out at 3:40am instead of waiting for 7 when I got off.

Enter:

One obese bespeckeled man with propensity for inane jokes and obnoxious chatter. Really. As much as I admire your ability to sustain asinine conversation with your coworkers, you need not ply your trade with me.

Three woman of dubious awareness, evidenced by participating in the first man's conversation and not knowing the room numbers of where they've been staying the past 5 nights. Presumably they slept in their rooms every night, but I am not one to ask questions. (oh, wait. yes I am...)

One nervous Asian woman who for all my body language cajolings, kept herself planted at the handicapped counter area, which sits behind several picture frames. Any time I needed her to sign something, I had to walk over and hand it to her. She then spent time looking for bare surfaces to sign the document instead of plodding 2 feet over to where she should have been standing.

Two typical and redundant conversations of which the content was roughly "You been on all night? On a Friday? You poor, poor thing! You must want to be out socializing...hitting the clu-ubs, drinking the bo-oze. How do you stay awake?" Do I seriously look like the kind of person that would mind not being able to go out every night and attempt to drown my liver?

And then, Airporter Wars.

Shuttles were coming about every 15 minutes due to the large volume of check outs. The first shuttle had to leave some people behind because obese man forgot to let them know he required 2-3 seats. When the second shuttle left, Asian woman blathered for an excess time that "those peoples flights are later than ours." She pointedly did not voice her conclusion of "so you should take me first". The driver (after she made her statement about four times to nobody in particular) made the casual statement that "We're picking people up in the order of the times that they wanted to be at the airport. You wanted to be there at...5am, so you're fine."

Ha. Take that.

Some random man walked in and gave a name. I pulled it up and began the check out process. Five minutes later (after not really understanding a word of what he was saying due to an extreme accent) I realized that he was not, in fact, Mr. Burrows. And as he was not Mr. Burrows, Mr. Burrows was not therefore checking out. Random man ("Giles")was from the competing shuttle service, Supershuttle there to pick up Mr. Burrows.

One of my pet peeves is when people come up to the desk and just say a name. Example:

"James"

I don't know if this is a first or a last name. I don't know if you want to talk to them. If you are them, are you checking out or in? Did you lose your key and want another one? Maybe you're checking to see if they checked in because you're supposed to meet them. In any case, there is a lesson here:

I cannot read your mind.

And honestly, I don't want to...

Giles took up the mantle of the unwanted lobby guest. Seeing as he arrived at the hotel a full 45 minutes before Mr. Burrows was scheduled to leave, he went ahead making himself at home; first asking if I would call up to his room. (Nooo...I can't even begin to tell you how discourteous that would be. He's probably not up at 5am if he doesn't have to leave until 5:40.) Then Giles wants coffee. (There's no coffee made...I have some decaff here in my pot, but it's tepid right now) Giles takes coffee anyway. Giles sits and tries to make small talk with me while I attempt to catch up on blog reading and happy book.

Another local airporter van comes. Mr. Donald isn't in the lobby, and he's scheduled to go. Mr. Donald isn't answering his room phone. Local Driver and Giles get into a conversation about whose company is better to work for. Local Driver keeps asserting that Supershuttle has a bad business plan because they make their drivers lease or buy their vans. Giles continues to try to convince her that she is wrong.

Upon hearing his convoluted explanation, Redgirl is inclined to believe Local Driver, though she is convinced they both have a few bats flapping about in their belfries.

Local Driver leaves because Mr. Donald isn't there, and won't answer his phone. He can catch the next shuttle. Giles attempts to tell me about the traffic, life as a shuttle driver, and his children who attend the local college. Giles then steals more of my coffee.

Next Local Airporter comes. Mr. Donald is still unresponsive. After 4 calls total, the end of one of them sounds like he tried to pick up but fumbled the phone. Redgirl holds conversation with Local Driver (diff than before) and guest about her responsibility in trying to get ahold of someone (who had from reports been "enjoying the local color" or in other words, liquored up). 2 calls later, Mr. Donald says he'll "be right down."

Team "Try to rouse sloshed man" all wonder what his definition of "be right down is." Helpful guest doesn't want to bet with Redgirl that it won't be under 7 minutes.

Mr. Donald comes down and checks out. Doesn't seem to notice that he is not asked for name or room number, as Redgirl trusts to her nose that it is him.

Giles takes more coffee.

Mr. Burrows shows and Giles leaves. Redgirl rejoices.


She also rejoices in 2 things that always cheers her up:

Asking bleary-eyed guests for their room numbers upon check out. Guest can barely remember their own name, much less a room number. Redgirl likes watching them blink and be confused. She waits to tell them she can use last, or even first name as well.

Telling people leaving the lobby "have a nice trip!" Guest's automatic reaction is to say "you too." This is not applicable, but by the time they realize, they are too far through the door to try to fix it. Redgirl can feel the awkwardness in the air.

And it smells good.

the things people say

Never mind "Kids say the darndest things...."

People do.

You know, those little phrases that pop out of conversations to burrow in your brain. Or when someone just says something to you, completely random and unrelated. Maybe you can think of a time or two. In case you can't, I'll give you some of mine:

Overheard
"Even when I'm home I don't have a life."
-Woman in her 50s

Said to me from the hotel lobby
"My shoelace is untied"

Putah Creek Cafe (*north* end of the table)
"Just stick a knife in it"
-Right after a random pause had silenced the *south* part of the table

Husband to Wife
H: "you always have to contradict me"
W: "I was just trying to reassure you"


"Hook Up Horns...not to be confused with Hooker Horns"

Man walks into the bar, says to strangers:
"Great! Can I bond with you guys?"
Sits down and removes shoes

It's possible you find all these comments perfectly normal. If so, I'll stop writing this blog and just link to yours every day instead.

Ask Not, Unless You Wish to be Told

Hi! (grin) How are you?

Hello (smile) I'm good. And you?

Doin' Great!


Warning! Warning!

Has this ever happened to you? People asking the "how are you" question without really wanting to know how you are. It has become a substitute for the simple hello. Is it a reflection of (what I feel) is our culture's shallowness? Are people asking because they want the appearance of caring or wanting to know how you are? Or are they too caught in the perpetual web of the question-greeting?

I realize my power of rhetoric is quite sad, but I'm curious on your thoughts.

The afore-mentioned Iraqi group had a few members that used the phrase "how are you" in place of "hi" or "hello". Ie, they didn't wait for a response or even seem to expect one. For them, it took the function of a greeting.

But when my boss walks by and says "Hi Redgirl, how are you?" I doubt she wants to know that a car cut me off on the way to work and I'm still shaking from a near-death experience. (bike rider, remember. Being cut off has different connotations for us)

Then there's the answer provided. Below I list some of the acceptable answers to the question:

Great
Fine
Good
Well
Splendid
Stupendous
Exemplary
Bordering on Giddy with happiness

As you can see...once you've used up the staid responses, you either start repeating yourself, or you have to start treading uncharted territory. Then, if you really weren't "blissfully happy with a chance of showers", you might be called upon to explain why you have achieved this level of happiness. Then you have to get into the "well, I'm expecting the email results of my 5 children's paternity tests because my husband says that if any of them aren't his then he is going to divorce me, fake his death, and move to Cambodia" kind of thing. And whose boss is really going to be receptive to things like that? (I know, that dang rhetoric keeps rearing its ugly head)

So...we have the challenge to avoid answering the question without appearing to do so. I offer the following:

Them: Hi! How are you doing?
Me: Hello! It's a lovely day!

Or you can just stop after "hello".

My problem at this point is this:

Them: Hi! How are you doing?
Me: (opens mouth about to answer truthfully with unnecessary information, then realizes she doesn't REALLY care how I'm doing, she just wants the normal "peachy keen!" type answer. frantically tries to decide if she will use the "unrelated question" approach or the "lie with a positive word" approach. Chooses to say "great")

Too late. Door has closed behind person of unnecessary greeting. Greet-ee sits with mouth open like a guppy. Small gnat flies inside mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Writes blog entry to get it out of system.