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

..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?

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.

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.

Anyway.

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)

Eeeew

..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.)

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.

Bike Wars

Not too many moons ago, the Happy Hotel decided to provide bicycles for its oh-so-happy-guests to borrow. The idea is as follows:

The guest decides they would like to ride a bike around our charming town. We tell them that we require a deposit to cover the bike in case they wreck it or don't bring it back (in a suitably charming manner, that is)

Guest decides (A) Ack! too much! or (B) Sure thing :)

I really need a flow chart to pull this off...

If (A), All is Good. If (B), guest fills out waiver (if I kill myself, my family won't sue you) and give their credit card. Guest sees bike. Guest says: (C) "Do I have to ride with those flags promoting your hotel sticking out of the back?" or (D) "Oh yay!! Flags! How exciting!"

If (C), the answer is "yes". Then, (E) guest declines bike, (F) guest accepts bike unhappily or (G) they beg to remove flag. If (E), all is good. If (F), it is good and bad. (how happy, knowing they feel so conspicuous! what revenge!). If (G), we grudgingly let them. After all, the entire point is to promote the hotel.

If (D), (F), or (G), they take the bike out. Then, either (H) they return on time or (I) they do not return, in which case we try their cell phones.

I'm going to stop now because I think you've gotten a feel for the process.

Two amusing anecdotes from today:

"Steve" doesn't seem to be from another country, a country where no one lies, steals or commits low level white collar embezzlement. His English is good with hardly an identifiable accent.

That's why, when I saw him bike off (with difficulty), it was a surprise to myself and the rest of the staff that after unlocking his bike from its u-lock with the key provided, he proceeded to bike off, having securely locked the u-lock....to the hand railing.

He took the key with him, so one presumes...well....one doesn't know what to presume. Maybe he didn't intend on stopping, or put more trust than I do in the local inhabitants.

***

"Brian" saw people merrily tromping around in helmets with happy grins on their faces. He just knew that soon those white shining teeth would be plastered with squashed gnats while traveling at speeds up to 15 mph on the local bike trails.

He wanted a piece of that action.

In his mid 60's and reasonably hale, he figured he could handle one of those wheeled broncos.

Brian: "I'd like to see about one of those bikes"

Me: "Ok. While they are complementary, we do ask for a $$$ deposit to cover the cost of the bike if you keep riding into the sunset *cheerful laugh*" (nicer way of saying "to cover your possible theft or if you end up wrecking b/c you have no earthly clue how to ride")

Brian: *tries to stare me down* "$$$!!! That's quite a bit...."

Me: *smiles* "It's just an authorization that will be released upon the bike's return."

Brian: *glares* "That's too much." *leaves*

(In the interim, 3 ladies came and wanted bikes. Out of my six, I had three left. I happily and gleefully gave them to them. I had a hunch that...)

Brian comes back up. "I'd like to go ahead and get a bike."

Me: *respectfully apologetic* "I'm so sorry sir, but the remaining 3 bikes were just taken out. They'll be back in two to four hours...?"

Brian: *gives unhappy snort and walks away*

Audit for the rest of the week!

And you know what that means....more odd posts that have nothing to do with reality :)

Onward Into the Fray

Hotel full tonight with a combo of a Finnish Choir (try pronouncing anything it that language) and (I think) Ultimate Frisbee competitors.

"Ultimate" competitors rather. Frisbee got upset at the "copyright violation".

Last year, it was bad. Writhing masses of people screaming and yelling and getting drunk and falling into the pool and throwing up (and making lots of noise). This year? Better, in that all these things happened at about an 8 rather than a 10.

Point is; it's loud, but we keep an eye on it. When it gets to a certain time, or we feel it has gone out of control, we shoo them out. At that point, they're usually so drunk that they docilely respond like sheep and tromple off in a shambling herd to the streets in search of more booze, pizza, and booze.

This year, we did drink tickets. This altered the mood sufficiently that Miss. I Love Tequila Sunrises found her way to the bathroom beFORE fertilizing the potted palm.

Mr. I'm Not Staying At the Hotel came to buy drink tickets and attempted to chat me up.

Or rather, he did chat me up. The fact that I didn't buy into it did not mean that he did the deed.

It started with the clique:

Dude: "Redgirl? What a nice name..."

Me: (smiles)

Dude: (more inane stuff) "So...when do you get off?"

Me: "Eleven" (knows that by the time 11 hits, he'll be well on his way to being drunk and won't know Christopher Eccleston from David Tennant)

Dude: (knows this too, but still trying to be coy) "Aah, but the real question is, what are you doing for Easter?" (tomorrow)

Me: (sad, fake smile) "Working..."

What did he think I was going to say?

"Gosh golly! I'm off! We should, like, TOTally do something! What's your name, by the way? We could, you know, hunt eggs or something together *wink*"

(and I'm going to stop there, b/c you know I could take that too far for a reasonably PG-13 rated blog...)

Probably another post tonight; I just *know* this won't end quietly...

Selective Hearing

It was tournament weekend.

Volleyball tournament weekend.

I had a team from a state university checking in little by little. Every few hours, a car with a few more players would trickle in. I was just waiting until the coach person came to sign the paperwork.

At 10:30pm:

Woman with a number of girls come in.

Me: Are you Some State Volleyball?

Her: Yes, that's us!

Me: So are you the one who has the credit card for the team and will sign the paperwork?

Her: Yes, I am the ONE to do all that

Me: Ok....

I get her credit card, auth it for the $1,200 (roughly) for Some State Volleyball team and have her sign the registration card....which has "Some State Volleyball" printed as the name of the group. When it's all done, I put the last 5 rooms worth of keys on the desk:

Her: Oh! We only have ONE room!

Me: You said you were Some State Volleyball????

Her: Ah ha ha...I guess I only heard the word "Volleyball". Last name is Hwang...

I just pulled out the proper reg card, had her sign it and gave her the one room key set. Didn't bother telling her how much I had auth'd her card for.

I mean really....I had asked every question, done it ALL. There's only so much a (red)girl can do.....

Bug-Eyed and Twitchy

It all starts with a smile, a laugh.

Little do you know the horror that lurks 'round the proverbial corner.

That's right. Nice Ms. Jones turns into passive-aggressive Ms. Hyde and you find guerrilla warfare on you hands.

Not wanting you, the gentle reader to stain your hands with your own blood, dribbling out through holes punched in your abdoman by barbed words, I am going to give you tips and clues. You need to know who...or what you're dealing with.

Let's get started.

It's the quiet ones that get you. Remember back to her? They start out quiet...and then

BAM

I'll use a recent example to explain.

Last week, I got a call from a woman for a reservation. The first tip-off that things would take a turn for the worse was when she had the wrong information about our rates. Let's call her Patty. Patty was a BET of the first order (Bug Eyed and Twitchy). When I got done establishing that merely because someone gave her the wrong information did not necessitate me honoring it, I was only on the first relay.

Redgirl's Tip #1

BETs will let you win a battle at the beginning in order to soften you up for the main assault. They want you to think that they're nice and reasonable when in fact they're trying to put you off guard.

Patty read off her credit card number for me. I couldn't tell if it was tax exempt, so I asked her for confirmation:

Patty: I'm a federal employee, of course I'm tax exempt.

Me: Do you have a tax exempt credit card?

Patty: Yes, but I don't like to carry it with me

Me: Okay, well just make sure to bring it this time, because that's the only way we can avoid charging you tax

Patty: I have a problem with carrying credit cards, so I'm going to pay with something else (like what exactly? frogs? bales of wool?)

Me: I have the forms, but the City of *Danville* makes us charge tax unless that credit card is used.

Redgirl's Tip #2

Trying to cite a higher authority such as the City is a good idea. It's a bloody great idea in fact. Except it doesn't work with a BET. BETs then lump you in with this "higher authority" and threaten a firestorm on you all.

Patty: Your CITY says that? Well, that's just wrong. I'm a federal employee. It's illegal to charge me tax! (oh goody, the illegal card)

Me: Well, I'm sure you could speak to a manager about that....

Patty: Yes. I'll talk to a manager when I get there. Do you have internet?

Me: We have wireless...(realizes she's checking in on a Sunday... a day I get to work) Ma'am, are you sure you wouldn't rather talk to a manger now? Get it sorted before you get--

Patty: I don't have time. *click*

Redgirl's Tip #3

BETs will want to speak to a manager at some point. Even if they don't end up doing it, they will say it in an ill-fated attempt to frighten you. Be not afraid. They're only trying to mess with you. Remember, victory is yours in the end. If you show cowardace though, and waver, I will have no pity. Calm, and with a healthy dose of aggressive politeness. (don't know what this is? I may have blogged about it before...)

I spoke with a senior collegue about it to double-check my knowledge on the subject. Not only was I right, but we had a happy leaflet from the city's codes and ordinances to prove it. (Score a point for Redgirl!) I alert all staff about the future guest and wait for Sunday.

Sunday dawns bright and cold.

I'm guessing about this, because I'm rarely up to see the dawn >:D

A lady comes up to check in. She is thin, with protruding eyes of a bug-like quality. Her face is scored with expressive lines. She wears a disarming smile. "Checking in?" I say with a pleasant expression. "Yes" she says, "Jones. Patty Jones." (Shaken, not stirred)

Redgirl's Tip #4

As the name describes, BETs are bug-eyed and twitchy. Bug-eyed because their eyes are open to the fullest in order to convey to the hapless clerk their disbelief in the utter rip off which is being perpetrated. They are twitchy, and therefore thin...their bodies reduced to starvation mode as their mouths open to exude castigation rather than intake helpful nutrients. Plus, I'm guessin' it takes a lot of energy to always care that much about what slights are being done to you. Just sayin'.

It was her.

Me: Oh hi! I think I spoke with you on the phone!

Patty: Hello there...

Me: I just need a credit card and ID

Patty: (gives debit card) And the tax exemption form?

Me: (I hand her the memo) You can fill it out, but I can't guarantee--

Patty: (has glanced at the appropriate paragraph) I see. (lips pursed) I'll take that tax exempt form. The Department of (Nimbshwabbles) will have a thing or two to address about that.

Me: (smiles, checks her in)

Patty: And your Internet?

Me: I have the wireless code here...

Patty: I can't use wireless...government computer.

Me: One lady with that problem hooked up to the cable in our business center..

Patty: (gives me condescending look) I'll be in my pajamas. I'll not want to be down here.

I discussed the situation with the colleague mentioned previously. Her plot is to get you to agree or sympathize with some part of what she has said. Then the argument is turned around so that you agreed with her, when it never happened.

Redgirl's Tip #5

Keep the issue on track. When she plays the "you have credit cards, so you understand" ploy, you can agree...if you want. But whatever you do, bring it back to the original issue. "I apologize ma'am but I am unable to exempt you without that specific card". Hold firm.

Redgirl's Tip #6

The above conversation has been edited for your convenience. After being subtly threatened with suing, the clerk in question may be concerned. Not so! With the next three days off, and the next people on all aware of the situation, the clerk must merely get the guest checked in. That's your job. That's it! After that, it's someone else's problem.

Remember, you can only do this in good conscience if they are made aware of the situation, and that you did everything you could do.

I'm sure she'll find out at some point that there aren't any cable connections in the room.

But I won't be there.

Got tips for dealing with passive aggressive people? Share!

All About Priority

Norine was a small woman, petite and dressed to run even though it was cold out. Her demeanor was perky...that annoying kind of perky that makes you want to start yanking ponytails while cackling "I just killed a cute little puppy".

Ever so luckily, I was at the right hand computer that day. This may not mean much to you, but the right hand computer is the one who's counter top is partially obscured by some fake snowy pine branches and other Christmas paraphernalia. This means that when a guest...Norine...comes up to take on a receptionist in an intense battle of verbal skillz, she'll go to the computer on the left, where sat my illustrious co-worker. This co-worker is different than "greengirl" who dealt with spoon man in happy naivete. This is the battle-hardened warrior of the front desk. With steel for her eyes, we'll call her graygirl.

Norine's perkiness soon revealed itself as in reality a forced cheeriness designed to get her what she wanted.

Namely, a different room.

"When I checked in, you told me that first floor was all that was available then, and I still don't like it. I'm not comfortable there" she said. Obvious in her statement was that she checked in before official check in time, and even when told it would have to be first floor, went ahead and checked in. Now you want to complain about it? Get in line, Norine, get in line.

Graygirl: I can check, but I'll need to see if housekeeping has time to clean your room

Norine: What?! I just put my stuff on the bed! I didn't do anything!

Graygirl: Nonetheless, I'll need to check.

Norine: *grumbles and complains*

While Graygirl is checking with housekeeping, Norine does something that annoying people do but don't seem to realize. (or if they do, they don't care) She continues to make her case for moving rooms while Graygirl is trying to do something about it.

It's like she doesn't trust that it won't get done unless she constantly affirms the fact she deserves it.

Which actually doesn't do anything but make her annoying.

Sample from the bombarding verbiage:

"Well, there's people that haven't checked in yet, can't I have one of their room? After all, we're all part of the same group so we should have equal priority."

"And I'm with the people who are paying for the rooms, so I should have priority over them!"

It was like she had just learned the word priority and somehow got points for every time she managed to use it in a sentence.

And if I may remind you Norine, you didn't seem to care when you checked in...

"I'm not comfortable on the first floor"

This statement in it of itself isn't the issue, it's that she neglected to continue. In my experience, if people aren't comfortable to the point they need to move, they aren't hesitant in the least in telling you why. In fact, they fall over themselves telling you why because it's so important to them. It's kind of like the "where do the girls go?" man. First I'll need to finish his story though.

When we left off, I was wiping my hand increasingly on my pants to get the feel of clammy off.

The next day, he comes up the the front desk.

Him: My room smells like paint...did you just paint in there? I need to move.

Me: We did paint rather recently for our renovations. I can definitely move you, and I apologize for the smell. (I begin to make keys for him)

Him: Oh! Well, I don't need to switch now...maybe tomorrow morning...

Me: ??!! Okay...

It's obvious what was happening here. Any ideas class? Ah, the young lady in the back!

"He was just trying to see if you remembered."

Exactly. If the paint was enough of a problem that he "needed" to move, he would need to do it right away--not wait a day or too. He must have been trying to gauge my reaction, and I hopefully convinced him it was all a symptom of his boozy, liver-failure-inducing mind.

Point being, it's not hard for me to figure out if your words are being used for purposes other that what is explicitly stated.

And a self important sham has no priority.

Please Don't Put That in Your Mouth

The day after Thanksgiving, it was like magic. Wreaths tacked onto walls, fake poinsettia trees set out, garlands hung, then falling, then hung again....


For the love of it all, please wait until at least December before hanging anything!


The one decoration I do greet with open arms every year is what replaces our little pebble bowl.


The pebble bowl is...hard to describe. (lemme go find a pic I think I have on facebook) Ok, here you go:
Kinda small, I know, but the best I could do. It is a green leaf shaped dish with little gray/black polished pebbles in it. Kind of attractive in a quirky sort of way.





When Christmas comes, the pebble dish is replaced by the bowl of small ornaments. It looks similar to this ... though the ornaments are smaller than these.
Here's what happens:

Person walks by. Little bowl of bright red things catches their eye. There's that little hitch in their stride as they pause to see if they are....edible.

Yup, that's right.

They look surprisingly like little chocolates. Upon occasion, someone will actually pick one up. It's rather hilarious.

Conversation heard today:

Man: (exhibits action described above) Oh! I thought they were chocolates!
Daughter: Me too! Every time I walk by, I think they are and I check....
Me: (Smiles while thinking success!!)

When one of the owners was in putting all the decorations up, she was going to put the little bowl of multi-colored bead strings on the table in front of reception, but I convinced her to put the ornaments there instead--leaving out personal gratification (and downright glee) as a justifiable reason. Instead, I used the following example:

There I was, MMOB** and a mother and her daughter were passing through the lobby. The daughter proceeds to pick up the little ornaments and begin hanging them by their little wires on her backpack. "Ma'am?" I say, polite in that little way I have, "Ma'am? Your daughter seems to be taking the little ornaments."

She turns and gets a load of little Jenny decimating the ornament population. "Jenny!" she says, with mild enthusiasm, "Don't take those!" She turns back to the desk in time to miss completely Jenny's absolute rejection of her words evidenced by the theft of another ornament. "She's still taking them" I say apologetically to the mother who's child obviously never listens.

MOJ (mother of Jenny) goes and drags Jenny away from the temptations. She makes as if to leave.

One problem though.

"M'am?" I say, "I'll need those back." I point to the 6 or so ornaments dangling from the mesh pocket of her backpack. MOJ bend to try to take them off, but Jenny has crimped those wire hanger-thingys down pretty good. She manages to get one of them off, then looks up at me. "They're stuck. Can't she just..."

Me: Let me see what I can do (I start prying them off. I know what she wanted me to say: Oh, she can just keep them. U-uh)

I finally get them all off and back in their dish where they belong. About 10 minutes later, Jenny comes back. She saunters over to the dish, and then turns to check if I'm watching her. She sees that I am, but still starts to take one. I walk over. "You can't take that" I say. "Why not?" she asks. She honestly seems to have no idea. "They're not yours. It would be stealing." She looks at me uncomprehendingly (she's about 6 or 7) and starts to reach for it again. "No." I say. She puts it back and leaves.

Strange.

And just to finish this off, I (just now!!) saw some guy do the walk-by...and then actually pick one up and then almost trip over his own feet in an effort to return it when he realized it wasn't chocolate.

Then the quick look to see if anybody noticed.

This is a message for all of you. Ready?

Someone always notices.

And they're laughing at you.


**Minding My Own Business

Women Behaving....Like Cougers!

Hmm...why am I feeling so prolific today? Posting what will probably be 4 posts in 24 hours?

It might be because my famfam came to visit today and I had the most epic cal zone.

Possibly because I feel free tomorrow, and don't have a (scheduled) shift.

Even more likely, I got 2 yards entered on Life's Highway Game and got a whopping 2 points--SQUEE!! (my first points ever...mostly for lack of trying)

Or maybe it's because I have a new regular that I look forward to sharing with you all frequently: Leopard Lady.

Leopard Lady was just going to be a nice add-on to the previous post; a way of introducing her because I just *know* there will be future snippits. But then the rest of the evening happened.

So now, in order to do my true duty to all you faithful readers, I shall start from the beginning :)

A couple of weeks ago, a woman in leopard-print checked in; now to be further known as Millie. She was blond, classy looking, around 50/55, and loaded with that sort of chunky jewelry you can tell is expensive. Problem was, she already seemed kinda out of it. As in tipsy.

As in drunk. ....though older. and more blond.

Which was strange...considering she hadn't been to our free bar yet. But OK. What evs. Let's call the 30-year-old bartender "Dave". Dave wants to be a pilot, and it getting his hours in. Poor Dave was actually excited to have a hopefully well tipping evening (bartenders work for min. wage + tips). Once Millie showed up though, it didn't matter.

She was smitten with Dave.

And I mean smitten.

As far as I, Redgirl, could tell; they were having a perfectly happy conversation for those two hours. But as Dave began leaving the bar, Millie followed him.

Dave: I'm clocking out...

Millie: OK.. (follows)

Dave: (uuuh....not quite what I meant....)


So, from a co-worker who witnessed it (Greengirl, actually) and Dave himself, I know know what happened. Millie followed him out while he clocked out. She followed him back *into* the bar when he returned the key. Then followed him back out to the parking lot. Then put her hand on his arm to *steady herself*. Then attempted to follow him down to his car.

I'm not sure how he lost her.

If you happen to be reading this, "Dave", I'd like to know ;P

Dave later told me that she had had but two white wines....not nearly enough to do any damage. Her condition appears to be Millie-as-lightweight + Millie-already-drunk = Millie-more-drunk.


Fast-forward to this weekend:

She has been in the hotel Saturday night, but it was too crowded (see previous post) for any real goodies. I see her approach the door with her arms full of bags.

Her: Oh! I forgot my car keys

Me: Not a problem. You can leave your stuff her and grab them. I'll keep an eye on it.

Her: Thanks! (then sees Dave walking up to clock in...makes detour towards front door again) Hey..!

Dave: Hi.... (he grabs key to clock in)

Millie: I've got to put some stuff in the car...follows him, though hands are empty. (I'm imagining a scene where she sees her car and makes a bit deal about how she "didn't know" she'd "forgotten her car keys".)

Bar starts up. Dave acts normal. Millie flirts with him. Chick Millie has met the day before with a Milwaukee accent (Iris) is now fast friends with her. New woman (Lindsay) is there with her two adult children...but only *she* is taking a place in the convo.

The following seeped through from Iris: "I just can't live with college boys...I can't be the cougar on campus."

Heh heh heh.

Millie has to leave for some party or other. Finally, Dave ends up leaving (his shift is over).

While he is gone, both Iris and Lindsay have an intense discussion. They both agree that while Dave is young enough to be their son, that he is is cute, attractive, desirable, worth taking up on if "certain offers were presented" and just downright sexy.

'Twas all I, Redgirl, could do not to laugh.

Millie literally jogs in her heels back in the bar.

Millie: Did he go clock out?

Iris: (Lindsay is over with her kids) Yup, he ran out at 7:15...

Millie: Darn (she has missed him...and is sad) He ran...?

Iris: Yes, he ran for his girl. The one he talked about liking.

Millie: Did he propose??!!! (alarm, shock)

Iris: Last night, he told me he was halfway there...--he's smitten

Millie: Oh, I see. While, you should be at least glad you notice these things


They both end up taking it out to a bar in the nearby area. I have alerted "Dave" to the dangers in his situation. Have urged him to take out Cougar insurance.

He would if he could find a place they were selling the kind he needed.


:D

KK...so it seems like no one is able to identify the show playing...Look closely! It's Dr. Who in his second face! Click on the picture! Examine his clothing! Make a hypothesis!

And no, there are quite a few more rabbits/hares/bunny-wunnies/jackrabbits than 3.

Drifting Tidbits

I'm sitting here at my desk, MMOBAU (minding my own business as usual...soon I'll have to come up with a list of personal acronyms), and the bar is certainly lively tonight!

Last night, it was full of the college home team families along with the opposing families all in town for a game. So loud that I just imagined a war was taking place, and as long as it didn't spill out into accorded neutral territory, I would assume there was a treaty in place. As I sat there reading my tasty Dick Francis Novel, a woman came up:

"How can you READ in this?"

I just replied I was used to it. And so I am.

But on nights like this, when I forget a book, blogs are still sitting annoyingly on yesterday's post, and the shakespeare troupe refuses to check in when I want them to, I cast my ears about for the sounds of the evening.

Mother to her 3-4 year old son: Austin, so do you have girly parts? (she's not joking folks..she was being kinda mean)

Austin: uuuhh...?

Mother: you know, girly parts. Do you have any?

Hehehe. I fear for today's youth. No boy has "girly parts" unless:
A) Tranny!
B) Klinefelter's Syndrome (XXY)
C) A Delusional Schitzophrenic**
D) and...um...every guy. b/c the X chromosome is technically "girly" and we all have them >:D

**such that a female believes she is a male...thus a male having "girly parts"

But anyway. Moving on.

Before I tell you about women behaving badly, I'd like to share about a man. A man who *thought* he was being smarmily manipulative. I'll give him smarmy, but the question remains, if you know someone is trying to manipulate you, can you really say that they are then?

So, I'm just sitting at my desk, MMOBAU and reveling in the relative silence, and a man comes up.

Him: I need plates, forks and knives...like for take out. (pauses...maybe sees something in my face...) It would really mean a lot to me .... and my wife...we have a room here...on the third floor (Like I care *where* his room is)

Me: I have sporks in the back...but you're welcome to see if there's any plates and cutlery set out in the breakfast room.... (The restaurant should have provided you with those)

**Well, I meant him to "check the breakfast room for things left out". Instead, he grabs my poor maintenance man and gives him the entire sob story. I can't exactly holler out "Only what's out! Don't get him anything special!", so while my guy is checking, I hear the following phone conversation:

"Honey, I'm not mad at you. (pause) Look, I took care of it. I took care of everything. (pause) Can you just grab the wine and pull out the plug? (huh?) Yeah, just pull the plug out so it can air--oh. Cork. (rofl) I just want you to know I'm not mad-- (pause) I'm waiting for the silverware!!!"

Apparently, he gets what he wants, then comes over to me to let me know that "that man" should get a raise.

Huh?

Get a raise for catering to your crazy whims? I think not...

Kay, so I think lengthwise, I need to post the women version separately.

Time to Get Down and Dirty: Inside-Out Girls

Ok Folks!

Prepare yourselves. Things are about to get skanky.

What flavor of skanky you ask?

Trollop flavored!

Let's get down to business (It's business tiiime!!).....*ahem*


It was the Friday before Halloween...anticipation in the air...candy in little chillin's pockets as they swarmed the down town area.

I hate having to dodge pedestrians with my bike.

I get to work and find out that today is "businesses hand candy out to kids" day. Great. At this point in my life, I'm not really liking the idea of kids so much. And I was in a bad mood. That is my excuse for the following exchange:

Me: It's candy day? Ug.

(male co-worker, boss, and lady from accounting are all standing there looking at me)

Boss: Yes. You get to hand it out (smirks)

Me: Great. Tweeny tweakers. I'm just gonna shove the bowl in their face and say 'take your candy and beat it, little b*st*rds'

Co-Worker: Woah...someone's not ready for work today

(they all laugh at me)

Me: Grrrr (leaves to go change)

I change out, pants, shirt, tie, and vest. I pop back in, smile flashing. Lady-from-accounting's kid is now there, in costume.

Me: Hi! You must be after my trick-or-treat bowl! (he nods dumbly) Well aren't you just the most precious thing! Here you are!

(They are all laughing at me...*sniff*)

Me: (after the kid runs out) See? All I do is put the tie on and happiness springs forth unfettered from my mouth. It's a magic tie.

In my defense, Spoon Man was due to arrive the following day, so I was a bit trepidatious. I was also training the new night auditor in day procedures. I do not normally train. We had an arrivals list of epic proportions. I would not get to read my book.

But the magic tie hides it all.

The first team of high school girl's water polo checked in. We'll call them "Mountain High". They were tired and relatively quiet, and each took ONE piece of the candy sitting out. Then Valley High water polo showed up.

Or should I say, Valley High and parents showed up. And like cicadas, my lobby filled with screeching, scantily clad banshees who promptly finished off the candy. They were still in their water polo swimsuits...which is not really appropriate for a hotel lobby. But OK. I'll let it pass.

They left (thank goodness) and I went back to training. Mainly by pointing after them saying "See that? THAT's why the Annex building is nice. And that's why I put them there."

Her: *nods comprehendingly*

The parents were easily identifiable by their matching sweatshirts. I'm going to choose orange and white as Valley High's colors. The parents are mostly in the main building.

Then.

Valley High comes back (after changing). I'm going to paint a picture for you now. Close your eyes.

Wait.

Don't

Pretend you are closing your eyes. Imagine an average high school student. Attractive. Athletic....*Developed* lol. (because they are it seems like these days) Now put her in short running shorts. Now put on a basic t-shirt with Valley High Water Polo emblazoned on it.

Got it? Good.

Now put panties of your choosing over the top of those shorts....the scantier the better. And put a brassiere on top of the shirt fastened very firmly. And as for the rules...it has to be as risque as possible.

I give you....the Skanky Trollop!


It was worse than you can imagine. Trust me on this. Aaand. Each girl had a piece of paper written on hotel stationary that read "inside out!".

I guess it was some bizarre Halloween costume. I was just waiting until their parents saw them.

But their parents seemed proud of their little Skanky Trollops.

I mean, I know that I, myself, tend towards more modesty than mainstream society does. I recognize this, so I have my personal line that I won't cross, but am in no way judging those who are a little less modest or revealing.

But these girls showed no decorum in dress, attitude or behavior.

So they leave. Mountain High comes up to get something, and I hear one of the girls say to her teammate "Did you see that other team? So classy...."

I turned towards her: "I couldn't agree more" and then we all laughed. See, even their contemporaries thought it just a bit too far out there...

The evening progresses. I don't see much more of Mountain High....but Valley High makes up for it. The took my bar chairs out and began having "rolling contests" on my marble floor.

Me: Put the chairs back in the bar

Them: Huh?

Me: The chairs need to go back in the bar...NOW

Them: Why?

Me: Safety concerns (I love it! So vague...)

Them: What if we don't?

Me: I will send someone to kick you out of the bar


Strangely enough, following that, they all wanted to be my friend. (Can anyone say....desperate for an authority figure in their life?) One of the mothers had witnessed part of this, and seemed proud that her daughter "was a rebel...I bet you can tell where she gets it!" *simper*

Later, when one of the girls ran through my lobby with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc under her arm giggling wildly, I didn't care. It's not my job to babysit. I was just .... disgusted. I asked myself why they would turn out that way...little brats....skanky trollops. Then I heard chanting in the breakfast room. All of their parents were getting as drunk as possible as quickly as possible, to the point that a bottle of beer exploded and my GM was forced to intervene.

I realized. They couldn't help it. It was in their genes.

They need to work on their street smarts though...when I called the room check in for a parent (who wanted to go to a bar rather than keep an eye on them), they told me the truth. "Oh, there's EIGHT of us in here!" Me: "Thanks!" Thinking: you should have lied....

Because apparently, we're all friends now.

Guurkgleluurk