Cain't play wit you no more.

They're backkkkkkkk. Ladies and gentlemen the DNR Boys have arrived at the hotel once again to make life just a little bit more entertaining.

Thus far in the Boys' stay I haven't had to bake extra cookies. This is partly due to the fact that we have been baking about thirty-six cookies each day and putting them out later than normal, but also largely a result of there being fewer young guys than normal (and thus, fewer boys who are apt to badger/charm baked goods out of me). Of course, now that some of the DNR Boys are repeating their stay with us they are becoming much more comfortable and familiar with the staff (i.e. mainly those of us on the later shifts).

Last night, I was hard at work watching Glee in the conference room. During a critical DOES NO ONE BELIEVE IN MONOGAMY?!?! moment, five of the DNR Boys arrived, well fed and watered from dinner. One of the ones from last time, Calvin*, immediately called out to me. "Georgia! There are only two cookies left!" I heard the plastic cookie-roof open and close. "That's because you guys ate them all," I called back. "Man," one of the other four groaned as I walked into the lobby, "he done took the last two cookies."

"That's alright," Calvin said, his mouth stuffed with cookie, "Georgia'll make us some more."

"This isn't a restaurant," I said, "you can't just order food and I'm going to give it to you."

"Aw, come on, girl," Calvin moaned, "there's only two cookies left!"

"That's because you guys ate them all!"

"You gotta Easy Bake Oven back there?"

"What?"

"An Easy Bake Oven. How y'all make these cookies? Ya bake 'em back there?" He gestured behind the counter.

"We have, like, a professional Easy Bake Oven."

"A professional Easy Bake Oven?" one of the cookie-lacking men repeated. I made a rectangular shape in the air. "It's about that big and we just bake them."

"You gonna bake some more?" Calvin asked, devouring the second (and last) cookie.

"I have to ration out the cookies when you guys are here. We only get a certain amount every few weeks and you're going to run us dry!"

"Can I see where you bake 'em? I wanna see where the cookie magic happens."

In an effort to distract Calvin's cookie-requests I took him into the back office where all my stuff was not so neatly laid out. He commented on nearly everything he saw and then asked where the cookie sheets were stored. I opened the oven and showed him the three racks. He grabbed one and placed it on top of the oven. "So what would ya do next?" he asked.

"I am not going to let you trick me into preparing cookies for you guys!"

"Aw come on, Georgia, just a dozen more cookies. You ain't baked that many to begin with."

"I baked thirty-six!" He looked surprised. "When you guys come," I continued, "we bake three trays worth of cookies each day."

"Come on, girl," he said, holding up the empty baking sheet, "just twelve more cookies just for us."

"Cookies??" One of his buddies came bounding around the corner. "Are there cookies??" he asked excitedly.

"She's gonna bake us some more," Calvin replied.

"What? No one agreed to any cookie baking!" I said.

"We only need twelve more cookies." Calvin looked at his buddy for reassurance. "Ain't that right?"

"Yeah, just twelve more cook --" The friend stopped suddenly and assumed one of those innocent positions a young child gets when he knows he's broken something valuable. "Ma'am," he said, playing up his Georgia accent, "we would be much obliged if you would bake us some more cookies, ma'am."

Dammit.

"Fine," I said, snatching the baking sheet from Calvin, "twelve more cookies. Do not tell ANYONE."

"Oh no, ma'am," the cookie wing-man said.

Now, I'm normally pretty dense when it comes to realizing someone is hitting on me so it should really say something that I could tell Calvin was chatting me up as I prepared their batch of cookies. He asked me everything about myself from where I was born, how I ended up on the island, to whether or not I wanted to be the manager of a hotel one day. I told him I was only at this job to make some money before hopefully moving to Chicago soon.

"Why Chicago?" Calvin asked.

"My family's from there," I said, placing the frozen dough balls on the cookie sheet, "and I went to school a few hours away in Michigan."

"High school?"

"College graduate, thank you very much."

"Uh-huh, what you graduate in?"

"English with writing."

"Uh-huh, that's what I figured."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Yeah, girl. I could tell you was smart and talented." He smirked as I slid the cookie sheet into the oven and closed the glass door. "How long ya think those'll take?" he asked.

"About twenty minutes."

"So I'll come back down in twenty minutes?"

I nodded.

"Alright, girl. Twenty minutes and I'll be back down for those cookies." He tipped his baseball cap as he walked out the door. "Love ya, meant it, Georgia!"

A few minutes later the phone rang. The code told me it was coming from In House. "Those cookies ready yet?" a familiar voice asked as soon as I answered. I looked at the timer in my hand. "You've got sixteen more minutes."

"It's only been four minutes?!"

"Yep."

"Y'all got a slow-ass timer!"

"YOU have no patience."

"Alright, girl, alright. Sixteen more minutes. Hey, when do ya get off work?"

"Eleven."

"Ya wanna come up here when ya get off and split a bottle of Jim Beam with me and the boys?"

"Tempting. I'll have to get back to you on that. Check back with me around eleven."

"Ya gonna get plans between now and eleven?"

"Possibly. I'm a pretty busy person."

"Alright, Georgia, that's cool, that's cool. Sixteen minutes, yeah?"

"Sixteen minutes."

"Alright. I'll see ya in sixteen minutes."

I'm not gonna lie -- part of me realllly wanted to take him up on his Jim Beam offer just for the hilarity of the whole event. The other part of me said, "You're not exactly single and that could possibly backfire." There are also security cameras all around and, with my luck, something would happen to cause the managers to have to look at the tapes the next day and there I would be -- in all my frequently-makes-poor-life-decisions glory. (Truth be told, however, the not being single thing was the biggest factor. If not for that I totally would have gone up just in hopes of gathering more writing material.)

I went back to the conference room to continue watching the end of Glee. Suddenly, another DNR boys came racing into the room. He stopped short when he saw me and gave an embarrassed smile. "Did you need something?" I asked. "I'm hiding," he whispered. He put his index finger to his lips and tiptoed to the edge of the door. I could hear footsteps in the distance as he peered cautiously around the corner and then darted back inside. After a few moments the footsteps disappeared and the DNR guy, Runner, crab-walked out of the room. "You didn't see me," he whispered before darting around the corner.

While I waited for the cookies to finish I chatted online with one of my best friends, Eve*. I told her about getting the drinking offer from the DNR Boys and Eve asked what region they were because she might know them. It was then that I suddenly remembered that Eve's father is very high up in the DNR chain-of-command. I asked for his exact title. "Colonel," she replied. "He's their boss." Well isn't that a coincidence!

On the dot, twenty minutes from when I first placed the raw dough in the oven, Calvin came waltzing into the back office. I was just beginning to place the warm cookies in their plastic container. "No no no," Calvin said. I froze. "Don't put them in there. I'll just put 'em in some bags and take 'em up." He grabbed the cookie out of my hand. As he did, he noticed a ring on my finger -- a bejeweled owl. "Damn, girl, you got some bling!"

"It's my new ring. I just got it a few weeks ago."

"Where'd you get it?" He dropped his cookie to hold my finger.

"Atlanta."

"Yeah? Where in Atlanta?"

"Decatur."

"Yeah? What were ya doin' there?"

"Visiting some friends."

"Yeah?" He continued to study the shiny object.

"Yep..." I knew the conversation wouldn't present a better opportunity than this so I decided to give my new found information a go. "Actually, I know a friend of yours in Atlanta, too."

Calvin had gone back to filling his cookie sacks. "Uh-huh, who dat?"

"Bart Smith*."

Calvin paused ever so slightly in his diligent packing. "I don't know him."

"No? Bart? Aren't you DNR Law Enforcement?"

"Yep."

"And you don't know Bart? Are you sure?"

"Yep. I don't know Bart."

"Huh." I went to the register to make change for a twenty dollar bill he had handed me earlier. When I came back around the corner Calvin was filling a second bag. "So," he said, sliding the next cookie into place, "sayin' I do know Bart...how do YOU know Bart?"

"I'm best friends with his daughter."

"Oh yeah?" I swear he got a twinkle in his eye. "Who's his daughter?" he asked like someone conducting an interrogation.

"Eve Smith."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, girl, okay. I'll give ya that."

"So you do know Bart?"

"'Course I know Bart. He d'Boss-man. 'Course I know 'em. That how we end up at this hotel? You our connection?"

"Nope. Total coincidence. I've only been here for about four months."

"Okay, okay. Yep, I know Bart. He d'COLONEL!" Calvin finished stuffing the last cookie into his bag. "Well, girl, it's been fun, but I cain't play wit you no more."

"Whattttt?"

"You been fun and I like ya, but I cain't play wit you no more. You know the boss-man. Uh-huh. You's offfffff limits!"

"Awww, I'm sorry."

"Me too, girl, me too."

And with that, Calvin tipped his cookie bags at me, asked when I worked next and left. It didn't take long for me to relay this entire episode to Eve who then promptly told her father, who laughed for a solid ten minutes. I was asked for Calvin's name and the last I heard was that Bart was going to "mess with them" and tell their trainer this whole story (using the code word "cookie").

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful in comparison to that comedic event. Towards the end of my shift an incredibly drunk guy wobbled in and attempted to get a severely discounted rate. After he agreed to the best discount I could offer him he stumbled outside to get his ID and then his SUV backed away. I heard a "thump" and worried that the SUV had hit a parked car (more importantly MY car, which was in the space closest to the building). A few moments later Runner walked in and I asked him if the SUV had left. He said that it had parked and the occupants were walking towards the building. "Fantastic," I said, unenthusiastically.

"You gotta bad feeling about them?" Runner asked.

"No. Just not really wanting to deal with all that."

"You want me to stand here and look all intimidatin'? Show 'em I can rough 'em up if they give ya any problems."

I told him it was fine and there was nothing to worry about. When the three men entered, Runner hid around a corner where only I could see him and pretended to take a fighting-stance. The three guys were no trouble at all, but just very very sleazy and every time the oldest one brought up dropping the room price by $40+ Runner would jab at the air with his fists.

Ohhhhhh how I love DNR Law Enforcement Week!

The Tale of the Cookie Nabbers

At Fort Frederica there were these certain days we would look forward to once every six months -- FLETC training days. FLETC (typically pronounced "f-let-see," or "flea-tech" if you're a nerd) stands for Federal Law Enforcement Training Centre. This training centre, located in Brunswick, is one out of only two in the United States (I think the other one is in Texas). FLETC is important for the normal government reasons of training Secret Service Agents, Homeland Security, NCIS, and various other federal law enforcement positions, but what they are really known for around here (at least among the women and gay men in the area) are FLETC boys. These are the boys that would make all women at Fort Frederica, no matter age or marital status, suddenly appear from behind their desks, attentive as ever as the muscular, buzzed cut men escorted "dignitaries" around the park site.

Surprisingly, the Inn has days equivalent to these anxiously awaited for FLETC training days: DNR Law Enforcement Week. Yes -- WEEK. Same boys, same situation, similar job (them and me) -- much more drawn out and personalized. Not only do I get to see these boys on a regular basis for five to six days, but, working the late shift, I get to see them at their best: drunk.

My first night with the DNR lot consisted of recommending fine dining, good bars, distributing taxi cab business cards, and half of the group of forty learning my name. I'm not quite sure what it is about guys learning your name and then feeling like they HAVE to use it (although I have an idea), but for the next five hours I was met with a steady stream of, "Hi, GEORGIA!," "How are you, GEORGIA?," and, my favourite, "GEORGIA likes me best." By the time the group left for dinner I had socialized with the majority of them and even begun to distinguish a few: Red Neck Guy, Gun Toter, Old Guy, Baldy, Mustache Man, Southern Gentleman and The Cute One (they were all cute, but he looked like the youngest, too).

Two and a half hours later the DNR Boys returned fed, chatty, and ohhhh so tipsy. Cute One asked if they could use the conference room later to watch the football game (Auburn vs Oregon I believe?). Red Neck Guy followed close behind with a request for more cookies.

** Now, before I continue let me explain one little things: at the Inn, if we have enough "in house" guests and/or check-ins then we make chocolate chip cookies and place them in a container on the front desk. Given the number of people we will make anywhere from six to thirty-six cookies (we have the equivalent of a super Easy Bake oven in the back office). When I first started working here I was told, "Once the cookies are gone for the night -- they are gone. We typically don't bake extras for people because we'll run out of supplies faster." Got it? Okie, now back to the narrative.**

We had started the day with twelve cookies. Before I could respond that there weren't anymore Red Neck said, "The lady last night made s'more for us. Don't let her show you up." Well now I had to make them. I'm a competitive person (and possibly a sucker) and there was no way I was going to be the "mean" desk attendant. So I made eighteen more cookies.

11 p.m. found me standing in between the front desk and back office, waiting for the night auditor to arrive and relieve me for the night. I had the office door open to circulate the air (see previous post about how the heater is always on because it's "winter") and as I continually looked from my watch to the front door (this particular auditor is never on time) my impatient silence was intermittently interrupted by the hoots and hollers from the conference room. Biased towards the DNR Boys' southern accents I assumed it meant Auburn was winning. Suddenly, a sweet Kentucky accent appear behind me. "Ma'am?" I jumped causing Southern Gentleman to start a little, too. "Ma'am," he repeated, averting his gaze to the copy machine between us. "The boys were wonderin' -- the boys and I were wonderin' if you would mind makin' some more of those cookies for us? Seeing as it's the game and all." He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. "You don't have to if it's too much of an inconvenience. They just wanted me to ask ya."...If you can say 'no' to that then you obviously don't have a soul. Next thing I knew I was placing eighteen more frozen dough balls on a cookie sheet. As I popped them into the oven the night auditor finally arrived. I grabbed my bag and bolted. "You're baking cookies for the DNR Boys in the conference room," I called on my way out the door.

When I arrived the next day there were twelve freshly baked cookies sitting in their plastic Otis Spunkmeyer house on top of the front desk. This would not do. As soon as the office manager left I stockpiled my ammunition: twenty-four more cookies. Hoping this would do I decided not to check the cookies again until after dinnertime. As I'm sure you can all predict, however, this did not go according to plan. Just before half-past six I rounded the corner to discover there were only eight cookies left. Eight! I had never even seen anyone take one let alone twenty-eight. I knew eight cookies would not sustain the after dinner-rush and I would once again be beset with sweet southern accents and boyish grins and find myself, once again, baking an obscene amount of cookies for such a late hour. This was hazardous on two levels: #1. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not domestic in the slightest. Rarely do I bake/cook for someone, especially someone of the opposite sex who is literally trying to charm snacks out of me. #2. Remember when I said that I was told not to bake extra cookies for people because supplies would run low? Our cookie reservoir was quickly depleting.

As I tried to figure out a battle plan I heard the cookie case open and close. I waited until the footsteps were gone before peering around the wall separating the front desk and office. Only four cookies remained. What?! There were eight mere moments ago and only one step of footsteps! This was getting serious. The DNR Boys hadn't even left for dinner yet and already I was in a cookie-bind. I checked our supply of frozen dough. We were definitely getting down. As I toyed with the idea of a two-cookie-minimum being established I heard Red Neck and Gun Toter enter. The Otis Spunkmeyer lid was raised and dropped. I looked around the corner. The cookies were gone.

This was serious, folks. No cookies and it wasn't even 8 o'clock! What if there was another game? What if there was another bashful Kentucky native outside my office door? What if I was accused of falling short of the bar the previous cookie-baking bar the previous desk clerk had set? Before any of these questions could be answered I heard the padding of multiple pairs of combat boots walking down the hallway. I put up the "Back in a Few" sign and darted around the corner. As I waited for the DNR Boys to leave the lobby I swear I heard the word "cookies" uttered once or twice. Crap.

In the end, I baked those boys over seventy cookies in my three nights with them. Had one of the more boisterous and cocky ones like Red Neck first approached me for cookies maybe I wouldn't have been so keen to suddenly turn into Susie Homemaker. But what can I say? I'm a sucker for the shy, quiet types. And damn those charming little accents!

Wtf?

So I finally have something of interest to write about after about...a month? Oppsy! I actually have a funnier story on top of this, but this JUST happened so it's much more fresh and slightly dramatic? Okie, here goes...

Around 5:30 tonight I heard really loud clicking that sounded like a rolly-suitcase. I got up and looked, but there was no one there. After some searching I finally located the source, which was the AC unit in the closet in the back office ("office" is a loose term; basically it's the room behind the wall of the Front Desk where I sit and wait until I hear someone in the lobby and then I spring around the corner). I thought nothing of it and went back to whatever I was doing. The loud clicked persisted for about a half hour and then finally stopped. Every now and then I would continue to hear a slight tapping noise, but chalked it up to the AC unit being crazy. Then I began to hear dripping. Once again, logical person that I am, I assumed it was the giant freezer that is also in the back office and assumed it ideal to leave it on its own. Around 8pm, however, I decided to see just /what/ in the freezer was dripping.

And I'm guessing you can all guess what's coming next! The freezer WASN'T dripping! I followed the sound back to the closet and found that a pipe was leaking profusely. We store all of our cardboard boxes in there and as soon as I hit the light switch I saw that everything was soaked. I called the head of maintenance, Tom*, and asked what I should do. He reminded me that he had adjusted the AC temp for me earlier (the people here believe that 70 degrees is freezing so they immediately turn the heat on inside and then I'm roasting every time I come to work). I checked it and it was still off (not aloud to turn the AC on when it's "cold" outside so I just have everything switched off while I'm here). Tom said that if the AC unit is off then there shouldn't be any leaking. This is when I turned around and noticed that there was water running down the corner of the wall (basically the outside of the closet).

"Is there anyone in 205?" Tom asked.
"Yeah. Checked him in a while ago," I responded, already not liking where this was going.
"For some reason - and it's only that room - if they leave their shower running or the toilet is over-flowing then the water comes through the ceiling in the office."

I hung-up with Tom and called room 205. No answer. I called again. Still nothing. I always bounce up when I hear someone in the lobby and I could not recall Mr.Smith* ever leaving the building after his run about five hours ago. I called Tom and he said I needed to go up to the room and check to see if the water was running.

Not gonna lie, I was kind of paranoid so I called one of my friends from K and had her "in my pocket" while I went upstairs and knocked on the door. I could see that the light was on and could definitely hear something although I wasn't sure what. I knocked three times. Nothing. Finally I used the master-key and opened the room. All the lights were on, things were scattered about the room, and there was indeed the faint sound of running water. Maybe I watch too much Law & Order, but I'm sure you can all easily guess what I was half expecting to find. An older man happened to walk by right at that moment and asked where the ice machine was. I told him and then asked if he minded waiting there while I checked inside the bathroom. The man was very nice and said 'of course.' I propped the door open. As I entered the room Ice Machine Man called out, "I'm a nurse!"

Guest 205/Mr. Smith is so fucking wasteful! Lights on AND water running and he freakin' wasn't even inside the damn room! Our ceiling is soaked, I had a mini-heart attack and all for naught! I turned off the shower, exited the room, and thanked Where's the Ice Machine Man for waiting. He said there was no need and that he was happy to assist. I went back to the front desk and informed Tom that I had stopped the water and the leaks had stopped. I began to wipe the water off the corner wall and try to salvage the papers that had been posted there.

Five bloody minutes later I suddenly notice that the corner next to one of the fluorescent lights has begun to leak! Wtf?!?! I grab a trash can and shove it under the newly irksome water and just like magic Tom calls. He asks how everything looks again and whether or not he should come over. I tell him about the third leak. "I'll be there in five minutes," he says.

As if on cue, Mr. Smith walks through the door having just returned from dinner. Turns out, Mr. Smith is not who I thought he was, which is why I thought he had never left the building (did that make sense? Apparently I was thinking of Guest 108). I tell him that we are having a water problem and ask if it's okay if we have to change his room. Mr. Smith is not amused (I didn't even mention that I had to go into his room AND how wasteful he is). I upgrade him to a King Executive and this appeases him.

The end result: we now have three buckets catching drips from the ceiling, the water has moved into the fluorescent light, and Tom has had to shut the water off to two rooms (Mr. Smith's old room and the adjoining one, which was luckily unoccupied).

And that's that! Next entry's saga: The Tale of the Cookie Nabbers.

For Future Reference

The next time you stay at a hotel here are some things you may want to remember:

1. Be Nice To The Front Desk Clerk. In any job customer service people are blamed for all sorts of things that aren't actually their fault. For example I have been blamed for everything from the location of the hotel, placement of the indoor trashcan, lack of available milk and juice at night, and electronics that do not work. There is actually not much I can do about many of these problems except apologize and perhaps give you a room upgrade/room move (the upgrade/room move would only be for electronics in the room that aren't working). I did not build the hotel here, it is up to the manager where the trashcans go, and the Breakfast Host holds the only set of keys to the dairy fridge and juice machine. I could not get into these things even if I wanted to! What I do have control over are room charges, key distribution, wake-ups calls, phone transfers, bill payments, touristy questions and your overall comfort, but that only goes so far as: if your TV doesn't work or your heater smells funny, I will come and try to fix it. Don't act like I personally sabotaged your TV and/or heater before you arrived.

Furthermore, getting huffy and upset at me in general is not going to do much but raise your blood pressure and put me on the defense. Sure, I will still give you ample customer service, but maybe I won't let you know we have wireless all throughout the building and you can just try to figure that out on your own. When things are a miss I will do all I can to assist you and make you happy. If, however, you continue to act like I am intentionally trying to make your night as stressful as possible, just remember: I may not have the ability to produce juice, but I do have access to the maintenance closet and I do know how to shut the power off to just one room.

2. We Hear Everything. When I first started working here I had a group of three guys come up to the front desk to ask about lengthening their stay (I think I wrote about them in my first hotel post actually). They were very nice and very flirty and when they had finally finished joking around with me at the front desk they headed back to their rooms. The entire lobby area echos and the stairwell especially so as they climbed the stairs I heard loud and clear:

"Damn man, shoulda tapped that."
"I know, man! I know."
"You wanna go down there and ask?"
"Nah, man, nah."
"Ya serious, dude? Ya could get her number."
"Nah, man."
"Man, shoulda tapped that."
"I know, man!"

HA! Lovvvvvveeee it!

3. Don't Creep. Is there a hotel clerk fantasy that I am unaware of? When I was working for the Park Service I sort of understood all the creeping because there's the whole "women in uniform" thing. But a hotel clerk? Don't get me wrong, flirting can be great and there have definitely been some guys here who have just made my day (like the stairwell boys from #2). Then there are the guys who ask how I "like it." I have gotten that question twice and each time I am offered no explanation. They have asked, "So...how do you like it?" completely out of the blue. I then respond, "Like what?" and the man will just smirk and walk away. I am also getting creeped on via phone quite often and am learning that the whole "Georgia from Georgia" thing is being turned on me as a pick-up line. The most recent incident involving phone-creeping was a man from New Jersey who suddenly asked if I was a blonde. Naturally (and stupidly) and said 'yes' and this led to an inquiry as to whether it was long or short. Upon learning that my hair is shoulder length the man kept asking why I don't grow it out to my elbows and how every man would kill for a blonde with long straight hair, etc, etc. He began asking where I was from, if I ever came up to Jersey (by this point I just began making fabricating stuff), and if other girls in the state of Georgia had long hair or not. I was beginning to think I would have to crinkle paper into the phone or something to make him think the connection was breaking up when he finally said, "So, Georgia, what else can you tell me about yourself?" Finally a segue and I said, "Well the hotel I am working for has a rate of 109 tonight. Were you interested in making a reservation?" That finally shut him up and he said he might come down in the summer, that he hoped I would have long hair by then, and hung-up. What. The. Crap.

4. Being Pleasant Will Get You Many Things. Like I was saying in #1, if you're rude you're likely to miss out on some things because a)I might not offer up certain information and will let you go through the trouble of finding it out yourself or b) I may not put in that extra effort to make sure your stay is stellar. This obviously works both ways and if you ARE nice and polite then you are guaranteed to have a great stay. For example, for pleasant guests I have done such things as performed laptop maintenance, given out meal coupons to various restaurants around the area (ask the front desk clerk the next time you're at a hotel because, if we have them, we don't just offer them up to anybody), helped pick which ball of yarn would make the best scarf for each granddaughter (true story), found driving directions to all sorts of non-local areas, and even spell checked a document. So be nice to your hotel clerks, people! Pleaaaasssseeeee. I promise it will only end up benefiting you as well and you may even get to keep all your power on :)

Awkward Turtle

Tonight has been a fairly hectic night with various business conferences and FLETC instructors (Federal Law Enforcement Training Centre) checking in. This is also combined with many vacationers making their way down to Florida for Thanksgiving with their family and taking a personal pit-stop on St. Simons. Almost everyone has wanted to talk and gab and ask me why I lack a southern accent and I am happy to entertain them all to the best of my abilities. Then, a short while ago, I checked yet another man in who is in town for business. He grabbed his bags and went down to his room, I went to finally finish my dinner. A few minutes later he came back to the desk saying that neither of his keys worked and he had a feeling someone was in his room because the TV was on. He misinterpreted my incredulous look and said, "I promise I'm not lying." I didn't know what was wrong with his keys, but told him that the TV perhaps turned itself on (like the one my roommates and I had for the past 3 years -- it was always turning itself on). I even checked our box of In House Guests just to double check and sure enough only the business man's sheet was in that particular room's slot.

I went down to the room with him. There was no sound coming from the room and the man shrugged sheepishly. I knocked on the door and said, "Guest services." A male voice responded. I think I actually jumped back from the door. I looked at the guy with me and said, "There is NO way," but of course there was and a lanky older gentleman opened the door. I recognized him immediately as someone I had made an extra room key for earlier in the day. He had told me that it probably wasn't working because he had only planned to stay one night and was told at 11am all 'check out' keys are deactivated. As I was copying his key I asked if he had indeed checked back in and he said yes and then that was that.

*(Something that I believe should be pointed out: the person who has the shift directly before me is Miss Can Do No Wrong Hotel Goddess. She trained me and I have been brought on to slowly replace her as she trains as the hotel Office Manager. She is a very nice girl, but, even though she and I are the exact same age, she is incredibly patronizing and constantly checks my work so that she can point out all the wonderful things I have done wrong. This is why I never once thought to make sure Mr. Lanky was ACTUALLY still check into his room. Even I wouldn't have messed that up.)

The two gentlemen and I stared at each other for a few seconds. I then looked at the man next to me (the just arriving business man) and said, "I'm going to upgrade you." Mr. Lanky asked what was wrong and Business Man showed him his room key, which gave the room number. Lanky looked at me in amazement, "You gave away my room? I thought you liked me!"

"I didn't!" I exclaimed. "The morning person must have. I have no idea what's happening."

"Am I kicked out?" Business Man asked.

"No. YOU get an upgrade."

"I want an upgrade," Mr. Lanky said, smirking.

"What?" I was prepared for yelling, not joking.

"Do I get an upgrade, too?"

"Um...you get to stay in your room?"

"But he gets an upgrade."

"Um...we have free coffee and tea? And there might be some oatmeal packets."

"Good enough."

Business Man and I then went back down to the front desk where I updated his reservation and made him new room keys. When he came back through the lobby and half hour later he informed me that this time his room had been empty. Phew!

Fires, Dawgs, and Journalists - oh my!

What is with my guests and fires tonight? A few hours ago a man called the front desk saying that when he turned on his TV it began to "smoke and sizzle" and emit a burning smell. I went upstairs to check it and the entire 2nd floor was encased in this smell so I moved his room, made sure the TV was unplugged and then just left it at that. About twenty minutes ago another room called saying that they had turned on their heater and were immediately hit with a burning smell that actually set their fire alarm off. Now, I'm not sure if that last part was true because if any alarm goes off in the building then the unit at the front desk should sound as well and pinpoint the source. Either the front desk unit is faulty or these people are exaggerating, but I went upstairs and was once again met with a fire aroma. What the crap. I moved them, checked the unit and couldn't get it to smoke again, but nonetheless I think I'll close off that room for tonight. Ironically, it is directly across the hall from the room with the burning TV!

Our ice machine is also broken, which is leading to some hilarious incidences of guests getting to watch me struggle to lift a three foot high bag of ice and slam it against a chair to break it apart (I'm using the chair because I have now dented both the wall and the fridge...opps). This has led to both the bag breaking and ice flying everywhere and a few curse words being shouted every now and then when ice either hits me in the face or miraculously finds its way down my shirt.

These events have been made even more dramatic and chaotic by the fact that a man from corporate is currently staying in the hotel and somehow manages to walk by the desk every time something inane happens or someone is complaining of "burning smells." The man seems nice enough, but I'm just waiting to be called into my manager's office tomorrow and told how unprofessional I am.

Oh! Which reminds me -- last weekend marked one of the hotel's epic annual weekends: the Georgia/Florida game. For those of you from up North, the GA/FL game is comparable to the UofM vs Ohio State rivalry, only a bit more intense because now we've got a surplus of rednecks drinking and shouting all in one relatively tiny area (at least compared to when they're all more spread-out). Anywhere within a 200 mile radius of Jacksonville, FL (where the game is played) treats this weekend as if it were a holiday. Hotel rates sky-rocket, everything is decked out in either red and black or orange and blue depending what state you're in (or how brave of a rebel you are) and the entire coastal region becomes one giant frat party. Sounds kind of entertaining until you're part of one of the businesses that will be hosting the tailgaters. Out of our sixty rooms at the Inn we had about five left. There was a 4ft X 3ft football suspended from the ceiling in front of the main desk (oh yeah, that wasn't annoying ), GO DAWGS signs at every corner, DAWG gift bags, and red and black streamers and balloons hung all over the lobby (including the fans!). I'm not quite sure if this overzealous team support is sincere or if it is a way to keep the hotel from getting torched.

Anyways, I digress -- the reason I mention this is because during all the GA/FL weekend preparation madness a man called and began asking me detailed questions about rooms for that weekend: were we all booked up, what were our rates, were we planning any events, is this weekend always looked upon with trepidation or excitement, etc etc. I didn't think anything of it because - as stated in my last post - the phone calls we get here are very odd and people wants to know everything from the type of mattresses we supply to when the hotel was built. Before hanging up (and not making a reservation!) the man asked me for my name and then said, "Thanks for all your help, Georgia! I'm so-and-so from the Georgia Times Union. Good talking to you," and hung-up. Right away I knew that was going to come back and bite me in the ass and sure enough the next day my boss called to ask why I had given a blurb about the weekend without her permission. My god. It's not like it's a secret! And since people ask such detailed questions anyways I never even thought to ask why he was so curious (we even had one woman ask for us to give her the distance from the parking lot to the 1st floor rooms in feet...why?).


Sadly I missed the rest of the GA/FL weekend due to other commitments, but I hear it was quite the show, which included fire alarms being set off due to "certain substances" in non-smoking rooms. My manager told them, "If you're going to smoke at LEAST do it in a smoking room." Ha!

Okie, that's all for tonight! I'll try to write more regularly from now on.

I'm backkkkk!

Hi again! So after a few months of quiet I have decided to start this blog back up. I may not be lost in the literal woods any longer, but I suppose you could say I'm still lost to some degree AND I am still working with tourists. Actually, there's a lot about my new job and old job that coincide so well that I wish they would give me my Park Ranger salary back.

Currently, I am working two jobs: Talbots (boutique clothing store) and Holiday Inn Express. For the purposes of entertainment I'll mainly be writing about the Inn on here because, surprising as it seems, dressing wealthy aged women is just not all that zany. I work the evening shift at the hotel, which I believe is the best shift in order to get to know the guests. They check in anytime after 3pm and then drop by the desk for questions, suggestions, and concerns up until the wee hours of the morning.

Here is a brief synopsis of my time here thus far:

Lesson 1: Phones. Our phone system at the Inn has to be the most impractical technological invention I have ever seen. I really cannot even begin to explain how this phone works, but one thing to note is that it has about three lines, but no way to switch between any of them. If I am on the phone with a guest I will here a brief chirp come from the consul. I can put Person #1 on hold and hit the 'Answer' button to get the call, but if Person #2 has a complicated inquiry then I have no way of putting them on hold to get back to Person #1. Also, if Person #1 talks too long (which, as a side note, why do people who call hotels talk about 2-words a minute?) then Person #2's call will be transferred to the back office phone. I have now lost the chance to answer #2's call on the desk phone so as soon as #1 hangs up I have to dash to the office and hope that I reach the phone before the call is sent back up to the front desk. This process has caused me to run in between two ringing phones on more than one hilarious occasion.

Also, to transfer people I simply type in the room number they want and hang-up on them. Sometimes the phone registers the number swiftly enough that everything works as it should. Other times I end up hanging up on the guest because the phone decided to take its sweet time. "Isn't there a way for you to tell?" you ask. Yes, there is: the person calls back and says, "You hung-up on me." That is the only way.

Lesson 2: Directions. Nearly every day a guest calls the hotel to say that their GPS can't find the Inn's address. We then give them the address of the fitness centre across the street and everything seems to work out fine. And then last week happened. Last week was the PGA Tour's brief stay on St. Simons Island. The Inn was PACKED with TV producers, golfers, caddies, groupies, Kodak people, and health insurance guys. The first day of the tournament I get the expected "GPS call" and give the man the standard fitness address. Five hours later (it is about 9pm at night), while I am in the middle of running in between two ringing phones, I get this call: "You gave me the wrong address! I have been driving for eons and eons on this damn island and the address you gave me DOES NOT exist." First off, I want to tell the man to not over exaggerate and that the island is only 14 X 6 miles so I doubt he has been driving for "eons and eons." Second, I want to make sure that he understood that the address I gave him was for a place across the street. However, I do not get the chance to voice either of these thoughts before he starts shouting, "Marsh Landing! I am at Marsh Landing! Where the hell is that?" The only one I know of is at the north end of the island, but there's no way he could be there because the road his GPS was trying to find is all the way at the south end. I ask him what road he's on, for some type of landmark, etc etc, and finally I hear 'Fort Frederica'. Yep, he made it all the way to the north end. I tell him that he needs to turn around and head the opposite way. As I begin to say, "And then you'll go through two roundabouts," I suddenly hear a click. I look at the phone for a second and, forgetting my Customer Etiquette manners, go, "Oh HELL no!" It's then that I notice the guest in the lobby; a small mousy woman who looks at me. "He hung-UP on me!" I exclaim and she just shakes her head sadly.

GPS Man is about as ornery as can be expected and I try to rush him out of the lobby and towards his room as quickly as possible (although not before he has the chance to tell me how clueless I am not to know the street the hotel is on -- I know what our street address is. The GPS coordinates do not.). Finally he leaves and ten minutes later I get a call. It's GPS Man and his desk lamp won't work. After about fifteen minutes of me rushing in between his room and the closet with the circuit breaker I tell him that I believe it is the lamp itself and that there is nothing I can do (if he had been nicer maybe I would have tried, but I was ready to cut all the power to his room by this point). Just as he decides to try plugging the lamp into an outlet across the room there is a knock on the door. GPS Man does nothing. There is another knock. GPS looks at me as if to say, "Well aren't you going to answer that?" Now I am normally a very calm person and it really takes a lot for me to lose my cool, especially when it comes to Customer Service type things. I am pretty sure my feeling of rage was very evident on my face because when I opened up the door the guy waiting outside actually started a little. Apparently, GPS Man had come with three other business men who were staying at the hotel; three business men who had really taken a liking to me. The new guy looked at me sheepishly as he greeted GPS Man and helped him move the lamp. After plugging it in and seeing that it STILL did not work GPS Man determined that it must be the lamp itself...shocker.

The best part of that rant? The next morning I overheard GPS Man say he was from Michigan so I made sure to mention Kalamazoo College to him. How surprising that he suddenly treated me like I had a brain in my head after that!

Lesson 3 (last one for now, I promise!): Chatty-Cathy. When I check into a hotel it is normally just to sleep, shower, and store my stuff. However, I am finding that many of our guests do not share this same sentiment. I can not tell you how many long conversations I have had with guests about everything from the Chilean miners to the island's economy and even fashion. Some people even come up to the desk specifically just to chat with me. And it's really entertaining when we get groups of young business men here because they will be very professional and straightforward and ask me where to find a good bar and then a few hours later they come into the lobby, tipsy and giggly, and suddenly wanting to just hang at the counter. This led to mass confusion my first night working here (in which I am the only employee in the building so there was no one here to help "walk me through" anymore). Three guys who had just gotten back from the bar came up to the desk needing to extend their stay. Not only did this take some maneuvering in the computer system, but they also all wanted to pay in cash, which I had never done before (and we don't have a conventional register). While trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do (while acting like I knew exactly what to do) the guys decided to grill me about my history, the origin of my name (everyone loves the whole 'Georgia from Georgia' thing), and then needed me to cast my vote on an issue of 'if someone puts a coffee cup at the foot of a chair and someone else knocks it over - whose fault is it?'

Phew! I think that's enough for now. Sorry this post is so long! Since the rest will be more present happenings rather than 'catch-up' they should be a bit shorter.