Sticking with the theme of the heatwave striking the upper Midwest this week, let's talk about air conditioning. Many places in the north do not have air conditioning, which is understandable given they only really need it two weeks out of the year. The Orchid finally installed AC this summer, but only in certain rooms that need it most (i.e. hit with direct sunlight, don't receive much of a lake breeze, etc). Unfortunately, this does come as a bit of a shocker to many of our guests (for example, the woman yesterday who suddenly snipped, "That's unacceptable!" when she learned her room did not have AC). And now, for the tale of the women who needed ice buckets dumped over their heads (only as a comfort to them, of course).
Last week, Mickey, our one and only male desk clerk, was working the midnight shift, while I did the 10pm shift. The midnight person always gets a half hour break and Mickey (who is a wonderful person for volunteering to take ALL of the midnight shifts) typically takes this sometime between 9 and 10pm because things have supposedly slowed down by then. At 9:30 Mickey went on his break and I started working on the guest list for the next day. The door shut behind Mickey and the phone rang. It was the guest in room 320.
“Georgia,” she said, “I am not one to complain, but I...well I just gotta say that I am disgusted. DI-sgusted with our room.”
“Oh?” This is something I certainly never expected to hear from a guest given the insane attention to cleanliness the owner and housekeeping puts into the hotel.
“Yes. Our bathroom is filthy. FILTHY. It smells musty, it’s hot and muggy, there is mold in the tiles. I mean, I don’t mean to complain, but we are just disgusted. DI-sgusted. I mean, I was a travel agent and I would never recommend someone to come here. We are just disgusted!”
“I am so sorry, ma’am.”
“I mean, I have stayed in some of the best hotels and this one...well this is just not good. It’s filthy! We’re just...we’re disgusted, Georgia.”
At this point I want to just say, “Yeah, I get it. DI-sgusted.”
“We were wondering,” Never Complains began (I already knew what was coming by the tone of her voice), “if you might have any suites available for a complimentary upgrade because we just feel that we cannot stay in this room any longer. I mean, we have children! This is unsanitary.”
I pulled up the room list on the computer. Never Complains was traveling with the guests in 319. They would need a room that could accommodate all four people. Unfortunately for them, they were staying for two more nights, which greatly limited what might be available.
“Well, ma’am,” I said, “it looks like the only suite we have available for the next two nights is our Sunset Suite, but it only has a king bed so it could not accommodate all four of you.”
“What’s that suite like?”
“It has a king bed, a sitting area and a fourteen-window panoramic view overlooking the lake.”
“It just has the one bed?”
“Yes.”
“Well that wouldn’t fit all four of us,” she snapped.
“Yes, ma’am. I know.”
“Well, Georgia, we are just disgusted by our room. I mean, we’re paying nearly $500 a night and it's hot. You're using plastic shower liners which is a breeding ground for germs and the rubber bathmats are - we just can't use them. They are a complete health code violation. We are just disgusted. DI –”
“Ma’am, I’m going to give my manager a call and see what we can do about this and then I’ll call you back. Okay?”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you.”
I hung up and called our night manger, Paul. Paul told me what I already knew – all we can do is move the guests to other rooms with two queen beds. Basically, rooms exactly like their current ones. I called 320 and explained the situation. “I could show you some of the rooms we have available if you would like,” I offered. I heard Never Complains whisper to who I presumed was the mother in 319 (the two rooms were mother and daughter pairs), “They don’t have any suites.” I waited while they continued to talk in hushed tones. Finally I repeated myself, “I could show you some of the rooms we have available.”
“Are they nice rooms?” Never Complains asked. “Are the bathrooms better than this one? I mean, this one is just filthy and disgusting! We cannot stay in here.”
“How about I come up and show you some of the rooms?”
“I don’t know if it would be worth it,” Never Complains said to 319. “Where are they?” she said back into the phone.
“Well, two of them are right next to you.”
“I just don’t know. There’s no suite you can upgrade us to?”
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry. There’s just that Sunset Suite that cannot accommodate all of you.”
“Oh...well I guess we’ll look at some of the rooms then.”
I called Paul so he could watch the desk while I went up to deal with the Problem Sisters. Upon entering Room 320 I was immediately shown the bathroom. “I’m a nurse,” 319 immediately began (she was less boisterous than the woman who had called the front desk so I knew she wasn’t Never Complains), “and this whole place is really a health hazard.”
“Can’t you smell the must?” Never Complains asked. I sniffed and looked around blankly. “Well we opened the windows so that aired it out,” she explained.
“The plastic shower liner is really awful,” The Nurse said, bringing my attention back to the bio-hazard zone. “And rubber bath mats? That’s what traps in the smell and dirt and germs. I’m here with my daughter and I don’t find this safe for children.”
“I’m really sorry, ma’am.”
“Do you see the mold?”
I did not, but I suppose that wasn’t actually the point as The Nurse then directed my attention back to the bathmat instead. I looked around the room as Never Complains and The Nurse continued to talk about the plethora of health code violations within the bathroom. A curious thing stood out – both women were traveling with their young daughters (10 and 14), yet there was nothing to signify a teenager was sleeping in the room. Only items obviously belonging to the two women were strewn about the place. At The Orchid (and pretty much all hotels) there is a policy that anyone under 18 must be in a room with at least one adult. Before I had gone up to show the women the rooms, I had taken a look at their registration cards so I would know their names. Each registration card showed one daughter and one mother per room (and this was written at check-in in each mother’s handwriting). I decided not to address the discrepancy.
“I mean, do you even clean in here?” Never Complains demanded. I turned back to her and the toxic bathroom. “It’s just filthy! That bathmat is disgusting. I can hardly breathe because of the musty smell! I feel like I might get sick.”
“Or our daughters,” The Nurse added.
“You should really keep this place cleaner,” Never Complains continued. “I have stayed in some of the best hotels in the world: the Ritz Carlton, Sheraton, The GRAND – this was supposed to be on of the best, too, and I hate to say it, but I would give this hotel a 6. Maybe.”
“I am very sorry.”
“I don’t mean to complain, but we were really expecting something different here. Something MUCH nicer. This place is FILTHY. You are breaking so many health code violations in here. And the price is outRAGEOUS for how dirty it is. I mean, you have really done an awful job in here.”
By this point I was a bit tired of the “you” accusations. “Ma’am, I am really sorry that you two are so unhappy, but I am not housekeeping. I work the front desk. I have nothing to do with how the rooms are cleaned.”
“I know, I know. I’m not blaming you. It’s just, we were expecting something SO much better.”
“And the air conditioning,” The Nurse suddenly chimed.
“Yeah, we were not told that this room did not have air conditioning.” There was new vehemence to Never Complains’s voice.
“No?” I said, knowing full well we do not tell people which rooms have AC and which do not unless they ask. We’re not trying to hide anything, but there’s only so much you can describe to people while trying to sell a room and you don’t want to overload them.
“Yeah,” Never Complains continued, “if we had known there wouldn’t be air conditioning then we wouldn’t have come.”
“I’m really sorry. Normally we tell people if they ask.” Small white lie...
“Who would’ve thought you WOULDN’T have air conditioning?!”
“It is upper Michigan. We don’t need it much, especially at night.”
“Well you should make it more clear when you book a room. The heat is really unbearable. The person who booked our reservation told us nothing about there not being AC.”
“Do you want me to show you those rooms now?”
“Do they have AC?”
“Only one of them does. It’s one on the first floor and has two queen beds.”
Never Complains and The Nurse looked at each other. “It wouldn’t hurt to look,” The Nurse suggested.
I took them down to the first floor. Never Complains continued to talk of the stifling heat and mentioned that this was even more of a discomfort to her because she was currently going through menopause. It took every bit of self-restraint I had not to turn around and say, “Shocker.” I showed the ladies Room 109, which has two queen beds like Rooms 320 and 319, but also the added perks of AC and a balcony. The moment the women walked into the room they began oo-ing and awing over how much nicer the room was compared to their own.
“Look at this bathroom!” The Nurse exclaimed. “It’s so much cleaner than the one in our room.”
“It’s so much bigger, too!” Never Complains said. She turned to me. “And this room has AC?” I pointed to the AC unit near the ceiling. “Is it on?”
“No. We leave them off when the room’s unoccupied to conserve energy.”
“How do you turn it on?”
I pushed the button of the wall-mounted remote next to her head. Instantly, the unit started up. “Ugh, feel that air,” Never Complains moaned, opening her arms.
“This room is a lot cleaner than ours,” The Nurse stated.
“How much is it?” Never Complains asked.
“$490 per night.”
“What?! That’s so much more expensive than our room!”
“I believe you’re paying $435.”
“Why is it so much more?” The Nurse asked.
“The balcony,” I said, pointing across the room.
“And I bet that doesn’t include tax, right?” Never Complains asked, taking another jaunt into the enormous immaculate bathroom.
“It’s an extra 16% taxes and fees.”
“Oh my god! That is ridiculous! You Mackinac people charge exorbitant prices! Other people can’t afford that kind of stuff. How can you people charge so much?!”
It was now 9:55pm. I was tired, ready to go home, and ready for Never Complains to stop using “you” all the time. “I’m not from Mackinac,” I said, “I’m from Georgia. This is just a summer thing.”
“I know, sweetie, I know. I’m not blaming you. It’s just ridiculous. We come here for a nice girls weekend and it’s just become such a mess.”
“This room is a lot nicer than ours,” The Nurse repeated. “Do you have two of these available?”
“This is our only one.”
“So we’d ALL have to sleep in here?” Never Complains said, terror in her voice.
“We can bring a rollaway in here so that way it’s three beds. This room can accomodate up to five people.”
“Well then we better get something for this.” I looked at Never Complains quizically. “You’re not expecting us to move from our two rooms into this one and not be compensated for it, are you?”
“Unfortunately that’s not something I can authorize,” I replied. I could see where she was coming from, but there was absolutely nothing I could do except move them and make them happy right then and there. “I can talk it over with my manager and see what she says, but I can’t predict what she might say. I can tell you that they really want to keep guests happy.” (That was my professional way of saying, “You’ll probably get something out of this, but I can't fathom what.”)
“So you want us to move from our two rooms to this one, which is more expensive, without any sort of guarantee that we won’t have to pay the difference?”
“I really wish I could, but I just don’t have the authority to do that. All I can do is move you and talk about it with my manager. Like I said, though, they like to keep their guests happy.”
“But you can’t guarantee what they’ll do for us.”
“No because I would hate to tell you one thing and then have the manager say something totally different. I can move you now if you’d like or you can wait until the morning when the owner gets in and talk to her about it.”
The Nurse and Never Complains looked at each other. “Let’s go upstairs and talk it over with the girls,” The Nurse suggested. They left, saying they would call the front desk when they had made their decision.
I came back to the front desk just as Mickey returned from his break. I updated him on what was going on, which seemed to take an age as the phones continued to ring off the hook and guests kept coming to the desk with random requests/questions. As I finished telling Mickey about the possible room move for 319 and 320, the caller ID displayed that 320 was calling.
“Hi, Georgia.” It was the exasperated voice of Never Complains. “We’re still very torn about the situation. We just feel that this room is very unsafe and I feel as though if I stay in here any longer I may have to use my EpiPen on myself. (To this I wanted to scoff, “Of course you have an EpiPen! How could I not see that coming?”) Are you sure there are no other rooms available?”
“There is another deluxe waterfront room with a single king bed I could show you," I said. I hadn't shown it before because it only had the one bed. "It has air conditioning,” I added, knowing what was really important to these ladies. They discussed the extra room and then asked that I show it to them. Before I hung-up, they asked for four bed sheets to cover the chairs in their room because they were deemed too moldy and “unhealthy.”
Personally, the room we had open, Room 217, is my least favourite room in the hotel. I find it to be the only room with dull colours and it has a slightly obstructed view overlooking the lake. However, the moment Never Complains and The Nurse saw the AC unit they began oo-ing and awing over the cleanliness of the room and the enormity of the bathroom.
“Two of you could move into this room and two into the one on the first floor,” I explained. “They’re not next to each other like your rooms now, but they’re the only two we have left with air conditioning and this way you wouldn’t all have to go into one room.”
“Being next to each other was kind of the point,” The Nurse said, looking at Never Complains. “This was supposed to be a girls weekend and it’s nice to be right next to each other.”
“I don’t want to be so separated,” Never Complains added. “And you don’t have any suites?”
“No. Just that Sunset one.” I could tell that the true concern was being separated by an entire floor from their daughters. “It is a very safe hotel," I assured them. "We have nighttime security and since it’s a small hotel we recognize who is a guest and who is not.”
Never Complains raised her eyebrows at me. “I question the security of a hotel that lets a 10 year old and a 14 year old stay in the same room together. That’s not even legal.”
“That’s not what your registration cards say, which you filled out at check-in.” I replied, a little fed up with Never Complains's attitude. “I wasn’t going to mention that to my manager given the circumstance.”
Never Complains made no reply. She turned to The Nurse. “What do you want to do?” she asked.
“I really hate for us to be separated.”
“True. I just don’t know if I can stay in that room.”
“Maybe we should talk it over with the girls.”
“Is there a bellman to help us with our luggage?” Never Complains asked.
“Our porter has already gone home,” I replied, “but Mickey and I can certainly help you move your luggage. You would just need to make the decision while we’re both still here because we cannot leave the desk unattended.”
“Oh,” The Nurse said, “what time are you here until?”
“10.”
She looked at her watch. “It’s 10:15.”
“Yep.”
“We’ll go upstairs and let you know in 10 minutes,” Never Complains said, walking out the door.
Back at the front desk, Mickey and I continued to deal with difficult guests, namely people who would order room service and then suddenly disappear. Finally, Never Complains and The Nurse graced us with a phone call. Surprise, surprise – they decided to go for the two air conditioned rooms. Mickey ran up to help the Problem Sisters with their luggage, while I dealt with the overly complicated paperwork that comes with room moves at The Orchid. Poor Mickey looked almost comically small under the massive bags of Never Complains (who was obviously moving to the room with the balcony and two queen beds). I finally clocked out at 10:47 p.m...
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Creeper
A lot of couples stay at The Orchid for their honeymoons, weddings, and anniversaries. Last week, a family was traveling around as some sort of big roadtrip for the parents' anniversary. The kids were grown and in their 40s and had apparently been going all out to make this trip as spectacular as possible for their parents. The mother told me how, at every rest stop, anytime she and her husband would both leave the car, when they returned there would be presents on their seats. What nice kids!
Upon hearing this, I was not surprised when the son came to the front desk one night and asked if I could leave a special present in his parents' room after turn-down service. Of course I agreed and the man lifted up a sack of gifts. Inside was a photo album, decorative plates for the album, sparkling grape juice, champagne flutes, napkins, and a tube of red cloth. He laid all the items out and asked if I could spread the gifts over two nights -- photo album stuff one night and sparkling grape juice and flutes the next night. Then he opened the tube of what was not red cloth, but rose petals. I was to sprinkle these on the bed each night, too.
Now, I will agree that this is a very sweet idea. Roses always bring a nice romantic touch to any occasion whether it's the whole flower or just the petals. However, the thought of sprinkling rose petals on my parents' bed would THOROUGHLY creep me out and having to sprinkle them on someone else's parents' bed...well that could just get a bit awkward.
However, I was more than happy to oblige this man. That night I went up to the room and neatly laid out the photo album and decorative inserts. I was a bit nervous because I kept thinking, "What if the parents come in and I'm just standing in their room?? I'm going to look like such a creeper!" Then, to raise my blood pressure even more, it was time to sprinkle the petals. I grabbed a handful and threw them onto the bed. Just my luck, the stupid things landed in a clump so I had to, instead, place each one individually. And then someone knocked on the door.
Without moving I said, "Come in?" I could have not looked more awkward being bent far over the bed, hand in mid-petal placement. Thankfully, Susie, a housekeeper, opened the door. She stared at me. "I know this looks super creepy," I said, "but I swear I was asked to do this." Susie gave me one of those, "You're driving me to drink" faces. She continued to look from me to the petals on the bed until I finally said, "Their son asked me to!" Susie pursed her lips, raised, an eyebrow and said, "Mmhm," before closing the door. The next night I placed the grape juice bottle and glasses on the bed, scattered the clump of petals across the bed and ran.
Upon hearing this, I was not surprised when the son came to the front desk one night and asked if I could leave a special present in his parents' room after turn-down service. Of course I agreed and the man lifted up a sack of gifts. Inside was a photo album, decorative plates for the album, sparkling grape juice, champagne flutes, napkins, and a tube of red cloth. He laid all the items out and asked if I could spread the gifts over two nights -- photo album stuff one night and sparkling grape juice and flutes the next night. Then he opened the tube of what was not red cloth, but rose petals. I was to sprinkle these on the bed each night, too.
Now, I will agree that this is a very sweet idea. Roses always bring a nice romantic touch to any occasion whether it's the whole flower or just the petals. However, the thought of sprinkling rose petals on my parents' bed would THOROUGHLY creep me out and having to sprinkle them on someone else's parents' bed...well that could just get a bit awkward.
However, I was more than happy to oblige this man. That night I went up to the room and neatly laid out the photo album and decorative inserts. I was a bit nervous because I kept thinking, "What if the parents come in and I'm just standing in their room?? I'm going to look like such a creeper!" Then, to raise my blood pressure even more, it was time to sprinkle the petals. I grabbed a handful and threw them onto the bed. Just my luck, the stupid things landed in a clump so I had to, instead, place each one individually. And then someone knocked on the door.
Without moving I said, "Come in?" I could have not looked more awkward being bent far over the bed, hand in mid-petal placement. Thankfully, Susie, a housekeeper, opened the door. She stared at me. "I know this looks super creepy," I said, "but I swear I was asked to do this." Susie gave me one of those, "You're driving me to drink" faces. She continued to look from me to the petals on the bed until I finally said, "Their son asked me to!" Susie pursed her lips, raised, an eyebrow and said, "Mmhm," before closing the door. The next night I placed the grape juice bottle and glasses on the bed, scattered the clump of petals across the bed and ran.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
76 Days Left of Summer
Dahlia has been gone for over a month now and there are those of us who are still unsure whether her replacement is better or worse. I am personally still on the fence about this as well, both from a roommate and coworker standpoint.
Whereas Dahlia was 24 going on 80, my new roommate, Summer, is 20 going on 12. The girl goes to one of the top five private liberal arts colleges in the nation and yet I feel as though I am taking care of a child. Nevermind that in the apartment she is under the philosophy that "what is theirs is mine" (and this does not exclude stuff I have in my dresser drawer) and I have never picked up so much after someone in my life, but at work she is just plain loud and self-serving. I have worked with her for three hours tonight and already I am thirsting for some form of alcohol.
To begin with, Summer does not pick up phones until the third ring (basically when another coworker is having a phone sit-down protest) or unless she is told. She does not get up to speak to a guest except when the phone is ringing. She also does not get up to help a guest unless our office manager has just delegated a project. Basically, Summer seems to be "working the system" to really do as little work as possible. For example, a week ago, while training Summer on the night shift, I picked up phone call after phone call while Summer sat there sealing envelopes. Jenny, the office manager, came over at one point and asked if anyone had counted the cash drawer yet. The phone rang and Summer picked it up before the first ring was through, ergo I had to count the drawer.
Tonight, a couple came up to the desk and asked where was the best place to get fish and chips. I told them the place that had always been recommended to me and then - out of nowhere - a very dominant voice chirped up beside me recommending other places...if you wanted to talk to the guest then whyyyyy didn't you get up yourself??
I realize that this is coming off as very "rant-ish", but this is the release of one month and one day of this type of behavior. Last week, both Summer and I were working and we were given a message to give to one of the porters. The porter came in while I happened to be at the desk so I told him something about a guest's baggage and then began to point to the message on the front desk. I opened my mouth to explain the message in further detail and Summer slid herself up under my arm, sidling me out of the way so that she could give him the message.
A guest lost a ring in our dining room recently. When a hostess brought it into the office, Summer was on the phone (I had been out of the office when the phone rang). The hostess pointed to the notepad beside Summer, which had a name and number of the woman who lost the ring. Since Summer was in the middle of taking a reservation I reached for the pad to call the lady. Summer stopped me and whispered, "I'll do it." I noted that she was busy, whereas I was doing nothing and could easily make the phone call, but Summer persisted, "I'll do it." I can only assume she wanted to make sure the hostess who found the ring got ample credit for it.
Summer also has a way of making sure everyone knows about her. As front desk clerks we are often asked, "Where are you from?" and "How did you end up here?" These questions can be answered in simple one to two sentence descriptions. Often, Summer will take guests on a room-tour and she will come back telling them how she chose this job over a higher paying internship in Boston because she had already committed to this job and that would have been a "mean thing to do." She has also told guests that she leaves on September 4th to go back to finish her last year of college, that I leave October 23rd, where all the employees live on the island, what type of meals we eat here, that she sometimes leaves work at 10pm and I leave at midnight and we both walk home alone, that we are roommates, and that she and her boyfriend stayed in room 212 and absolutely loved it. I believe the acronym "TMI" is lost on Summer. 'How does she work these bits of exposition into her conversations with guests?' you ask. Here is an example that occurred an hour ago:
A guest came down to drop their key off at the front desk.
Summer: "How do you like the room?"
Guest: "Oh we LOVE the room. It is just GORgeous!"
Summer: "Isn't it? I love leading guests up to our suites because I love the looks on their faces when they first see it. I do it just for that. I love all of our rooms, but the suites are just magnificent."
Then she began talking about the wallpaper and view from the room. Just take their key, say, "Have a nice evening!" and be done with it! Why all the "I" statements?
I know this post was not entirely hotel related (I'll have one of those in the next day or two), but I hope those few stories redeem me for going on a slight Summer-tirade. As you can hopefully see, it is a lot of "me, me, me." This does not even include the countless times when all the front desk clerks work together to finish some big task (like the mailing of 750 newsletters for the arts council) and Summer makes SURE that the office manager knows that SHE printed out all the labels and that one particular stack was all her doing.
And the one thing that makes this all even worse? Summer is unfortunately and dreadfully and very very nice person. And thus, my luck with roommates-who-are-irksome-but-too-nice-to-be-a-bitch-to continues.
Whereas Dahlia was 24 going on 80, my new roommate, Summer, is 20 going on 12. The girl goes to one of the top five private liberal arts colleges in the nation and yet I feel as though I am taking care of a child. Nevermind that in the apartment she is under the philosophy that "what is theirs is mine" (and this does not exclude stuff I have in my dresser drawer) and I have never picked up so much after someone in my life, but at work she is just plain loud and self-serving. I have worked with her for three hours tonight and already I am thirsting for some form of alcohol.
To begin with, Summer does not pick up phones until the third ring (basically when another coworker is having a phone sit-down protest) or unless she is told. She does not get up to speak to a guest except when the phone is ringing. She also does not get up to help a guest unless our office manager has just delegated a project. Basically, Summer seems to be "working the system" to really do as little work as possible. For example, a week ago, while training Summer on the night shift, I picked up phone call after phone call while Summer sat there sealing envelopes. Jenny, the office manager, came over at one point and asked if anyone had counted the cash drawer yet. The phone rang and Summer picked it up before the first ring was through, ergo I had to count the drawer.
Tonight, a couple came up to the desk and asked where was the best place to get fish and chips. I told them the place that had always been recommended to me and then - out of nowhere - a very dominant voice chirped up beside me recommending other places...if you wanted to talk to the guest then whyyyyy didn't you get up yourself??
I realize that this is coming off as very "rant-ish", but this is the release of one month and one day of this type of behavior. Last week, both Summer and I were working and we were given a message to give to one of the porters. The porter came in while I happened to be at the desk so I told him something about a guest's baggage and then began to point to the message on the front desk. I opened my mouth to explain the message in further detail and Summer slid herself up under my arm, sidling me out of the way so that she could give him the message.
A guest lost a ring in our dining room recently. When a hostess brought it into the office, Summer was on the phone (I had been out of the office when the phone rang). The hostess pointed to the notepad beside Summer, which had a name and number of the woman who lost the ring. Since Summer was in the middle of taking a reservation I reached for the pad to call the lady. Summer stopped me and whispered, "I'll do it." I noted that she was busy, whereas I was doing nothing and could easily make the phone call, but Summer persisted, "I'll do it." I can only assume she wanted to make sure the hostess who found the ring got ample credit for it.
Summer also has a way of making sure everyone knows about her. As front desk clerks we are often asked, "Where are you from?" and "How did you end up here?" These questions can be answered in simple one to two sentence descriptions. Often, Summer will take guests on a room-tour and she will come back telling them how she chose this job over a higher paying internship in Boston because she had already committed to this job and that would have been a "mean thing to do." She has also told guests that she leaves on September 4th to go back to finish her last year of college, that I leave October 23rd, where all the employees live on the island, what type of meals we eat here, that she sometimes leaves work at 10pm and I leave at midnight and we both walk home alone, that we are roommates, and that she and her boyfriend stayed in room 212 and absolutely loved it. I believe the acronym "TMI" is lost on Summer. 'How does she work these bits of exposition into her conversations with guests?' you ask. Here is an example that occurred an hour ago:
A guest came down to drop their key off at the front desk.
Summer: "How do you like the room?"
Guest: "Oh we LOVE the room. It is just GORgeous!"
Summer: "Isn't it? I love leading guests up to our suites because I love the looks on their faces when they first see it. I do it just for that. I love all of our rooms, but the suites are just magnificent."
Then she began talking about the wallpaper and view from the room. Just take their key, say, "Have a nice evening!" and be done with it! Why all the "I" statements?
I know this post was not entirely hotel related (I'll have one of those in the next day or two), but I hope those few stories redeem me for going on a slight Summer-tirade. As you can hopefully see, it is a lot of "me, me, me." This does not even include the countless times when all the front desk clerks work together to finish some big task (like the mailing of 750 newsletters for the arts council) and Summer makes SURE that the office manager knows that SHE printed out all the labels and that one particular stack was all her doing.
And the one thing that makes this all even worse? Summer is unfortunately and dreadfully and very very nice person. And thus, my luck with roommates-who-are-irksome-but-too-nice-to-be-a-bitch-to continues.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Booty Bride
Yesterday, a blond woman came into the hotel. I came up to the counter and she told me that she was waiting for a couple. We chatted about the drastic change in weather, which had gone from cold, windy and rainy to sunny and mild in the span of thirty minutes (typical Michigan). Just then a photographer came down the stairs, his camera clicking constantly and pointed up the stairs. He then asked his subject to pose on the stairs. My curiosity was piqued since this man was obviously a professional photographer. I leaned over the counter and standing at the bottom of the stairs was a bride!
Being a historic hotel, weddings happen fairly regularly at The Orchid, but a woman in a wedding dress was the last thing I expected to see around the corner. I then learned that the blond lady I was talking to was the officiant for the ceremony. There was movement upstairs and the bride's eyes suddenly went wide. "Shoot! That's the groom!" she exclaimed. "He can't see me!" The bride and photographer rushed into our porch just as the Best Man came down the stairs to check that the coast was clear. The rest of the wedding party soon followed: Maid of Honor and the bride's two sons. While the bride and her sons posed for pictures in the porch, the Maid of Honor and Best Man gathered the wedding preparations: white runner, purple and silver rose petals, and a boombox.
When it was the groom's turn to be photographed he had to go outside so that the bride could come back into the lobby (and the rushed from wall to wall the whole way so that the groom wouldn't accidentally see her through the window). My coworker, Bridget, came to the front desk to congratulate the bride on her wedding. The bride kept thanking Jesus for the change in weather and checking out her ass in our floor length mirror, while cursing herself for eating so much fudge. Finally it was time and the bride, her sons, and the Maid of Honor left to have the ceremony on the lake shore.
I worked until midnight last night and the moment I clocked out I headed straight to a local bar called Horns where a third of The Orchid staff was hanging out. The moment I got there we headed to a bar with better dance music called Mustang Lounge. The bar was as sketchy as the rumours had led me to believe, but the music was great and the entire dance floor was taken over by Orchid employees.
As I was dancing with some of my fellow Front Desk girls, I noticed a table of two couples watching us. The women pointed at me and then leaned in to tell the men something before hopping up and joining everyone on the dance floor. One of the ladies made a bee-line for me (in a booty-shaking way) and pointed at me. I suddenly recognized her as the Maid of Honor! The other woman, the bride, then shouted, "Orchid!" at me and gave me a thumbs up. I smiled and said 'hi.' The bride gave me a high-five and yelled over the base, "You party it up, girl! You shake it down!"
Talk about a small island!
Being a historic hotel, weddings happen fairly regularly at The Orchid, but a woman in a wedding dress was the last thing I expected to see around the corner. I then learned that the blond lady I was talking to was the officiant for the ceremony. There was movement upstairs and the bride's eyes suddenly went wide. "Shoot! That's the groom!" she exclaimed. "He can't see me!" The bride and photographer rushed into our porch just as the Best Man came down the stairs to check that the coast was clear. The rest of the wedding party soon followed: Maid of Honor and the bride's two sons. While the bride and her sons posed for pictures in the porch, the Maid of Honor and Best Man gathered the wedding preparations: white runner, purple and silver rose petals, and a boombox.
When it was the groom's turn to be photographed he had to go outside so that the bride could come back into the lobby (and the rushed from wall to wall the whole way so that the groom wouldn't accidentally see her through the window). My coworker, Bridget, came to the front desk to congratulate the bride on her wedding. The bride kept thanking Jesus for the change in weather and checking out her ass in our floor length mirror, while cursing herself for eating so much fudge. Finally it was time and the bride, her sons, and the Maid of Honor left to have the ceremony on the lake shore.
I worked until midnight last night and the moment I clocked out I headed straight to a local bar called Horns where a third of The Orchid staff was hanging out. The moment I got there we headed to a bar with better dance music called Mustang Lounge. The bar was as sketchy as the rumours had led me to believe, but the music was great and the entire dance floor was taken over by Orchid employees.
As I was dancing with some of my fellow Front Desk girls, I noticed a table of two couples watching us. The women pointed at me and then leaned in to tell the men something before hopping up and joining everyone on the dance floor. One of the ladies made a bee-line for me (in a booty-shaking way) and pointed at me. I suddenly recognized her as the Maid of Honor! The other woman, the bride, then shouted, "Orchid!" at me and gave me a thumbs up. I smiled and said 'hi.' The bride gave me a high-five and yelled over the base, "You party it up, girl! You shake it down!"
Talk about a small island!
Friday, May 27, 2011
Luggage Dilemma
Over the past two days, Mackinac Island has been besieged by Catholics. The Knights of Columbus group has been holding a convention at the Grand Hotel and consequently nearly every hotel, including The Orchid, is booked almost to capacity with members of the brotherhood. Tomorrow, all of these people leave after a 10am meeting at the Grand. Because of this, and I am sorry if this sounds like I'm generalizing too much, my night has been plagued with very picky and very anal old women.
Since about 10:30pm, the wife of every couple to walk through the front door has inquired as to the check-out process in the morning and what they are supposed to do with their bags. Most of these inquiries have been short and painless, but more than half have been very detailed with the women acting as though they may never see their belongings again.
First of all, The Orchid is so bloody regimented and "machine-like" that there is almost no way that a guest's bag will be misplaced/forgotten. Secondly, our two porters have both worked at The Orchid for several years and therefore have this down to a science and one porter is even related to the owner of the hotel. To all guests of The Orchid: your bags could not be in better hands. However, some people simply thrive on worrying, as with the case of Mrs. 205:
A short wile ago the woman from Room 205 called down to the desk to ask about the proper procedure for their luggage tomorrow. I explained that if they leave the bags packed and ready in their room then the porter will come up to the room, take their bags down to the lobby and then to the ferry dock whenever they are ready to depart the island. Mrs. 205 seemed very taken aback by this for some reason and said that her husband would rather take his own luggage "down" (but the porter could take her suitcases). I asked if she meant down to the ferry dock or the lobby. She said, "Down to the first floor." I told her that her husband was more than welcome to bring his own luggage down and that our porters would store it in the lobby. Mrs. 205 asked brusquely, "Well what's the lobby?" In as unpatronizing a tone as possible I said, "It's the entrance to the hotel where you checked in." This is not the Bellagio, lady. There are not multiple entrances and lobbies. There is only one lobby/guest entrance into the hotel unless you come through the dining room and even then you have to walk through a short hallway of rooms until you arrive at what is very clearly a "lobby" or "lounge."
Mrs. 205 then asked where her husband should place his luggage in the lobby. I explained that our porters would take care of sorting it. Big mistake. I should not have used the word "sort" (I'll add it to the list) because Mrs. 205 then said, "WHAT do you mean by "sort"?!" I explained that we are booked to capacity tomorrow and that we would be storing the luggage of the arrivals as well as the departures and that the porters had a "system" so as not to get any bags confused. Mrs. 205 still seemed put-off by all of this, but she decided to give up the fight for the night.
I sincerely pity the morning clerks who will get to deal with all this mayhem tomorrow.
Since about 10:30pm, the wife of every couple to walk through the front door has inquired as to the check-out process in the morning and what they are supposed to do with their bags. Most of these inquiries have been short and painless, but more than half have been very detailed with the women acting as though they may never see their belongings again.
First of all, The Orchid is so bloody regimented and "machine-like" that there is almost no way that a guest's bag will be misplaced/forgotten. Secondly, our two porters have both worked at The Orchid for several years and therefore have this down to a science and one porter is even related to the owner of the hotel. To all guests of The Orchid: your bags could not be in better hands. However, some people simply thrive on worrying, as with the case of Mrs. 205:
A short wile ago the woman from Room 205 called down to the desk to ask about the proper procedure for their luggage tomorrow. I explained that if they leave the bags packed and ready in their room then the porter will come up to the room, take their bags down to the lobby and then to the ferry dock whenever they are ready to depart the island. Mrs. 205 seemed very taken aback by this for some reason and said that her husband would rather take his own luggage "down" (but the porter could take her suitcases). I asked if she meant down to the ferry dock or the lobby. She said, "Down to the first floor." I told her that her husband was more than welcome to bring his own luggage down and that our porters would store it in the lobby. Mrs. 205 asked brusquely, "Well what's the lobby?" In as unpatronizing a tone as possible I said, "It's the entrance to the hotel where you checked in." This is not the Bellagio, lady. There are not multiple entrances and lobbies. There is only one lobby/guest entrance into the hotel unless you come through the dining room and even then you have to walk through a short hallway of rooms until you arrive at what is very clearly a "lobby" or "lounge."
Mrs. 205 then asked where her husband should place his luggage in the lobby. I explained that our porters would take care of sorting it. Big mistake. I should not have used the word "sort" (I'll add it to the list) because Mrs. 205 then said, "WHAT do you mean by "sort"?!" I explained that we are booked to capacity tomorrow and that we would be storing the luggage of the arrivals as well as the departures and that the porters had a "system" so as not to get any bags confused. Mrs. 205 still seemed put-off by all of this, but she decided to give up the fight for the night.
I sincerely pity the morning clerks who will get to deal with all this mayhem tomorrow.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Of Course I Can Bring That Up To You!
New word that I should not use at work: "wonky."
It's interesting working at a hotel where I am not the sole employee on duty. At the Inn I had to do anything the guests needed. Leaky ceiling? Let me check to make sure the guest in the above room hasn't drowned. Clogged toilet? I will most certainly wade through the bathroom for you. Need your sheets changed because your kids smeared something across them? Of course I'll make your entire bed for you! Why else am I on duty but to serve every random request?
At The Orchid, it's never just me. We have a waterfront dining room that will be open at nights and housekeeping and a night manager are here until midnight. Thus, when a guest needs something done, it is not up to just me to fulfill their request. This novelty led to a somewhat scatter-brained situation earlier when guests came down to the desk and asked for a spoon and whether or not we provided laundry service. As I started to tell them where a laundrymat was on the island, Susan*, the night maid on duty, whispered from the back that we could do the guests' laundry. She then told me to call my supervisor Jenny to ask about the procedure. Jenny asked how much laundry the guests had and when I told her I would ask when I brought them a spoon Jenny said, "And then the office would be empty."
"Yes?" I replied, not quite sure how I was supposed to remedy this. How were the guests going to get their spoon if I didn't bring it to them?
"You cannot leave the office unattended."
"Yes..." I said again, still unsure how this spoon was supposed to make it up two flights of stairs.
"Is Susan there?"
I turned and looked at Susan. "Yes."
"Then Susan can bring the spoon up to the guests and while she is there she can collect their laundry."
"Yes?" (This is obviously my go-to word when I'm having a brain freeze on the phone.)
Susan, who can hear all of this, nods her head and leaves the room. Jenny explains the rest of the laundry procedure and tells me to call her back once I'm done. When Susan returns, spoon in hand, I tell her what room needs the utensil and she leaves again. As it turns out, the guests did NOT need their laundry done, but simply wanted to know if the service was available. I thanked Susan for delivering the spoon and she looked at me like I had lost my mind. "It's my job," she said. "You stay in here and I run things up to guests." This is really going to be quite the concept for me to wrap my head around.
Wednesday was my first day going off island since arriving on Mackinac. The experience wasn't necessarily anything to comment on, but what was exciting was the ferry ride back to the island. While I was running my eerands, Mackinac Island was hit with a minor thunderstorm. The storm itself didn't reach me, but there was some heavy rain that trapped me inside a Walmart where I hungout in a Subway with a group of older women who apparently use the Subway Walmart as a regular hangout (seriously entertaining). Mackinac Island is situated right on the Straits of Mackinac, which is a strip of water that connects Lake Michigan and Lake Huron as well as separates the Lower Peninsula from the Upper Peninsula. Today it is a major shipping lane, creating strong currents and active waves even on a clear, calm day. This is then greatly heightened during stormy days, like Wednesday.
I rode an afternoon ferry back in the company of nearly fifty retirees who were all enrolled in community college and on a field trip. I know it might sound odd, but tourist really warm my heart and I was having a hard time not staring as everyone kept taking pictures of each other on the ferry. The moment we left the dock the ferry began rocking exaggeratedly from side to side, which only increased when we reached open waters. Our windows were completely covered in the white foam from large waves and there were even a few instances when you could see right into the blue water beneath the wave. Each time the boat came crashing down it was accompanied by a chorus of screams and gasps. I was half expecting everyone to clap once we made it to port.(I later learned that the ferries had actually been shutdown in the early afternoon due to the rough waters so maybe we were one of the first boats to attempt to cross over.)
Tomorrow the wait staff arrives, which, from what I understand, means that's when the craziness begins, too! I will also work all morning/day shifts next week, which will present me with loads more opportunities to mess up. Let's hope I will at the very least get some entertaining stories out of it all!
It's interesting working at a hotel where I am not the sole employee on duty. At the Inn I had to do anything the guests needed. Leaky ceiling? Let me check to make sure the guest in the above room hasn't drowned. Clogged toilet? I will most certainly wade through the bathroom for you. Need your sheets changed because your kids smeared something across them? Of course I'll make your entire bed for you! Why else am I on duty but to serve every random request?
At The Orchid, it's never just me. We have a waterfront dining room that will be open at nights and housekeeping and a night manager are here until midnight. Thus, when a guest needs something done, it is not up to just me to fulfill their request. This novelty led to a somewhat scatter-brained situation earlier when guests came down to the desk and asked for a spoon and whether or not we provided laundry service. As I started to tell them where a laundrymat was on the island, Susan*, the night maid on duty, whispered from the back that we could do the guests' laundry. She then told me to call my supervisor Jenny to ask about the procedure. Jenny asked how much laundry the guests had and when I told her I would ask when I brought them a spoon Jenny said, "And then the office would be empty."
"Yes?" I replied, not quite sure how I was supposed to remedy this. How were the guests going to get their spoon if I didn't bring it to them?
"You cannot leave the office unattended."
"Yes..." I said again, still unsure how this spoon was supposed to make it up two flights of stairs.
"Is Susan there?"
I turned and looked at Susan. "Yes."
"Then Susan can bring the spoon up to the guests and while she is there she can collect their laundry."
"Yes?" (This is obviously my go-to word when I'm having a brain freeze on the phone.)
Susan, who can hear all of this, nods her head and leaves the room. Jenny explains the rest of the laundry procedure and tells me to call her back once I'm done. When Susan returns, spoon in hand, I tell her what room needs the utensil and she leaves again. As it turns out, the guests did NOT need their laundry done, but simply wanted to know if the service was available. I thanked Susan for delivering the spoon and she looked at me like I had lost my mind. "It's my job," she said. "You stay in here and I run things up to guests." This is really going to be quite the concept for me to wrap my head around.
Wednesday was my first day going off island since arriving on Mackinac. The experience wasn't necessarily anything to comment on, but what was exciting was the ferry ride back to the island. While I was running my eerands, Mackinac Island was hit with a minor thunderstorm. The storm itself didn't reach me, but there was some heavy rain that trapped me inside a Walmart where I hungout in a Subway with a group of older women who apparently use the Subway Walmart as a regular hangout (seriously entertaining). Mackinac Island is situated right on the Straits of Mackinac, which is a strip of water that connects Lake Michigan and Lake Huron as well as separates the Lower Peninsula from the Upper Peninsula. Today it is a major shipping lane, creating strong currents and active waves even on a clear, calm day. This is then greatly heightened during stormy days, like Wednesday.
I rode an afternoon ferry back in the company of nearly fifty retirees who were all enrolled in community college and on a field trip. I know it might sound odd, but tourist really warm my heart and I was having a hard time not staring as everyone kept taking pictures of each other on the ferry. The moment we left the dock the ferry began rocking exaggeratedly from side to side, which only increased when we reached open waters. Our windows were completely covered in the white foam from large waves and there were even a few instances when you could see right into the blue water beneath the wave. Each time the boat came crashing down it was accompanied by a chorus of screams and gasps. I was half expecting everyone to clap once we made it to port.(I later learned that the ferries had actually been shutdown in the early afternoon due to the rough waters so maybe we were one of the first boats to attempt to cross over.)
Tomorrow the wait staff arrives, which, from what I understand, means that's when the craziness begins, too! I will also work all morning/day shifts next week, which will present me with loads more opportunities to mess up. Let's hope I will at the very least get some entertaining stories out of it all!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Pass or Fail
Today marks my one week anniversary of my time at The Orchid and so far it is still smooth sailing. There are new additions to the list of "Things I Can't Say" which include:
cheapest (least expensive)
"We can fit four guests in that room." ("That room can accomodate four people.")
I swear, my supervisor must be nervous that the next phrase to escape my mouth will be 'git-r-done!' Thankfully my voice is finally reaching a normal octave when talking to guests so I'm not a completely hopeless case. Thus far there have not been many interesting guest happenings at The Orchid. I suppose it's partially due to the difference in the clientel I received at the Inn? I do miss my DNR Boys. There will be no "I cain't play wit you no more," or "Georgia, where are the cookies?!" at The Orchid.
Mackinac Island, however, is gradually becoming busier and busier. Mother's Day weekend provided a harrowing experience of trying to walk down a Main Street sidewalk in order to get to the Starbucks, and no matter which side of the sidewalk you chose, you were headed against the flow. Sunday was also Free Ferry Ride day and the line to one dock actually stretched over two blocks. While sitting in a coffee shop with another fellow front desk clerk, Rizzo*, we watched as about fifteen horses were led up one of the streets. From what I learned from a local, there are about 200 horses on the island presently, but during the summer season there will be about 950. This is just the beginning!
This once again brings us back to the continuing coverage of my roommate, Dahlia (I promise once the summer season begins I will start talking about hotel business once again rather than personal drama. Right now the most I can say about our guests is that there are a lot of adorable older couples checking in and out and none of the casue any sort of disturbance worth writing about!). Following the trend of our first night working together Dahlia did not let me down the second night when she spent the last three hours of our shift calling all the hotels on the island to see where she and her boyfriend could stay at the end of May. I, on the other hand, was making flashcards for our big Room Exam (which will be more pertinent towards the end of this post). Dahlia would ask me random questions throughout the shift or complain about something, but there was a solid thirty minutes were not a word was spoken between us. The silence was broken, however, when Dahlia suddenly sighed, "I can't believe I love him so much." Having heard enough about her boyfriend for one night I continued to fill out my flashcards. Dahlia then leaned back in her chair and shook her head sadly. "It's painful, you know," she said, "opening your heart like that to someone. I did it once and I promised myself I would never do it again."
Now I knew I had to reply. "That sucks."
"And he's so jealous of me hooking up with someone else while I'm here. So jealous." Her voice had now gone soft and whispery, giving me the impression I had somehow fallen into a scene from 'Twilight'.
"Well that's not good to have so much jealousy," I replied.
Dahlia leaned forward in her chair and stared intensely at the desk. "He was so jealous in the beginning," she said. Surprisingly, that was the end of that conversation.
The next day, Dahlia was off so only Rizzo and I had to take the Room Exam, which we both passed with flying colours. One test down and two more to go! I came home the night to find Dahlia in a mess of papers that had lists of rooms on them. I asked her how the studying was going. This was apparently the wrong question to ask. Before I knew what was happening I was thrown into a tirade of, "I'm the 'special needs child' or the group," and, "you are all fresh out of college and young and outgoing and I'm just not," and my personal favourite, "I study and I study and it just doesn't sink in no matter what I do!"
First of all, the age breakdown of the four front desk clerks is currently 22, 22, 23, and 24 (with the two 22's turning 23 over the next six months). I'm sure everyone can surmise that Dahlia is the 24 year old, which, in her mind, makes her slower and less able to retain information then the rest of us. I tried to explain to her that 24 is no where near "old", but she just wasn't having it. Second of all, the night was the first time I had ever seen Dahlia study. The rest of the time she was either complaining, snoring, talking about her boyfriend, or talking to her boyfriend.
Dahlia continued to freak out for the next twenty minutes on a continuous cycle about how she cannot "memorize things like everyone else", how her sinus infection was preventing her from concentrating, and how she was "different" from everyone else. I told her that I sympathized with her situation after my experience on the Blue Ridge, but those of you who have read this blog from the beginning know how THAT turned out. Needless to say, that was not the best example in the world.
The following afternoon, Monday, Dahlia took the Room Exam. Rizzo and I had been touring the Grand Hotel and walked into the EDR (our employee lounge/cafeteria) just as Jenny was going over Dahlia's score. Dahlia looked like she was going to throw up. Rizzo and I made some sort of excuse that we had to go to the women's dressing room and we heard Jenny say, "You'll have to retake this Wednesday," as we left. We came back to the EDR as Jenny told Dahlia to go back to the office while she (Jenny) would go talk with Tracy*, the Personnel Director.
I came on duty about a half hour after the awkward encounter in the EDR. Dahlia left to meet with Tracy the moment I got there and did not return for nearly fifteen minutes. When she did, she asked Jenny for a map of the island and basically hauled ass out of the building. An hour later I went down to the EDR for dinner, where Rizzo immediately asked me what had happened. I told her I had no idea, but that Dahlia was obviously very upset and went home. Rizzo told me she had asked Sandy*(a veteran Orchid front desk clerk and mine and Dahlia's third flatmate) the same question and she had only replied, "[Dahlia] no longer works here."
Whoa. Apparently Dahlia's test had been the "worst" they had ever seen and when Dahlia went to meet with Tracy once I came on duty, that is when she was fired. Not gonna lie, I did not see that coming so soon. The Orchid really does not fool around!
That night, when I got back to the room, I told Dahlia I was sorry about what had happened. Dahlia immediately replied, "Don't lie, we all saw this coming. No one was surprised by this." She then went into a small rant of knowing the job was not for her from the beginning and having been plagued by nightmares for the past week. Dahlia then began asking me where places were located on the island because she planned to scour what businesses she could to try and find employment before she was kicked out of Orchidhousing (which will happen tomorrow).
Although I do sincerely feel sorry for Dahlia I can't help feeling she is the creator of her own demise. From the beginning of her time her at The Orchid she has had a defeatist attitude that either had to do with her being "too sick" or "too old" to retain any information. While Rizzo and I were studying during most of our free time, Dahlia was stressing out about find a place for her boyfriend to stay at when he comes to visit each month.
As I headed to bed I heard Dahlia on the phone with her boyfriend. She was listing off all the restaurants she was planning to apply to in the morning. Having not explored the island very much, each restaurant name sounded new to her and her voice would trail off until she had located it on the map. I heard her mention The Lilac Room*. The Lilac Room is a very popular restaurant on Mackinac Island and I have been told that it is not only a favourite for tourists, but locals as well. The dining room has a piano bar and offers a gorgeous waterfront view and patio seating. The Lilac Room is also The Orchid Hotel's restaurant.
Dahlia was right. We all saw her termination coming.
cheapest (least expensive)
"We can fit four guests in that room." ("That room can accomodate four people.")
I swear, my supervisor must be nervous that the next phrase to escape my mouth will be 'git-r-done!' Thankfully my voice is finally reaching a normal octave when talking to guests so I'm not a completely hopeless case. Thus far there have not been many interesting guest happenings at The Orchid. I suppose it's partially due to the difference in the clientel I received at the Inn? I do miss my DNR Boys. There will be no "I cain't play wit you no more," or "Georgia, where are the cookies?!" at The Orchid.
Mackinac Island, however, is gradually becoming busier and busier. Mother's Day weekend provided a harrowing experience of trying to walk down a Main Street sidewalk in order to get to the Starbucks, and no matter which side of the sidewalk you chose, you were headed against the flow. Sunday was also Free Ferry Ride day and the line to one dock actually stretched over two blocks. While sitting in a coffee shop with another fellow front desk clerk, Rizzo*, we watched as about fifteen horses were led up one of the streets. From what I learned from a local, there are about 200 horses on the island presently, but during the summer season there will be about 950. This is just the beginning!
This once again brings us back to the continuing coverage of my roommate, Dahlia (I promise once the summer season begins I will start talking about hotel business once again rather than personal drama. Right now the most I can say about our guests is that there are a lot of adorable older couples checking in and out and none of the casue any sort of disturbance worth writing about!). Following the trend of our first night working together Dahlia did not let me down the second night when she spent the last three hours of our shift calling all the hotels on the island to see where she and her boyfriend could stay at the end of May. I, on the other hand, was making flashcards for our big Room Exam (which will be more pertinent towards the end of this post). Dahlia would ask me random questions throughout the shift or complain about something, but there was a solid thirty minutes were not a word was spoken between us. The silence was broken, however, when Dahlia suddenly sighed, "I can't believe I love him so much." Having heard enough about her boyfriend for one night I continued to fill out my flashcards. Dahlia then leaned back in her chair and shook her head sadly. "It's painful, you know," she said, "opening your heart like that to someone. I did it once and I promised myself I would never do it again."
Now I knew I had to reply. "That sucks."
"And he's so jealous of me hooking up with someone else while I'm here. So jealous." Her voice had now gone soft and whispery, giving me the impression I had somehow fallen into a scene from 'Twilight'.
"Well that's not good to have so much jealousy," I replied.
Dahlia leaned forward in her chair and stared intensely at the desk. "He was so jealous in the beginning," she said. Surprisingly, that was the end of that conversation.
The next day, Dahlia was off so only Rizzo and I had to take the Room Exam, which we both passed with flying colours. One test down and two more to go! I came home the night to find Dahlia in a mess of papers that had lists of rooms on them. I asked her how the studying was going. This was apparently the wrong question to ask. Before I knew what was happening I was thrown into a tirade of, "I'm the 'special needs child' or the group," and, "you are all fresh out of college and young and outgoing and I'm just not," and my personal favourite, "I study and I study and it just doesn't sink in no matter what I do!"
First of all, the age breakdown of the four front desk clerks is currently 22, 22, 23, and 24 (with the two 22's turning 23 over the next six months). I'm sure everyone can surmise that Dahlia is the 24 year old, which, in her mind, makes her slower and less able to retain information then the rest of us. I tried to explain to her that 24 is no where near "old", but she just wasn't having it. Second of all, the night was the first time I had ever seen Dahlia study. The rest of the time she was either complaining, snoring, talking about her boyfriend, or talking to her boyfriend.
Dahlia continued to freak out for the next twenty minutes on a continuous cycle about how she cannot "memorize things like everyone else", how her sinus infection was preventing her from concentrating, and how she was "different" from everyone else. I told her that I sympathized with her situation after my experience on the Blue Ridge, but those of you who have read this blog from the beginning know how THAT turned out. Needless to say, that was not the best example in the world.
The following afternoon, Monday, Dahlia took the Room Exam. Rizzo and I had been touring the Grand Hotel and walked into the EDR (our employee lounge/cafeteria) just as Jenny was going over Dahlia's score. Dahlia looked like she was going to throw up. Rizzo and I made some sort of excuse that we had to go to the women's dressing room and we heard Jenny say, "You'll have to retake this Wednesday," as we left. We came back to the EDR as Jenny told Dahlia to go back to the office while she (Jenny) would go talk with Tracy*, the Personnel Director.
I came on duty about a half hour after the awkward encounter in the EDR. Dahlia left to meet with Tracy the moment I got there and did not return for nearly fifteen minutes. When she did, she asked Jenny for a map of the island and basically hauled ass out of the building. An hour later I went down to the EDR for dinner, where Rizzo immediately asked me what had happened. I told her I had no idea, but that Dahlia was obviously very upset and went home. Rizzo told me she had asked Sandy*(a veteran Orchid front desk clerk and mine and Dahlia's third flatmate) the same question and she had only replied, "[Dahlia] no longer works here."
Whoa. Apparently Dahlia's test had been the "worst" they had ever seen and when Dahlia went to meet with Tracy once I came on duty, that is when she was fired. Not gonna lie, I did not see that coming so soon. The Orchid really does not fool around!
That night, when I got back to the room, I told Dahlia I was sorry about what had happened. Dahlia immediately replied, "Don't lie, we all saw this coming. No one was surprised by this." She then went into a small rant of knowing the job was not for her from the beginning and having been plagued by nightmares for the past week. Dahlia then began asking me where places were located on the island because she planned to scour what businesses she could to try and find employment before she was kicked out of Orchidhousing (which will happen tomorrow).
Although I do sincerely feel sorry for Dahlia I can't help feeling she is the creator of her own demise. From the beginning of her time her at The Orchid she has had a defeatist attitude that either had to do with her being "too sick" or "too old" to retain any information. While Rizzo and I were studying during most of our free time, Dahlia was stressing out about find a place for her boyfriend to stay at when he comes to visit each month.
As I headed to bed I heard Dahlia on the phone with her boyfriend. She was listing off all the restaurants she was planning to apply to in the morning. Having not explored the island very much, each restaurant name sounded new to her and her voice would trail off until she had located it on the map. I heard her mention The Lilac Room*. The Lilac Room is a very popular restaurant on Mackinac Island and I have been told that it is not only a favourite for tourists, but locals as well. The dining room has a piano bar and offers a gorgeous waterfront view and patio seating. The Lilac Room is also The Orchid Hotel's restaurant.
Dahlia was right. We all saw her termination coming.
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