Day one of The Orchid went fairly smoothly. I was hounded for my use of "you guys" repeatedly, but I think my manager, Jenny, is becoming more humoured by the fact that my voice raises an octave whenever I talk to guests. It's all about baby steps with this job! That is, it's all about baby steps until it come to room, rules, and rates memorization. Tomorrow will mark my sixth day on the job and already I am looking at a test (yes, an actual paper test) on all thirty-six guest rooms and nine-suites at The Orchid. This test will consist of a list of room numbers and I will have to know the code, bed structure, view, and on/off season rates of each room. Whoa. In theory, each front desk agent should get to the point where Jenny will say, "What is room 218?" and we should be about to answer, "That is the Fudge Suite. It has a king size bed, sitting AREA, wet bar, and looks over the marina, Fort Mackinac, the governor's mansion, and East Bluff (row of pretty houses)." (And for those of you who care, that description of 218 is spot on! I'm pretty impressed with myself although I didn't start memorizing rates until last night soooo...if you call me, your room is free!)
And now we once again turn to the most entertaining aspect of The Orchid: Dahlia. Dahlia, bless her heart, is a hot mess. She and I worked the 3:30-10pm shift together last night and all check-ins and phone calls were left to me. What was Dahlia doing at the time? Well I couldn't honestly say, but she was usually either sitting beside or standing right behind me, blowing her nose loudly. Once our manager left for the day at 8pm, Dahlia finally answered the phone.
Side note: In order to understand this next part, there is one minor thing you all must know. If you book ahead of time, your hotel room is either assigned the day of or day before your arrival. However, there are times when maintenance issues, pushy guests, and a plethora of other reasons cause you to be placed in another room. Luckily, since you did not know your room number to begin with, you are none the wiser. This really isn't a big deal, but there were times at the Inn where I had preassigned a guest to a first floor room, but then unforeseen circumstances came up and the guest was placed on the second floor, towards the back of the building. For this reason, guests are not told their room number until they arrive. (Unless you're a regular and specifically request "Room 325", etc etc.)
So Dahlia answers the phone and it is Mr. Dwight wanting to double check that we have his reservation for tomorrow night. I show Dahlia how to look this up in the computer and then hear her say, "Yes, Mr. Dwight, I do see that we have you checking in tomorrow to room 208. This is a GS1 room, which will either come with a king bed or a balcony and you have two persons in your party."
First of all, Mr. Dwight does not need to know he is in room 208 because what if we have to move him to 312 for some reason? Will he be pissed that he suddenly has an extra flight of stairs to climb when, as of last night, he only had one flight (there is no elevator in the hotel because it is a historical building)? And "GS1" is a code for a certain type of room we have (which comes with either a king or a queen bed and some of the kings have balconies, but all of the queens have balconies -- look who's not going to fail her test!). The guest does not need to know this. And as soon as you bring up "a king OR a balcony" the guest is going to wonder, "Why can't I have both?" (FYI, room 208 DOES have a king AND a balcony and looks out over the roof of the building next to us and towards the marina, fort, mansion, etc etc.) Basically, had Dahlia known the colour of the wallpaper I am sure she would have told Mr. Dwight this as well, which is just not necessary and could led to a very grumpy Mr. Dwight.
Dahlia then took another call and, once again, went into way too much detail while trying to book a room for some lady. I was trying to study the room map at the time, but I was able to catch enough to know that Dahlia was trying to place this lady in a specific room, which is REALLY not something we do at The Orchid since our rooms can be so vastly different and we won't know which specific room is available until the day of your arrival (for example, you ask for a garden side room with the side porch; some of these have a king bed and some have a queen. We will note your preference and try to get you your bed of choice, but until the day of your arrival there is no way of knowing.). Dahlia then told the lady that she would investigate further and asked that she call the hotel tomorrow and hopefully Dahlia would have found the perfect accommodation. My roomie then spent the next hour and a half obsessing over a room that could fit three people. I tried to help her and speed the process along, but the hitch was that all three people wanted their own bed. During this time I was also getting up frequently to greet guests returning from dinner and answering what questions they had. Dahlia remained planted firmly in her seat trying to figure out just what room would be perfect in every way (bed structure, view, and price) for these people. Finally, I told Dahlia to just stick them in a suite with a king bed and a pullout couch that would fit two people and that way only two of the guests would have to share a bed, but at least it could be a big bed.
"But she's not going to like that," Dahlia said.
"Who?"
"The mom."
"What mom?"
"Of the reservation. I know these people. She won't be happy."
"You know the woman who just called?"
"No. That's a separate reservation."
Now I was really confused because we hadn't had any phone calls since the woman Dahlia had spoken to. "Who is this reservation for?" I asked.
"My boyfriend and his family."
It took every ounce of strength in my body not to collapse to my knees and screech, "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!"
"I'm just going to have to go look at the rooms," Dahlia said, grabbing the master key and heading upstairs. By this point the Night Auditor, George*, had arrived and once Dahlia was gone he asked me, "Aren't you glad that's what you get to go home with, too?" I asked him to start smuggling a flask to work.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Friday, May 6, 2011
Greetings from Mackinac Island!
Hello all! For those of you who don’t know: I have recently switched hotels and am currently situated on the picturesque Mackinac Island that sits just off the connecting bridge between the Lower Peninsula and Upper Peninsula of Michigan. I am a Front Desk Agent at the Orchid Hotel*, which is, needless to say, a tad more strict than my previous Holiday Inn.
The Orchid Hotel is a small deluxe hotel that offers quaint luxurious (slight oxymoron, I know) rooms at prices ranging from $300 (our one room with an “obstructed view”) to $1,000+. The majority of our rooms provide excellent views of the Straits of Mackinac (i.e. Lake Huron), the marina, or our garden (award winning maybe? I’ll have to double check on that fact). We are located in the downtown of Mackinac and right on the water’s edge.
On top of all this, the hotel has been mentioned in Conde ‘Nast’s “Gold List” countless times as well as other receiving other prestigious honours and recognitions. Obviously, my standards as a hotel employee have changed slightly. Unlike the Inn, I do not have a uniform, but instead must dress “business casual,” but was told not to go “too crazy.” As a girl who loves to see just how many patterns and colours she can pull off, I’m not quite sure how to interpret the dress code. I have a strong feeling that this rule in particular will lead to some fun discussions with the office manager, Jenny*.
Speaking is also a big part of this job. I realize that sounds like a silly statement, but stay with me for a second. I come from an area where people butcher the English language. They add syllables that shouldn’t exist in words (i.e. Gloucester = “glauw-ster”, not “gla-chester”), switch out vowels and consonants (Library vs Liberry), and just generally have a habit of creating their own pronunciations. Anyways, I would certainly describe myself as someone with very good grammar and a very professional way of speaking. Apparently I am mistaken. Thus far I have been told to lower my voice (I sound like I’m five on the phone?), stop saying “yep”, “you guys”, “okie”, “not a problem”, and a “thank you” without a “one moment please” after it. My god. Orchid Hotel also takes the use of the words “room” and “area” VERY seriously. Some of our suites have a sitting area, while others have sitting ROOMS meaning that they can be closed off from the bedrooms. Even though I get this distinction, my mind is having the hardest time communicating to my mouth when to say either of these words and each bloody time leads to Jenny having to describe the differentiation to me all over again.
Okay, enough with the technical stuff. I’ll continue to expand on the ins and outs of the hotel as the season progresses, which I am sure will get more entertaining as tomorrow is our first official day of being open! Now for the real stuff...
My roommate. As a few of my readers may know, I do not have the best of luck with roommates. Most of them have to be heavily medicated for one reason or another and just have a tendency of being “different.” My new roommate is no exception. Dahlia* is a very special girl. So far I have learned that she is allergic to dairy, horses, dust, and possibly some type of meat (there’s some other stuff, too, but I stopped keeping track). Any time she comes in contact with these items...well she has a negative reaction that she then feels necessary to broadcast to me. Long story short, yesterday she asked me if I wanted to go to the store with her to get Gas X and then proceeded to go into a detailed bowel movement discussion. Did I mention that we have only spent three nights together?
Having never worked in the hotel business, Dahlia is very overwhelmed by all that goes on at the Orchid. As front desk agents we are required to memorize every room number, their description and their view. This task has Dahlia ESPECIALLY stressed, which she moans and groans to me everyday. EVERYday. And I’m not just talking about while we’re in the room together – oh no. We eat every meal together as well as work together (does anyone else hear the twanging banjoes of my Blue Ridge experience in the background?) and during each of these instances she is complaining. And on top of having a screwed up digestive track and being stressed beyond belief – she has a sinus infection. And did I mention she snores? I believe the phrase is, “like a jack hammer.” She also has a blind boyfriend who she feels the need to reference every few seconds and is oddly blunt at times, such as asking when I might need the room for sex, or inquiring as to my “monthly cycle.” (I would like to repeat that we have known each other for THREE NIGHTS). Dahlia is also weary of walking around at night, drinking, and partying, activities that are very present on this island (I’ve heard Mackinac called the Las Vegas of the Midwest several times). Needless to say, this shall be an interesting summer with Dahlia the Bubble Girl.
Besides all that, I think this season at the Orchid will be very exciting. The hotel is family owned and all the “higher ups” make it a priority to get to know all of their staff. Our housing is located just past the infamous Grand Hotel, which is apparently where the majority of the seasonal island employees will be housed. There are great trails and random historic places at nearly every turn and the all the buildings look like something ripped right out of Pleasantville. As the weather gets nicer I will post pictures!
(Side note: I will try to be more regular with the blog posts from now on and hopefully I will have more entertaining posts as the season continues.)
*Names have been changed for job security.
The Orchid Hotel is a small deluxe hotel that offers quaint luxurious (slight oxymoron, I know) rooms at prices ranging from $300 (our one room with an “obstructed view”) to $1,000+. The majority of our rooms provide excellent views of the Straits of Mackinac (i.e. Lake Huron), the marina, or our garden (award winning maybe? I’ll have to double check on that fact). We are located in the downtown of Mackinac and right on the water’s edge.
On top of all this, the hotel has been mentioned in Conde ‘Nast’s “Gold List” countless times as well as other receiving other prestigious honours and recognitions. Obviously, my standards as a hotel employee have changed slightly. Unlike the Inn, I do not have a uniform, but instead must dress “business casual,” but was told not to go “too crazy.” As a girl who loves to see just how many patterns and colours she can pull off, I’m not quite sure how to interpret the dress code. I have a strong feeling that this rule in particular will lead to some fun discussions with the office manager, Jenny*.
Speaking is also a big part of this job. I realize that sounds like a silly statement, but stay with me for a second. I come from an area where people butcher the English language. They add syllables that shouldn’t exist in words (i.e. Gloucester = “glauw-ster”, not “gla-chester”), switch out vowels and consonants (Library vs Liberry), and just generally have a habit of creating their own pronunciations. Anyways, I would certainly describe myself as someone with very good grammar and a very professional way of speaking. Apparently I am mistaken. Thus far I have been told to lower my voice (I sound like I’m five on the phone?), stop saying “yep”, “you guys”, “okie”, “not a problem”, and a “thank you” without a “one moment please” after it. My god. Orchid Hotel also takes the use of the words “room” and “area” VERY seriously. Some of our suites have a sitting area, while others have sitting ROOMS meaning that they can be closed off from the bedrooms. Even though I get this distinction, my mind is having the hardest time communicating to my mouth when to say either of these words and each bloody time leads to Jenny having to describe the differentiation to me all over again.
Okay, enough with the technical stuff. I’ll continue to expand on the ins and outs of the hotel as the season progresses, which I am sure will get more entertaining as tomorrow is our first official day of being open! Now for the real stuff...
My roommate. As a few of my readers may know, I do not have the best of luck with roommates. Most of them have to be heavily medicated for one reason or another and just have a tendency of being “different.” My new roommate is no exception. Dahlia* is a very special girl. So far I have learned that she is allergic to dairy, horses, dust, and possibly some type of meat (there’s some other stuff, too, but I stopped keeping track). Any time she comes in contact with these items...well she has a negative reaction that she then feels necessary to broadcast to me. Long story short, yesterday she asked me if I wanted to go to the store with her to get Gas X and then proceeded to go into a detailed bowel movement discussion. Did I mention that we have only spent three nights together?
Having never worked in the hotel business, Dahlia is very overwhelmed by all that goes on at the Orchid. As front desk agents we are required to memorize every room number, their description and their view. This task has Dahlia ESPECIALLY stressed, which she moans and groans to me everyday. EVERYday. And I’m not just talking about while we’re in the room together – oh no. We eat every meal together as well as work together (does anyone else hear the twanging banjoes of my Blue Ridge experience in the background?) and during each of these instances she is complaining. And on top of having a screwed up digestive track and being stressed beyond belief – she has a sinus infection. And did I mention she snores? I believe the phrase is, “like a jack hammer.” She also has a blind boyfriend who she feels the need to reference every few seconds and is oddly blunt at times, such as asking when I might need the room for sex, or inquiring as to my “monthly cycle.” (I would like to repeat that we have known each other for THREE NIGHTS). Dahlia is also weary of walking around at night, drinking, and partying, activities that are very present on this island (I’ve heard Mackinac called the Las Vegas of the Midwest several times). Needless to say, this shall be an interesting summer with Dahlia the Bubble Girl.
Besides all that, I think this season at the Orchid will be very exciting. The hotel is family owned and all the “higher ups” make it a priority to get to know all of their staff. Our housing is located just past the infamous Grand Hotel, which is apparently where the majority of the seasonal island employees will be housed. There are great trails and random historic places at nearly every turn and the all the buildings look like something ripped right out of Pleasantville. As the weather gets nicer I will post pictures!
(Side note: I will try to be more regular with the blog posts from now on and hopefully I will have more entertaining posts as the season continues.)
*Names have been changed for job security.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
A Series of Rants: Children
(My next few posts will be as the title explains: a series of rants.)
a) Rude Children
A lady came up to the desk last night to ask for pizza recommendations. I encouraged her to order from the more "local" restaurant Fox's ("local" when compared to Domino's) and provided her with a menu that we keep at the front desk. She began flipping through it when her son (aged somewhere between six and nine) entered the lobby with some sort of white pastry thing spilling from his mouth. His mother exclaimed, "They have salads!" excitedly. Pastry Child then weaseled his way under his mother's arms and flipped the laminated pages back to the beginning. Rude Strike #1. The mother said that she was looking at the salads to which Pastry Child threw up his arm and pushed his mother out of the way with a, "Move," command. Rude Strike #2! As I was trying not to stare in bewilderment at this kid, the phone rang. I answered and spoke with an older man who had a hearing problem. During my entire phone conversation, Pastry Child stood only one foot away from me, loudly declaring to his mother that he did not want ham on his Meat Lover's Deluxe pizza and did not understand why there would even BE ham on a Meat Lover's pizza.
When guests stand at the counter and talk loudly while I am on the phone, I try not to do the typical 'I can't hear over you' move of plugging one of my ears with a finger. However, this kid was SO loud and SO obnoxious that I was tempted to ask him to move to the other side of the room so that the nice little old man did not have to give me his credit card information for a third time...
b) Stubborn Children
You know those kids who don't want to budge for some reason and their parents say, "I gonna count to 10!" Do you notice how rarely the parents actually get to 10? And when they do, they don't really do anything except repeat their command that had preceded, "I'm gonna count to 10!"
Seeing as it is spring break season, I witness stubborn children a LOT. Kids who want to stay in and watch cartoons, kids who don't want to change out of their bathing suits, kids who throw a fit for some coffee, and then kids who are just stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. Observe Specimen A: Miss Pink Pants.
(Quick side note: this day had been particularly insane and I had already been fortunate enough to listen to four previous parent/child stand-offs.)
Miss Pink Pants and her mother came back to the hotel after what had obviously been an entire day spent at the beach. When people are in the lobby I am required to be standing at the front desk, so I waited while they passed through. Miss Pink Pants (about 3 yrs old) was obviously unhappy to have left the beach so soon and stood adamantly at the door, while her mother walked around the corner, totally oblivious to the fact the her child was no longer in tow. When she did realize, however, she came back around the corner and told Miss Pink Pants to come.
"No," Pink Pants replied, crossing her arms and stomping a foot emphatically.
"Come on. We're going to get ready and go eat."
"No!"
"Pink Pants..."
"No!"
"I'm going to count to 10!"
By this point, I decided to act like something needed my desperate attention at the fax machine because I did not feel like watching a battle ensue. Pink Pants's mother kept threatening to count to 10, but she never did, which I really do not understand. Pink Pants then opened the door and stood defiantly on the threshold. Her mother said she would leave her and then walked down the hall.
Okie, here are some of my issues with this: #1, I now feel responsible for your child who is standing in between two heavy doors and once she loses her grip and is crushed, it suddenly becomes the front desk clerk's fault for not watching the child. #2, Your child is about two and a half feet tall. Why can you not just pick her up and take her to your room? Mommy's mass greatly outweighs 3 yr old's mass so I do not quite see the problem. #3, Now that you have left your child in the lobby I HAVE to stay up there. Not only could she crush herself, but god knows what else an irate toddler can do and as I've already said once -- suddenly it is my responsibility. #4, Do you really think I want to stand at the desk with a smile plastered on my face, while you play Chicken with your child? No, I really really don't.
c) Weird Children
i. A woman came in yesterday with her 12 yr old daughter to check on availability and roommates. While I spoke with the mother, her daughter chewed on the counter top. I mean this completely literally -- teeth out, gnawing on our marble counter top. It was everything I could do not to stare.
ii. A few days ago a mother came to the desk to ask for towels. During her five-word sentence of "Can we have four towels?" her daughter twitched and chirped "towels" about seven times and then continued to say it as I went and got the towels. It's like Turrets with household goods.
d) Too Many Children
As you can tell, most of these are fairly recent "rant-able" situations. This is because March is college/university spring break season and April is apparently given to elementary, middle, and high schoolers. Thus, we are over run with guests AND (you guessed it) kids galore.
A few hours ago, as I was checking-in a walk-in, a woman from Rm 120 came to the desk to complain that housekeeping had cleaned their room and made the bed, but had not changed the sheets. I don't know if people realize this or not, but if you stay at a hotel for multiple nights, chances are your sheets are not going to be replaced every day. A lot of this just has to do with pure time management because housekeepers are not only having to clean the rooms for "stayovers," but they are also having to completely change-out, swab, mop, and pretty much gut other rooms for new arrivals. And on this day specifically, our housekeeping was swamped with having to change-over 23 rooms (meaning, the guests in all those rooms were due to depart this morning) and clean 14 stayovers with only two housekeepers! Yes -- 2! So unfortunately, some stayovers were left with their sheets from the night before.
It was clear, however, that Rm 120 Lady was not pleased about her dirty sheets. I told her that I would be down with new sheets as soon as possible. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows as if to ask snidely, "Why can't it be now?" I looked down, hoping to bring her attention to the credit card in my hand. I then looked at the man standing next to her, who I was in the process of checking-in when she came stomping around the corner. He gave her a curt nod. "It'll take me about ten more minutes to check him in," I informed her, "I will then bring clean sheets down to your room." Pursed Lips lifted her nose in reply and walked away. I then had to explain to the man who had just walked in and asked for a room that he would most certainly find clean sheets on his bed.
After I had finished checking the man in, I grabbed a set of sheets and headed down to Rm 120. When I knocked I heard Pursed Lips say, "They're here to make the bed." They? It's just me at the hotel from 3 p.m. on. There is no "they" and there is no "they're here to make the bed." Unless you are older, hurt, or handicapped, "they", meaning "me", will not be making the bed alone.
As soon as Pursed Lips opened the door I knew I was in for a not-so-fun time. There four children: two little kids (a girl and a boy) ages 2 to 3, one that was probably 5-ish (boy), and another that may have graced the double-digits by now (boy); and two adults: Pursed Lips and an equally displeased looking overly tanned woman. The moment I entered the room the two littlest children began walking around my feet, wanting to show me empty Barbie wallets and shells they had collected from the beach. Pursed Lips wrenched the dirty sheets from the bed, but not before angrily showing me the brown marks and stating, "Johnny thinks it's poop." Lovely. She then stood there and looked at me. I placed the set of sheets on the floor and began figuring out which was the bottom sheet. The two adults made no move to even offer help in making the King Sized bed (which was completely surrounded by discarded luggage and giant plastic toys). Thankfully, after the little girl shoved a Barbie doll in my face she then noticed the brace on my hand (I wear it for typing because I am one of the many twenty-something yr olds who did not type with their wrists properly elevated for the longest time). She asked me why my wrist hurt. I unfolded the fitted sheet and told her I had been in a bad accident. Pursed Lips then sighed heavily and stuck out her arm. "Fine," she said gruffly, "I'll help you make the bed." We then made the bed while the two little kids continued to crawl and play around my feet, so much so that I was unable to secure one of the corners of the sheet because I couldn't lean over the little boy far enough, who was trying to gather the spilled items of his wicker purse (you can't make this stuff up).
e) Hyper Children
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am perhaps one of the least maternal beings around, next to those hamsters that eat their babies. However, although lacking in childcare skills, I am not heartless when it comes to kids and I play peek-a-boo with one around the column of our breakfast area if it'll entertain them for a few moments. What's not so cute, though, are the kids who just run wild in the lobby. You know the type of kids I'm talking about -- they literally run in circles, bang on things, and drag heavy objects around while their parents to a friend, sales associate, front desk clerk, etc, and act like their kid is doing absolutely nothing. When you're experiencing this with one kid it is a tad irksome and possibly awkward, but easily ignored. But when you're checking in three different families, each with an average of 2 to 4 kids and ALL the kids are behaving this way...well then the situation gets put in its own special category of "bothersome."
These three families descended upon the Inn's lobby like a flash lightning storm in the middle of the desert. One moment I was reading an article in USAToday and the next I was besieged by miniature people moving furniture twice their size while the parents yelled over the noise to figure out who was paying for which rooms. I am still amazed that I got everyone checked into the right rooms because I don't even remember half the questions I was answering. Four children ranging from 3.5 feet and smaller were chasing each other around the breakfast bar, a baby was crying on a woman-who-I-assumed-was-grandma's knee, a little boy asked if there were any cookies (it's allllllways about the bloody cookies!), two 3 yr old-looking blond twins kept shutting each other in and out of the front doors, and the eldest girl (maybe 7 yrs old?) pulled our luggage cart out from behind a door frame and tried to ride it like a gigantic skateboard.
Needless to say, had they offered me a tip, I wouldn't have turned it down.
a) Rude Children
A lady came up to the desk last night to ask for pizza recommendations. I encouraged her to order from the more "local" restaurant Fox's ("local" when compared to Domino's) and provided her with a menu that we keep at the front desk. She began flipping through it when her son (aged somewhere between six and nine) entered the lobby with some sort of white pastry thing spilling from his mouth. His mother exclaimed, "They have salads!" excitedly. Pastry Child then weaseled his way under his mother's arms and flipped the laminated pages back to the beginning. Rude Strike #1. The mother said that she was looking at the salads to which Pastry Child threw up his arm and pushed his mother out of the way with a, "Move," command. Rude Strike #2! As I was trying not to stare in bewilderment at this kid, the phone rang. I answered and spoke with an older man who had a hearing problem. During my entire phone conversation, Pastry Child stood only one foot away from me, loudly declaring to his mother that he did not want ham on his Meat Lover's Deluxe pizza and did not understand why there would even BE ham on a Meat Lover's pizza.
When guests stand at the counter and talk loudly while I am on the phone, I try not to do the typical 'I can't hear over you' move of plugging one of my ears with a finger. However, this kid was SO loud and SO obnoxious that I was tempted to ask him to move to the other side of the room so that the nice little old man did not have to give me his credit card information for a third time...
b) Stubborn Children
You know those kids who don't want to budge for some reason and their parents say, "I gonna count to 10!" Do you notice how rarely the parents actually get to 10? And when they do, they don't really do anything except repeat their command that had preceded, "I'm gonna count to 10!"
Seeing as it is spring break season, I witness stubborn children a LOT. Kids who want to stay in and watch cartoons, kids who don't want to change out of their bathing suits, kids who throw a fit for some coffee, and then kids who are just stubborn for the sake of being stubborn. Observe Specimen A: Miss Pink Pants.
(Quick side note: this day had been particularly insane and I had already been fortunate enough to listen to four previous parent/child stand-offs.)
Miss Pink Pants and her mother came back to the hotel after what had obviously been an entire day spent at the beach. When people are in the lobby I am required to be standing at the front desk, so I waited while they passed through. Miss Pink Pants (about 3 yrs old) was obviously unhappy to have left the beach so soon and stood adamantly at the door, while her mother walked around the corner, totally oblivious to the fact the her child was no longer in tow. When she did realize, however, she came back around the corner and told Miss Pink Pants to come.
"No," Pink Pants replied, crossing her arms and stomping a foot emphatically.
"Come on. We're going to get ready and go eat."
"No!"
"Pink Pants..."
"No!"
"I'm going to count to 10!"
By this point, I decided to act like something needed my desperate attention at the fax machine because I did not feel like watching a battle ensue. Pink Pants's mother kept threatening to count to 10, but she never did, which I really do not understand. Pink Pants then opened the door and stood defiantly on the threshold. Her mother said she would leave her and then walked down the hall.
Okie, here are some of my issues with this: #1, I now feel responsible for your child who is standing in between two heavy doors and once she loses her grip and is crushed, it suddenly becomes the front desk clerk's fault for not watching the child. #2, Your child is about two and a half feet tall. Why can you not just pick her up and take her to your room? Mommy's mass greatly outweighs 3 yr old's mass so I do not quite see the problem. #3, Now that you have left your child in the lobby I HAVE to stay up there. Not only could she crush herself, but god knows what else an irate toddler can do and as I've already said once -- suddenly it is my responsibility. #4, Do you really think I want to stand at the desk with a smile plastered on my face, while you play Chicken with your child? No, I really really don't.
c) Weird Children
i. A woman came in yesterday with her 12 yr old daughter to check on availability and roommates. While I spoke with the mother, her daughter chewed on the counter top. I mean this completely literally -- teeth out, gnawing on our marble counter top. It was everything I could do not to stare.
ii. A few days ago a mother came to the desk to ask for towels. During her five-word sentence of "Can we have four towels?" her daughter twitched and chirped "towels" about seven times and then continued to say it as I went and got the towels. It's like Turrets with household goods.
d) Too Many Children
As you can tell, most of these are fairly recent "rant-able" situations. This is because March is college/university spring break season and April is apparently given to elementary, middle, and high schoolers. Thus, we are over run with guests AND (you guessed it) kids galore.
A few hours ago, as I was checking-in a walk-in, a woman from Rm 120 came to the desk to complain that housekeeping had cleaned their room and made the bed, but had not changed the sheets. I don't know if people realize this or not, but if you stay at a hotel for multiple nights, chances are your sheets are not going to be replaced every day. A lot of this just has to do with pure time management because housekeepers are not only having to clean the rooms for "stayovers," but they are also having to completely change-out, swab, mop, and pretty much gut other rooms for new arrivals. And on this day specifically, our housekeeping was swamped with having to change-over 23 rooms (meaning, the guests in all those rooms were due to depart this morning) and clean 14 stayovers with only two housekeepers! Yes -- 2! So unfortunately, some stayovers were left with their sheets from the night before.
It was clear, however, that Rm 120 Lady was not pleased about her dirty sheets. I told her that I would be down with new sheets as soon as possible. She pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows as if to ask snidely, "Why can't it be now?" I looked down, hoping to bring her attention to the credit card in my hand. I then looked at the man standing next to her, who I was in the process of checking-in when she came stomping around the corner. He gave her a curt nod. "It'll take me about ten more minutes to check him in," I informed her, "I will then bring clean sheets down to your room." Pursed Lips lifted her nose in reply and walked away. I then had to explain to the man who had just walked in and asked for a room that he would most certainly find clean sheets on his bed.
After I had finished checking the man in, I grabbed a set of sheets and headed down to Rm 120. When I knocked I heard Pursed Lips say, "They're here to make the bed." They? It's just me at the hotel from 3 p.m. on. There is no "they" and there is no "they're here to make the bed." Unless you are older, hurt, or handicapped, "they", meaning "me", will not be making the bed alone.
As soon as Pursed Lips opened the door I knew I was in for a not-so-fun time. There four children: two little kids (a girl and a boy) ages 2 to 3, one that was probably 5-ish (boy), and another that may have graced the double-digits by now (boy); and two adults: Pursed Lips and an equally displeased looking overly tanned woman. The moment I entered the room the two littlest children began walking around my feet, wanting to show me empty Barbie wallets and shells they had collected from the beach. Pursed Lips wrenched the dirty sheets from the bed, but not before angrily showing me the brown marks and stating, "Johnny thinks it's poop." Lovely. She then stood there and looked at me. I placed the set of sheets on the floor and began figuring out which was the bottom sheet. The two adults made no move to even offer help in making the King Sized bed (which was completely surrounded by discarded luggage and giant plastic toys). Thankfully, after the little girl shoved a Barbie doll in my face she then noticed the brace on my hand (I wear it for typing because I am one of the many twenty-something yr olds who did not type with their wrists properly elevated for the longest time). She asked me why my wrist hurt. I unfolded the fitted sheet and told her I had been in a bad accident. Pursed Lips then sighed heavily and stuck out her arm. "Fine," she said gruffly, "I'll help you make the bed." We then made the bed while the two little kids continued to crawl and play around my feet, so much so that I was unable to secure one of the corners of the sheet because I couldn't lean over the little boy far enough, who was trying to gather the spilled items of his wicker purse (you can't make this stuff up).
e) Hyper Children
Anyone who knows me will tell you that I am perhaps one of the least maternal beings around, next to those hamsters that eat their babies. However, although lacking in childcare skills, I am not heartless when it comes to kids and I play peek-a-boo with one around the column of our breakfast area if it'll entertain them for a few moments. What's not so cute, though, are the kids who just run wild in the lobby. You know the type of kids I'm talking about -- they literally run in circles, bang on things, and drag heavy objects around while their parents to a friend, sales associate, front desk clerk, etc, and act like their kid is doing absolutely nothing. When you're experiencing this with one kid it is a tad irksome and possibly awkward, but easily ignored. But when you're checking in three different families, each with an average of 2 to 4 kids and ALL the kids are behaving this way...well then the situation gets put in its own special category of "bothersome."
These three families descended upon the Inn's lobby like a flash lightning storm in the middle of the desert. One moment I was reading an article in USAToday and the next I was besieged by miniature people moving furniture twice their size while the parents yelled over the noise to figure out who was paying for which rooms. I am still amazed that I got everyone checked into the right rooms because I don't even remember half the questions I was answering. Four children ranging from 3.5 feet and smaller were chasing each other around the breakfast bar, a baby was crying on a woman-who-I-assumed-was-grandma's knee, a little boy asked if there were any cookies (it's allllllways about the bloody cookies!), two 3 yr old-looking blond twins kept shutting each other in and out of the front doors, and the eldest girl (maybe 7 yrs old?) pulled our luggage cart out from behind a door frame and tried to ride it like a gigantic skateboard.
Needless to say, had they offered me a tip, I wouldn't have turned it down.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Thank You For Not Smoking. Sincerely, Your Wallet.
A word to the wise, everyone: if you are in a non-smoking hotel room, DO NOT SMOKE IN IT! I know this may seem like common sense, but apparently not. In the past month we have had four smoke-filled rooms and this hotel is completely non-smoking. There are three exits in the building where people can step outside and smoke (we don't have a regulation of how far away from the building people need to be so they can just lean against the door if they want), complete with benches and awnings for their comfort. Obviously this is not enough because some people simply cannot be bothered to walk a few feet for a drag.
Well, did you know that that cigarette is going to cost you anywhere between $150 and $300 depending on your hotel?? NOW will you think differently about walking those extra few feet?
About two weeks ago I had a woman come up to the front desk and hand me her keycard to checkout. She was very timid, but I thought nothing of it because...well people can be odd. About an hour later the Head of Housekeeping came to me to say that Room 120 had definitely been smoking their room. Because the lady had been so nervous earlier I recognized the room number instantly. Upon looking up her reservation I found that she was a Priority Club member and had stayed here on Awards Points (meaning, she had earned enough points to stay for free). Unfortunately for Timid Lady, even for Awards stays we require a credit card for possible incidentals. And there it was: her free weekend was suddenly free no longer. I've been waiting for an angry phone call since this incident, but thus far nothing. I'm guessing she knows what she did. (And thank god because I have had my fair share of screaming phone calls over the past few weeks. More later...)
This now brings me to a more current situation. Last night, I had a handful of walk-ins. One was a very nice biker man and his wife with a bad dye job (which could explain why she was so mopey). They didn't seem totally sold on our rates so I tried to sell some of our perks: "We also serve a full hot breakfast with eggs and bacon and whatnot; there is Wifi all throughout the building and all of our rooms are non-smoking." This did the trick and Biker and Dye Job paid up.
Then this morning, the Assistant Head of Housekeeping came to me and said that Room 206 had been smoking. I looked it up and there were the names of Biker and Dye Job. I reinstated them and charged the smoking fee. Thankfully, we slip everyone's bill under their door during the night. This way, Biker and Dye Job would be long gone and out of yell-in-your-face proximity before they discovered this extra charge.
I grabbed our giant bottle of air freshener and set out to spray the lobby and second floor. For some reason, smells from second floor rooms end up permeating half the building. As I headed up, I chatted with the Breakfast Lady for a few moments and commiserated about inconsiderate guests (she had had her own guest-strife yesterday morning). I then bounced up the stairs (literally), spraying the Green Mountain scent behind me (for some reason these bottles fascinate me and I love to hold them above my head and continually spray them like a Mosquito Truck, only less toxic). I stopped on the staircase and exaggerated the word, "SmoooooooooKEY!" to the Breakfast Lady below. When I turned to continue up the stairs, Biker was smiling down at me.
"Have you been here all night?" he asked. I worked the late shift yesterday and the morning shift today, so I get this a lot. I told him I had gone home for the overnight shift. Feeling self-conscious for so obviously trying to cover up their smell, I began rubbing the banister, acting like I was simply polishing the railing...with my bare hand...
Biker bid me adieu and went on his merry way. I quickly scampered up the stairs. I made my way to their room and just as I was about to spray outside of their door, Dye Job walked out! I smiled and continued walking, studying the carpet curiously like I was looking for something. Dye Job took her sweet time walking the ten feet from Room 206's door to the stairwell. This leads me to believe that she is the smoking culprit, but that's also because Biker was really nice and I'd rather it be her than him. Once she was gone I waited a few moments before spraying the mist above my head once again. I entered the stairwell and wouldn't you know it? There was Dye Job standing at the bottom of the staircase looking up at me. I gave the elevator door a small spritz and pretended to wipe it down, once again, with my bare hand. (Did I mention that I am incredibly gifted at smoothly averting possibly awkward situations?) Dye Job gave one last 'I'm so moody' look and left. Finally, I was able to continue my Mosquito Truck impression.
And now for my closing moral-of-the-story: if your hotel room is a non-smoking room then, please, do not smoke. Not only does that mean the hotel has to put that room out of commission for two-three days, but it also means you're about to get a hefty non-refundable/arguable/negotiable charge. It is very easy to tell when a room has been smoked in and unless you just smoked once and then let the room air out for two-three days (and you would have to remove every item that might smell like smoke, too, such as your luggage) then chances are you are going to get caught. And don't think you can be sneaky and slip out the back door, away from the lobby like Biker and Dye Job did! All hotels keep your credit card information on file so we can charge you whether you're there or not.
This also goes for smoking ANYTHING in your hotel room. I love the teenagers who set off the smoke alarms in the hotel and then adamantly claim that they weren't smoking cigarettes in their room (for some reason cigarettes haven't set off the alarms, but weed does). Why do they think no one but other teenagers recognizes the smell of pot?? Smoke outside and you'll have $150-$300 to do with whatever you want!
Well, did you know that that cigarette is going to cost you anywhere between $150 and $300 depending on your hotel?? NOW will you think differently about walking those extra few feet?
About two weeks ago I had a woman come up to the front desk and hand me her keycard to checkout. She was very timid, but I thought nothing of it because...well people can be odd. About an hour later the Head of Housekeeping came to me to say that Room 120 had definitely been smoking their room. Because the lady had been so nervous earlier I recognized the room number instantly. Upon looking up her reservation I found that she was a Priority Club member and had stayed here on Awards Points (meaning, she had earned enough points to stay for free). Unfortunately for Timid Lady, even for Awards stays we require a credit card for possible incidentals. And there it was: her free weekend was suddenly free no longer. I've been waiting for an angry phone call since this incident, but thus far nothing. I'm guessing she knows what she did. (And thank god because I have had my fair share of screaming phone calls over the past few weeks. More later...)
This now brings me to a more current situation. Last night, I had a handful of walk-ins. One was a very nice biker man and his wife with a bad dye job (which could explain why she was so mopey). They didn't seem totally sold on our rates so I tried to sell some of our perks: "We also serve a full hot breakfast with eggs and bacon and whatnot; there is Wifi all throughout the building and all of our rooms are non-smoking." This did the trick and Biker and Dye Job paid up.
Then this morning, the Assistant Head of Housekeeping came to me and said that Room 206 had been smoking. I looked it up and there were the names of Biker and Dye Job. I reinstated them and charged the smoking fee. Thankfully, we slip everyone's bill under their door during the night. This way, Biker and Dye Job would be long gone and out of yell-in-your-face proximity before they discovered this extra charge.
I grabbed our giant bottle of air freshener and set out to spray the lobby and second floor. For some reason, smells from second floor rooms end up permeating half the building. As I headed up, I chatted with the Breakfast Lady for a few moments and commiserated about inconsiderate guests (she had had her own guest-strife yesterday morning). I then bounced up the stairs (literally), spraying the Green Mountain scent behind me (for some reason these bottles fascinate me and I love to hold them above my head and continually spray them like a Mosquito Truck, only less toxic). I stopped on the staircase and exaggerated the word, "SmoooooooooKEY!" to the Breakfast Lady below. When I turned to continue up the stairs, Biker was smiling down at me.
"Have you been here all night?" he asked. I worked the late shift yesterday and the morning shift today, so I get this a lot. I told him I had gone home for the overnight shift. Feeling self-conscious for so obviously trying to cover up their smell, I began rubbing the banister, acting like I was simply polishing the railing...with my bare hand...
Biker bid me adieu and went on his merry way. I quickly scampered up the stairs. I made my way to their room and just as I was about to spray outside of their door, Dye Job walked out! I smiled and continued walking, studying the carpet curiously like I was looking for something. Dye Job took her sweet time walking the ten feet from Room 206's door to the stairwell. This leads me to believe that she is the smoking culprit, but that's also because Biker was really nice and I'd rather it be her than him. Once she was gone I waited a few moments before spraying the mist above my head once again. I entered the stairwell and wouldn't you know it? There was Dye Job standing at the bottom of the staircase looking up at me. I gave the elevator door a small spritz and pretended to wipe it down, once again, with my bare hand. (Did I mention that I am incredibly gifted at smoothly averting possibly awkward situations?) Dye Job gave one last 'I'm so moody' look and left. Finally, I was able to continue my Mosquito Truck impression.
And now for my closing moral-of-the-story: if your hotel room is a non-smoking room then, please, do not smoke. Not only does that mean the hotel has to put that room out of commission for two-three days, but it also means you're about to get a hefty non-refundable/arguable/negotiable charge. It is very easy to tell when a room has been smoked in and unless you just smoked once and then let the room air out for two-three days (and you would have to remove every item that might smell like smoke, too, such as your luggage) then chances are you are going to get caught. And don't think you can be sneaky and slip out the back door, away from the lobby like Biker and Dye Job did! All hotels keep your credit card information on file so we can charge you whether you're there or not.
This also goes for smoking ANYTHING in your hotel room. I love the teenagers who set off the smoke alarms in the hotel and then adamantly claim that they weren't smoking cigarettes in their room (for some reason cigarettes haven't set off the alarms, but weed does). Why do they think no one but other teenagers recognizes the smell of pot?? Smoke outside and you'll have $150-$300 to do with whatever you want!
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
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!
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!
Thursday, January 20, 2011
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!
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!
Monday, January 17, 2011
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.
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.
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