100 Things in 100 Days: #95. (“Not Another One, Hook?”)

There are as many distinct groups traveling the highways and byways of North America as there are hotels for them to stay in.

In my role as a bellman I see them all; Orthodox Jews of young and old persuasion, hardcore gamblers, hookers, Johns, bachelor parties, cougars on the prowl,  and of course, bachelorettes. 

#95:  Bachelorettes.

Bachelorettes really are a mother-lode for blogging bellmen like me; they never fail to stimulate one’s cerebral cortex/creative engine. While stimulating other things, of course.

I’ve seen some things that were simultaneously amazing and disheartening while serving bachelorette parties.

  • Male blow-up dolls tied to luggage carts.
  • Female guests tied to beds.
  • Guests that have tied one on – and beyond. (One girl actually passed out in a pool of her own bodily fluids.)
  • Vibrators so powerful and mammoth they require the same size battery one would use for a power drill.
  • More “dirty” baked goods than one should ever attempt to consume.
  • Whips.
  • Chains.
  • Fuzzy handcuffs.
  • A “coven of witches” that, since they didn’t have a fatted calf to sacrifice, decided to bring a bag of raw, bloody steaks to the hotel to “offer up to their dark god”.

I could go on but I risk recalling memories that could make a grown man sob like a little girl. As for the here and now, I recently stored a plethora of lady items for three bachelorettes (vibrating lace things, what remained of a tray of penis cupcakes, a box of wine etc.) who were incredibly-nice, well-behaved young ladies of good character.

(Hey, I had to run into some sooner or later, right?)

However, just because they were decent chicks doesn’t mean they were above having a good time, something they demonstrated while we were waiting for their vehicle to arrive on the valet deck. And yes,a s you’re about to see, I hit the United Colors of Bachelorette Benetton jackpot…

STATUESQUE BLONDE:  There are a lot of bachelorette chicks like us here, aren’t there?

BRUNETTE OF AVERAGE HEIGHT:  Yeah, they’re everywhere!

AWESOME, PETITE REDHEAD: (You’ll see why she’s awesome soon enough.)  Do you see a lot of craziness from chicks like us, Robert?

ME:  Well…

I then went on to recount my many bachelorette encounters for them. No stone was left upturned; they got the whole ugly, libidinous truth. I concluded my recollections with a tale of the “All-American Challenge”, a red, white and blue vibrator that was so large it required the aforementioned drill battery.

They stood there on the valet deck as the last words left my lips, paralyzed with shock. But not all of them.

AWESOME, PETITE REDHEAD:  I could’ve handled that thing!

I was shocked – as were her friends – by her boldness, but I didn’t miss a beat in replying.

ME:  Oh yeah? Remember, sometimes our eyes are bigger than our stomachs… so to speak!

APR:  Trust me.. I may be small… but I’ve got mad skills, yo!


My parents have great health coverage… bring on that Challenge, Hook!

Her colleagues nearly fell over.

ME:  Mad skills or not… you take on that challenge… and you’ll require surgery afterwards!

They all broke up in raucous laughter – which was interrupted by a powerful gust of wind that lifted the Brunette’s sundress .

Right over her head.

APR:  OMG! He just saw everything!

The Brunette was mortified, though she was laughing her head off as she pulled her dress down and made sure it stayed that way.

ME:  Actually, miss… I happened to look away at that moment. Just my luck, right?

BRUNETTE OF AVERAGE HEIGHT:  Well, if this wind keeps up… you’ll get your chance again, Robert!

But, of course, their car arrived at that moment and they were out of my life forever. Thankfully, they’ve achieved immortality on the blog.

See you in the lobby, kids…


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100 Things In 100 Days: #96.

I love elevators.

(Though, to be clear, I will be visiting an elevator-related issue in the near future. But for now let’s keep things positive, shall we?)

#96:  Things you Overhear In Elevators.

As I was saying typing, elevators are wonderful metal boxes where people seem to think inhibitions are verboten. Guests will do anything in elevators. Or at least, they’ll start to; the average ride is ninety seconds and I don’t know about you, but being a tall man, it takes me longer than that to get my pants down, never mind to… well, you get the x-rated picture, right?

Getting back to guests; they’ll say pretty much anything, even if, and sometimes especially, if I’m right beside them. Take this pair of twenty-something broads (and trust me, they were most definitely broads): they couldn’t care less that a bellman was right there in the elevator with them. They just wanted to bash their “friend” as much as they could.

TOWERING BRUNETTE ON THE ELEVATOR:  She claims she got her cootchie sewn back up by a doctor in San Diego, but I checked and her husband said she’s never been to San Diego, the lying bitch!

PETITE BLONDE ON THE ELEVATOR:  Really, I had no idea you even knew her husband, Brad.

TOWERING BRUNETTE:  Oh yeah! We’ve been fucking each other for over a year! That’s why I know she’d never need her cootchie sewn up… she’s a frigid bitch!

PETITE BLONDE:  Oh! You’re seeing Brad? You never told me!

TOWERING BRUNETTE:  Well, you moved away and I’ve been busy…

(Banging her friend’s husband.)

PETITE BLONDE:  How’d you guys meet anyway?

TOWERING BRUNETTE:  The office Christmas party. He says I’m what he ‘Wanted Santa to put in his stocking – the gift that keeps on giving… head!’

Classy, right?

I swear, I wanted to bust out laughing – and knowing myself as I do, I’m surprised I didn’t – but The Hooks stayed silent. Momentarily, at least…

PETITE BLONDE:  (Glancing in my direction hesitantly and whispering – finally.)  Do you think the bellguy can hear us?

TOWERING BRUNETTE:  (Definitely not whispering.)  Who cares! They’re not allowed to listen to guests anyways!

Just then the elevator ascending box of gossip reached their floor. As they got out, I discovered I could stay silent no longer.

ME:  (To the Petite Blonde.)  To answer your question, miss… I have fully-functioning hearing so I can’t help but overhear conversations that occur right beside me. However, I am completely discreet – in spite of the fact I write a blog about my adventures as a bellman. To quote Bon Jovi… have a nice day!

Needless to say, they were speechless/mortified as the elevator door closed in front of them.

And that’s why I love elevators.

See you in the lobby, kids…

giphyBut not that weird, not in my world at least…

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100 Things In 100 Days: #97.

Let’s face it, farmers may be the salt of the earth… but they can be damn sneaky when they want to be.

Let’s talk about a little impending “crisis” they alerted the public to a few years back.

#97: The Supposed Bacon Shortage.

The words sent chills through the bloated, artery-blocked bodies of many a bacon lover: “Experts say the world could be on the verge of a significant bacon shortage because of rising feed costs and declining pig populations.”

The year was 2012.

Four years later, I’ve seen millions of travelers stuff their faces with glistening strips of bacon – and there’s no end in sight. In fact, we’ve had dozens of choking incidents that can be directly attributed to bacon. And poor judgement, of course.

I’ll say this though: bacon suppliers knew what they were doing when they “predicted” this shortage. In four years, bacon has become more popular than a virgin at a prison rodeo. Maybe brussels sprout providers should take note, don’t you think?


See you in the lobby, kids… I’ll be the bellman with the bacon grease running down his face.


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100 Things In 100 Days: #98.

With the possible exception of bacon popsicles (made from frozen bacon grease) they are the perfect summer food.

Yes, I am referring to…

#98:  Ice Cream Sangwiches.

They cool you off when summer has depleted your internal water reserves.

They’re the perfect amalgamation of delicious ice cream and icy brown biscuits. They rock harder than Donald Trump at a hairpiece convention. They’re so cool… they could bring King Tut back to life.

See you in the lobby, kids…


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100 Things In 100 Days: #99.

More bellman bitchin’, served up hot and ready for your dining pleasure, friends.

#99: Travelers Who Develop Instantaneous Amnesia.

While I’m perfectly willing to acknowledge how difficult it can be to keep one’s head above water financially these days, if you’re going to travel, don’t do it halfway. If you can’t afford to travel, if your trip is going to put you in a debtor’s hole… stay home! But if you’re going to leave your driveway, have fun, don’t pinch those pennies until your fingers cramp up. Go for it, you cheap bastards!

Sorry about that. I deal with a lot of cheap brain dead people on a daily basis. People like this chick…

CHEAP CHICK:  Can we have a cart, buddy? We have too many luggages to carry!

ME: We’re a full-service hotel, miss. I can send a bellman out to your car to collect your bags if you like. 

At this point she began to twitch like a duck on a hot plate. Then she reevaluated her entire existence – or at least certain facts pertaining to her existence. All of the sudden, the mere notion of paying someone to assist her became more terrifying than the prospect of a Trump presidency.

CC:  Well… let me just see how many luggages we have…

ME:  But a moment ago, you had too many bags, I’m sorry, too many “luggages” to carry…

CC:  Uh…

She then spontaneously combusted. The fire department arrived. There was ash all over my desk so the lobby maid had to break out the Shop Vac. There was a formal investigation. It was a whole thing.

(Actually, she accepted my help in spite of my smartassery and even tipped me. But that’s a boring conclusion so forget I mentioned it.)

But at the end of the day – or rather, at the end of my shift – I accept that cheap people have a role to play in the world. I just wish that role didn’t exist in my story.

See you in the lobby, kids…


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100 Things in 100 Days (Maybe): #100.

Here we go, one hundred things – some good, some bad – from my oft-fevered mind.

(Hey, it’s better than no material at all, right?)


#100: Travelers Who Can’t Count.

One of my duties as a bellman is to store and eventually retrieve travelers’ bags from our storage room. (Which, incidentally, looks like Eric Foreman’s basement.)

At any rate, the process is ridiculously-simple:

  • The guest arrives at my desk, plastic bags and laundry baskets in tow.
  • I ask the guest how many bags (some have actual luggage, but not many) they would like to store.
  • The guest freezes when faced with a math question.

And this, kids, is what really creams my corn.

How difficult is it to keep track of how many bags you’re traveling with? Seriously, some of these people actually shudder when they stop to look around at their luggage. Drool collects on their lips. They start to count but often surrender to their own idiocy. 

“How many bags do I have?  God… this is so hard.  Uh… let’s see… one… two.. ten!”

Imagine dealing with that a hundred times a day while load ing anfg unloading buses and dancing like a trained monkey – in a monkey suit – for tips…

And that, friends, is part of why The Hook is The Hook. My frustration comes honestly, trust me. 

See you in the lobby, kids…



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The Mother Of All Meltdowns.

HOOK’S NOTE:  Yes, I’m still burnt-out. However, I’m still fighting the good fight while serving haranguing travelers of every variety. This is how I’m doing my part to unite the human race; by treating everyone badly.

After eighteen-plus years in the hospitality trenches I’m used to seeing guests lose their cool.

To say the least.

But a fifty-something guest of the female persuasion recently made me scratch what’s left of my scalp raw when she completely lost her shit – as the kids say – for no apparent reason at all. She was willowy. She had stringy silver-hair. Her voice was as hoarse as Mr. Ed.

She was out of her goddamn mind.

I’ll admit, one never knows what’s going on in a person’s mind and it can be stressful to travel, but even this chick’s husband wasn’t convinced of her ability to reign herself in. His advice to the bellman who loaded up their bags outside while she checked-in?

“My wife… well, she’s having a day.  So back off!”

I didn’t serve the husband, however, and so I had no idea who she was or that her deal was so far gone when she approached my desk and began to go completely off the rails. All I knew was that this chick was PISSED!


ME:  I’m sorry, miss? I don’t follow.

I knew I was in for a wild ride, but I wanted to stay calm – for as long as I could.


She pounded her fists on my marble desk to make her point.

ME:  We don’t keep bags on the desk, miss. I’m sure your bags are in our backroom. You should have a tag to track –


ME:  Miss… I can see you’re frustrated but work with me here a little, please. We keep the bags in the backroom –


To my credit, I didn’t wail on her with a Frozen suitcase, I just kept my cool. (Get it?)

ME:  I’m guessing your husband is parking the car, miss. I’m sure he has the tag for your bags.



Seriously, she screamed like a banshee – or if you prefer, a non-hot Sofía Vergara – and stormed off outside onto the valet deck where she continued to lose it.

That was the last I saw of her until an hour later when I delivered their “missing” luggage. Her husband kept her sequestered in the back of the suite while I dropped off the bags. I took my tip – which wasn’t nearly generous enough – and headed out, but not before delivering a parting shot.

ME:  Sir, out of curiosity… how long have you been married?

HUBBY:  (Sighing, in spite of the fact his wife was in the next room,  the deepest sigh I’ve ever witnessed.)  Twenty-five long years, man…

ME:  And was your hair gray when you got married?

HUBBY:  (Chuckling.)  What do you fuckin’ think?!

See you in the lobby, kids…

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