There’s an inspector from Head Office (a term that shouldn’t make me giggle so much, but it does), in the hotel today and so, as anyone with a modicum of familiarity with the inner workings of bureaucratic thinking knows, all hell is breaking loose.
Vacuums are running non-stop. Brooms are sweeping back and forth in perpetual motion. Waste receptacles are being dumped after a single piece of garbage is deposited in them. (I’m having so much fun doing that.) Dogs and cats are living in sin.
It’s mass hysteria.
Naturally, I’m loving every second.
Inspections are all about nudging hotel franchise owners in the right direction, nothing more. Head Office (yes, it happened again), wants to ensure their satellite properties are running properly and serving guests with maximum efficiency while treating them like kings and queens – even if they’re paupers. Owners and managers take these visits so seriously, their butt cheeks clench tight enough to produce diamonds. (Yes, that’s how a bellman really survives the off-season, kids. He
places coal has coal placed in a manger’s anal cavity well in advance of an inspector’s arrival… and waits for a diamond to fall out. It’s that simple.)
I joke of course. (What else am I going to do? It’s dead in the hotel right now!) In all seriousness, though, I fully acknowledge the importance of inspections and in that spirit, I present to you now a list of things I won’t be doing while the good inspector is with us.
1) Rapping at the Bell Desk.
I’m no Ice-T, but I do all right. Still, it looks pretty scary. Never mind a flamingo on Ritalin, I look like a flamingo that’s been hit with 1.21 gigawatts of electricity.
2) Launching makeshift projectiles in the lobby from a homemade catapult.
It is fun to give old folks a shock though. The challenge is to get close enough to a old man to make him crap himself. What can I say? I get bored. And I don’t have to cl ean it up, anyway.
3) Adopt a distant look on my face as I contemplate my latest blog while at work.
So much for that one.
4) Laugh hysterically when fifteen tourists find themselves trapped in the hotel’s two-hundred and fifty-thousand revolving door.
Which, incidentally, happens… All. The. Time. The sensors are more sensitive than your worst girlfriend/boyfriend. And they’re tripped even easier than security at Fort Knox. I usually just giggle quietly at my near-by desk but sometimes I have to get up close and personal to the inaction to really appreciate it. Guests just don’t seem to grasp the concept of overcrowding. They jam themselves in there and hope for the best.
Which always leads to the worst.
5) I promise not to make a guest weep by unleashing a tirade of patented, veiled insults when I’m inevitably stiffed today.
Anyone buying this? Anyone at all?
6) All right… I promise not to tell anyone when I make a guest weep by unleashing a tirade of patented, veiled insults when I’m inevitably stiffed today.
7) I’ll try not to engage in too many conversations like this one:
In front of the inspector, at least.
MIDDLE-AGED, CRANKY MALE GUEST: (To me, while observing two smokin’ hot, very much in love – with each other – young girls.) I don’t get the whole lesbian thing, buddy! In fact, I hate ’em!
ME: (Otherwise known as “Buddy’.) That’s a bit harsh, even for a Monday morning, sir.
MCMG: Maybe, but they tick me off! I mean, if they have each other, what do they need me for?
ME: To remind them why they turned to lesbianism in the first place? And why they still embrace it?
As usual, my aggressive candor brought his thought process to a standstill, bu the recovered nicely. In his own way, of course.
MCMG: Ha! You’re a smartass, buddy! I love that about you! It’s a good thing, too, or I would have had to kick your ass!
ME: Lucky me, then. I’m a bleeder.
8) I won’t slap any cougars on the backside and say, “You’re a tall glass of water, aren’t you, sweet stuff?”
Wait, cougars say and do that to me. Never mind.
9) I promise not to comment on the holiday-themed vase on our desk filled with Christmas ornaments and say, “Boy, we sure have a lot of balls!”
I’ll wait until I get to the Front Desk to say that. Maybe.
10) I won’t fall to my knees in the lobby like Willem Dafoe in Platoon and scream, “WHY, GOD? WHY?” whenever Wrecking Ball is played in the lobby.
And trust me, it will be.
And that, my friends, concludes my promises for the day. Don’t ever say I’m not a team player.
See you in the lobby… Unless the inspector is around. In that case, I’ll be hiding in a specially-designed cubby hole…
ONE LAST THING: