The Hook: Diplomat Extraordinaire.

FYI:  This post contains language anyone with half a brain will find offensive. I certainly did.

Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve shared a juicy tale from the hospitality trenches so I figure you’re due.

You poor, poor bastards.

At any rate, the summer of 2015 has arrived with all the subtly of  Kanye West at an awards show – and I wouldn’t have it any other way. After being sidelined for seven weeks last year, I spent the entirety of Jack Frost’s reign over Niagara Falls envisioning the hazy, far-from-lazy days of summer. And now that they’ve finally arrived? I’m as happy as Donald Trump while standing in front of a reflective surface.

And that’s pretty happy.

Let’s begin with a profile of a guest I had the extreme “pleasure” of serving this morning.

GUEST BIO:  Sonny D. Redneck (The “D” stands for “Dang, son!”) Some of Sonny’s characteristics include:

• More teeth than his cousin, Jasper.
• A home with many zip codes. (It all depends where it’s parked that week.)
• Hair as red as his neck.
• A collection of NASCAR t-shirts that would make the Honey Boo Boo clan jealous.
• A less-than-evolved worldview.

 Sonny was a helluva conversationalist (I ain’t never stayed in a hotel that I couldn’t drive my RV up to before!”), and the last of the big tippers. Luckily, I’m more than accustomed to dealing with the Sonnys of the world, and so I took his colorful comments with a grain of salt…

 “Lookit all the Nine Irons! It’s like a Jackie Chan movie up in here!”

“I can’t trust a woman in a veil. Bet she’s hidin’ somethin’…”

“How do you work here, boy? There are too  many niggers and sand-niggers around.”‘

… and I moved on. My movement brought me into alignment with a sizable family from the Middle East. They were traveling with enough food to feed Bangladesh, but they were jovial, realistic (“Sorry we brought so much, sir! We refuse to pack light!”), and overall, a joy to serve. As soon as I had dropped them and their two carts of belongings off in a family suite I found my path had taken a bigoted turn.

I ran smack into Sonny as he departed a guest elevator. (Unfortunately, I didn’t literally run into him, but you can’t have everything.)

SONNY:  Hey! It’s my Canadian buddy! I saw you downstairs with those sand niggers! Those people are ignorant aren’t they? Bet you’re glad to be away from them, right?

Needless to say, I felt enough was enough. It’s one thing to adhere to a professional code of conduct, but sometimes one must answer to a personal code.

ME:  Actually, sir… those “sand niggers” tipped me twenty dollars. You gave me a buck. Ignorance is subjective, wouldn’t you say?

Sonny just stood there, paralyzed with shock at my bold, Canadian attitude. My point, having been made – and then some – I hopped into Sonny’s elevator just as it closed and pushed the “close” button as fast as I could. 

I talk a good game, but in a physical confrontation I’m next to useless.

See you in the lobby, kids…