In my world, it’s all about what you say, who you say it to and how you say it. A bellman only has a few minutes to hook a guest, snag that tip and reel it in... and it can all change in an instant. So for me, dialogue is everything.
BACHELORETTE #2: We’ve got a bottle of champagne left over if you want it, Mr. Bellman.
ME: I don’t drink, but thanks.
BACHELORETTE #2: You don’t drink?
ME: I’m afraid not.
BACHELORETTE #2: Do you do drugs?
ME: Strike two.
BACHELORETTE #2: What do you do?
ME: I watch a fair bit of porn.
BACHELORETTE #2: (Spitting out her coffee all over her Guess bag.) Seriously?
ME: Hey, don’t knock it. My liver is intact, my life isn’t spiraling into a drug-addled abyss and overall, I’m pleased with my choice of vice. My biggest concern is carpal tunnel.
BACHELORETTE #2: (After lifting her jaw back into place.) I like you. What’s your name?
ME: You can call me The Hook, everyone else does.
BACHELORETTE #2: The Hook? Is that ’cause your junk is curved?
A middle-aged white couple, day drinkers of the lowest order, check in and call down to the Bell Desk after checking in to request their luggage. I arrive at the room a few minutes later only to discover the door is ajar. However, before I can knock, a distinctive squeaking sound breaks the silence of the hall. This is followed by a series of female moans, each one longer than the last, emanating from the room.
An older couple walks by and sees me standing dumbfounded by the door. They hear the sexual symphony but undeterred, they make their way to the elevators around the corner.
MARGARET: Did you hear that, Harold?
HAROLD: Of course, I did, woman! I pay attention to everything else but you!
MARGARET: Have you ever heard anything like that before?
HAROLD: Not for forty years, woman!
After a minute of internal debate and much snickering, I knock on the door.
FEMALE DAY-DRINKING, WANNABE PORN STAR: I’m coming!
(To be clear, I believe she was answering me rather making a statement.)
MALE DAY-DRINKING, WANNABE PORN STAR: I’m coming, too!
ME: Not anymore you’re not!
To suggest that a “few” bachelorette parties visit my hotel is like saying the Kardashians have a few idiosyncrasies. These groups of females (we call them Swamp Donkeys), wreaks havoc in my hotel and many of them bring bags of “toys” and naughty baked goods. This particular party brought a penis-shaped cake large enough to fill an entire beer cooler. I was fortunate enough to deal with them the next day…
ME: Did you save me any cake, ladies?
BACHELORETTE #1: No, but we thought of you as we devoured it.
ME: I hope you didn’t use teeth. I hate that.
In this day and age most people play it pretty fast and loose with their moral code (to say the least), and so prostitutes can be found walking the halls of my hotel at any hour of the day. Fortunately for me, they make for great story fodder.
One such statuesque, crimson-haired call girl was hired by a small, drunken French businessman. Unfortunately for Napoleon Lite, he couldn’t use his room to entertain his new friend – his wife was already using it.
(Incidentally, I managed to fill in the gaps in this story by calling on my sources in Security. But let’s continue, shall we?)
And so this odd couple was forced to relocate to an alternate location to copulate. I happened upon them while I was bringing a family of four to the lobby in our service elevator. We rounded a corner in the “back of the house” and there they were: She was on her knees playing Josephine and began to gag when she looked to her right and spotted us. He merely zipped up and turned away, remaining motionless. As she continued to gag, I could only think of one thing to say…
“Got a little frog in your throat, miss?”
Yeah, I’m horrible… but I’ve made peace with that a long time ago.
By the way, I hope I haven’t used some of this material before but it’s so easy to lose track of these things. Still, as long as you laughed until you suffered a bodily injury, I can walk away knowing I’ve done my job.
See you in the lobby, kids…