I know this will be difficult to believe, but there are many times I find myself in the uncharacteristic position of having to hold back when dealing with guests.
Call me crazy, but I’ve grown accustomed to steady employment.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t share the comebacks that never were with all of you…
“What’s happenin’, Hot Chocolate?”
To be fair, the guest in question was actually amused by my greeting. Okay, “amused” may not be the right word – but she didn’t freak out, which I consider a win. Of course, the Front Desk Manager was in earshot and he definitely freaked out – but he didn’t fire me.
So I consider that a definite win…
“If it was up to me, you’d be the one being beat on… you miserable sack of monkey excrement.”
There is a family that has visited the hotel on several occasions that make my blood boil every time I cast eyes on them. Imagine seeing a grown man in his golden years being publicly abused on a daily basis. His family eats without him, depositing him on a lobby bench outside the restaurant while they feed their fat faces. He is legally blind, but his own daughter shoves him through the lobby at a pace that exceeds his diminished capacity. He is a broken man, inside and out.
Now imagine being unable to do a damn thing about it.
I’ve never had to serve these scumbags (the children get a pass, obviously, but not their parents), but I’ve observed their crimes often enough to have their number. Sooner or later, something will break. I just hope it isn’t the gentleman in question.
Could there be anything more awkward than walking into a guest room to find a young lady in the throes of passion… with herself?
That was a rhetorical query, of course. Many years ago, when I was a bellman at a small hotel on Clifton Hill that required the Bell staff to assist Housekeeping in the evenings, I was called to a room to deliver some towels. (Thrilling stuff so far, right?) The door was ajar, but I could hear… something in the room, so I walked in, towels in hand… and there she was…
She was splayed out on the bed, each leg as divided as American voters these days. Her breathing was ragged as her ample, barely-covered-by-a-tank-top chesteral area heaved uncontrollably. Incoherent ramblings escaped her parted lips. A pink self-pleasuring device disappeared and quickly reappeared within her nubile form.
Yes, I obviously stuck around for a moment. What can I say? My hospitality career was in its infancy; I had yet to firmly establish my Hook persona. In other words, I was too shell-shocked to move.
And I dropped the towels, though I imagine that was a given.
Inexplicably, the young lady remained oblivious to my presence. (Who say Western Ninjas aren’t real?) I quickly scooped up the towels – which one can assume were never meant for that room – and beat it out of there in a flash.
Come to think of it, perhaps my use of the term “beat it” in this context was in error? Either way, I took off, slowly closed the door behind me – this was before fire departments required hotels to put automatic closing mechanisms on all their doors – and made my way to the closest staff washroom. Don’t you worry about why…
“What’s up, douchebags!”
I’ve honestly lost track of the number of times I’ve been tempted to issue this greeting to various hockey families, frat boys and hungover bachelorettes, among others, of course.
Well, as you can imagine, this has only been the proverbial tip of the iceberg. I’m sure we’ll revisit this topic someday. Though not too soon. After all, I rarely hold anything in when it comes to guest relations.
See you in the lobby, kids…