Sometimes all I get are the briefest of glimpses into the lives behind the hotel room doors.
But sometimes a glimpse is all I need.
Hotels, like every ordered system, have their own hierarchy. With the exception of management, Front Desk Clerks sit at the top; they send out directives to Housekeeping, Concierges, and of course, Bellmen. For the most part, though, I don’t receive many orders from the Front Desk, which is good.
I don’t respond well to orders unless they’re phrased properly.
At our particular slice of hospitality heaven there are individuals known as Journey Ambassadors who make deliveries to guests while touring the property to ensure travelers have everything they need. (Boring stuff, I know, but trust me there’s a point in all our futures.)
There are times, however, when the JAs (like the lingo?), are otherwise indisposed and so it falls to the Bellman to pick up the slack. In short, the bellman is everyone’s bitch. But I’ve learned to live with it. Now, me being me, I tend to respond to instances like this in a calm, professional manner.
“What the hell do you mean I have to deliver breakfast vouchers to a room? Our guests are usually too drunk to wake up before noon anyway! Where the hell’s the Dogforesaken JA?”
And then I usually find something that won’t shatter to toss across the Luggage Room. Or I threaten to Russell Crowe a Front Desk Clerk with a phone. And yes, I really am a joy to work with.
Actually, people love it when I lose it. Although to be honest, I’ve lost my edge since my father-in-law passed before my eyes. Death will do that a guy, I guess. But as regular readers know, under the right circumstances, I’m still willing to say just about anything to anyone at any time.
In other words, I’m a hotel manager’s biggest conundrum: an award-winning employee with the most selective filter in the hospitality game. And so when I arrived at Room 4051, breakfast vouchers in hand, a potentially-volatile situation could’ve erupted, especially when you hear about the situation in question.
I recognized the occupant of Room 4051 instantly; a regular guest from Texas, he was a ginger mountain of a man who had a penchant for three things that he coveted above all others:
Food of the highest quality.
Drink, in great quantities.
Women, of high quality and apparently, in great quantity.
Yes, it seems my Texan friend was feeling especially randy on this particular afternoon. How randy, you ask? Well…
He ordered himself five hookers.
Two Asians. One was tall (for an Asian). One wasn’t.
One Beyoncé clone.
One vanilla princess in the “Olivia Newton-John as Sandy” style.
And a single Persian beauty.
Now, you’re probably wondering just why this guy would want his breakfast vouchers delivered right before he was about to begin a session of his own personal United Nations, right? Me too.
ME: Sir, I have to ask… just why would you want your vouchers delivered right before you begin your own personal session of the United Nations?
RANDY TEXAN: What can I say, buddy? I don’t want to be interrupted during…
ME: Your “United Orgasms of Benetton” marathon?
That little gem left him speechless (though, to my credit, he was still smiling), so I took my leave of his soon-to-be-forever-contaminated suite and headed out.
Happy Hump Day, everyone.
See you in the lobby…