The Mother Of All Meltdowns.

HOOK’S NOTE:  Yes, I’m still burnt-out. However, I’m still fighting the good fight while serving haranguing travelers of every variety. This is how I’m doing my part to unite the human race; by treating everyone badly.

After eighteen-plus years in the hospitality trenches I’m used to seeing guests lose their cool.

To say the least.

But a fifty-something guest of the female persuasion recently made me scratch what’s left of my scalp raw when she completely lost her shit – as the kids say – for no apparent reason at all. She was willowy. She had stringy silver-hair. Her voice was as hoarse as Mr. Ed.

She was out of her goddamn mind.

I’ll admit, one never knows what’s going on in a person’s mind and it can be stressful to travel, but even this chick’s husband wasn’t convinced of her ability to reign herself in. His advice to the bellman who loaded up their bags outside while she checked-in?

“My wife… well, she’s having a day.  So back off!”

I didn’t serve the husband, however, and so I had no idea who she was or that her deal was so far gone when she approached my desk and began to go completely off the rails. All I knew was that this chick was PISSED!

MELTDOWN MOMMA:  WHERE IS MY HUSBAND… AND OUR LUGGAGE?  WHERE’S OUR DAMN LUGGAGE? WHERE ARE YOU KEEPING IT?

ME:  I’m sorry, miss? I don’t follow.

I knew I was in for a wild ride, but I wanted to stay calm – for as long as I could.

MM:  WE JUST CHECKED IN1  WHERE’S OUR FUCKING LUGGAGE! IT SHOULD BE RIGHT HERE!

She pounded her fists on my marble desk to make her point.

ME:  We don’t keep bags on the desk, miss. I’m sure your bags are in our backroom. You should have a tag to track –

MM:  BUT WE JUST CHECKED IN!  IT SHOULD BE RIGHT HERE!

ME:  Miss… I can see you’re frustrated but work with me here a little, please. We keep the bags in the backroom –

MM:  BUT WE JUST GOT HERE! WHERE’S MY HUSBAND? AND OUR FUCKING BAGS?

To my credit, I didn’t wail on her with a Frozen suitcase, I just kept my cool. (Get it?)

ME:  I’m guessing your husband is parking the car, miss. I’m sure he has the tag for your bags.

MM:  ARRGGHH!!!!

Seriously, she screamed like a banshee – or if you prefer, a non-hot Sofía Vergara – and stormed off outside onto the valet deck where she continued to lose it.

That was the last I saw of her until an hour later when I delivered their “missing” luggage. Her husband kept her sequestered in the back of the suite while I dropped off the bags. I took my tip – which wasn’t nearly generous enough – and headed out, but not before delivering a parting shot.

ME:  Sir, out of curiosity… how long have you been married?

HUBBY:  (Sighing, in spite of the fact his wife was in the next room,  the deepest sigh I’ve ever witnessed.)  Twenty-five long years, man…

ME:  And was your hair gray when you got married?

HUBBY:  (Chuckling.)  What do you fuckin’ think?!

See you in the lobby, kids…