It’s Not WHAT You Say To Guests…

It’s how you say it.

Delivery truly is everything, kids. Still skeptical? Continue scrolling down.

So on a typical-but-far-from-ordinary day I arrived at a room on the 49th floor at about three in the afternoon; it was a cloudy, rainy day in Niagara but the mood in the room was downright frosty. I was greeted at the door – which flung open quickly enough to create a backdraft – by a more-than-slightly-perturbed, incredibly-hulking gentleman named Harold (How do I know that’s his name? Read on.) and his ever-so-petite wife.

She looked like a Marjorie.

ANGRY HAROLD:  Hey, bellguy! Some bastard left food in the mini-fridge?

ME:  And I can only assume none of it appeals to you, sir?

AH:  Hell no! It’s three trays of old, rotting pasta!

Steam was literally emanating from Harold’s flaring nostrils as I ever-so-slowly make my way past him to examine the cooling device in question. Sure enough, there were three plastic containers of spaghetti sitting there, through they were perfectly preserved. But I wasn’t arguing with Harold.

No, I’m not the Black Widow in this scenario – tho I do look very fetching in black leather…


Don’t get me wrong, my uncharacteristic willingness to refrain from a confrontation didn’t mean I wasn’t going to still be myself.

ME:  You know, sir, this could’ve been worse… you could be staying in Vegas where you’d most likely find a dead hooker in the room rather than some food the previous guest left behind…

I delivered my smartass retort in a calm, pleasant, non-confrontational manner. However, needless to say, Harold was still fit to be tied – but Marjorie stepped right in to unknowingly save my Canadian bacon.

MARJORIE:  You know, he’s right, Harold, you do often hear about dead prostitutes being found in Las Vegas hotel rooms…

Harold was still fit to be tied but he surrendered and remained silent as I removed the food, delivered his luggage, happily took my gratuity, and headed back to my desk after having survived to smartass again.

And that was a mere five minutes out of my eleven hour day.

See you in the lobby, friends…

About The Hook

Husband. Father. Bellman. Author of The Bellman Chronicles. Reader of comic books and observer and chronicler of the human condition. And to my wife's eternal dismay, a mere mortal and non-vampire. I'm often told I look like your uncle, cousin, etc. If I wore a hat, I'd hang it on a hat rack in my home in Niagara Falls, Canada. You can call me The Hook, everyone else does.
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23 Responses to It’s Not WHAT You Say To Guests…

  1. Good thing you had Miss Marjorie to save your white Canadian ass!! 🤣🤣

  2. Doug in Oakland says:

    You are absolutely right. As my friend Jack says, “Perhaps it wasn’t the content that caused the problem, but the delivery.” And I just assume it also works in the opposite direction…

  3. Golden Five, Hook my man.

  4. umashankar says:

    You are a brave man, Hook. I swear Shakespeare would have written many a Hook Scene in his tragedies had he the good fortunes of knowing you.

  5. I wonder if he would have complained if it was a half bottle of wine.

  6. Such prissy annoyance, right?
    A lot of bad hotel guests showing up (Next they will be training bellmen on profiling those bent on violence. sigh)

    • The Hook says:

      The hostility factor has risen exponentially in the last few years, it’s true.
      But it makes for great blog fodder so who am I to complain?

  7. Dave Ply says:

    They do say half the success of a joke is in the delivery and timing…

  8. Superbly handled, Hook.

  9. Dropped by from Lacey’s. You’ve got me hook, line and sinker!! 🙂

  10. curvyroads says:

    Thank God for Marjorie! 🙂

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