Sunday, December 11, 2011

This Was Going to Be a Tweet, but It Just Kept Coming (That's What She Said)

A couple of guys come in around 2 or 3 AM. One is tall, dark, and sober, and the other is short, stocky, and staring like there's two of everything but he knows exactly which ones to keep his eye on as long as he doesn't look away.

In this case, he picked the correct me to stare intently at for the duration of making the sober fellow a new key.

They both head up the elevator.

A little while later, Drunky McStaresalot comes back down the elevator and tells me his internet isn't working, and was that usual? I asked if his room was near the elevators, and he confirms it is, and I figure it's a connection problem because those rooms are the furthest from our routers.

I dig him out an ethernet cable.

"Ethernet cable. Ethernet. Ethernet. Cable. And I just plug this into the TV? Hardline."
"I'm not actually sure where the connection is, but it should be in that area, and it'll look a little like a phone jack."
"Ethernet cable. Okay. Ethernet."
"When you check out you can just leave that in the room, or bring it on down to us, either way."
"Okay. I'll do both."

Ten minutes later he comes down the elevator again.

"What's...the wifi."
"You need the password?"
"Yeah, what's the wifi."
"It's 123."
"123. It's 123? Okay. 123."
"Yep! 123."

Few minutes later he calls down. Keep in mind, he's never actually introduced himself and I have no idea what his name really is.

"Front desk, this is Wednesday, how may I assist you?"
"Hey. This is Mark." (Long pause)
"...Hi Mark. What can I do for you?"
"Well I'm trying to get the internet to work, and it's not working. Is that unusual?"
"What happens when you open your browser window?"
"Well I don't know. I don't know. I...*unintelligible* I don't know."
"Do you see the LOL Hotel logo?"
"Yeah, yeah. I mean it isn't working, it just redirects everything to the logo."
"And underneath that logo do you see a box?"
"Just type in that box '123' and then press enter, and it should work fine for you from then on."
"Just put in...123?"
"Yes sir."
"Okay. 123. Bye."

Few minutes later.

"Front desk, this is-"
"Heyyy, this is Mark again. Every time, each time I open the browser window, it asks for a username and password. Is that unusual?"
"Are you still seeing the logo, or are you loading different pages asking for passwords?"
*Completely unintelligible*
"If you try the ethernet cable, you shouldn't need the password at all. Maybe try that?"
"It's, yeah, it's using the ethernet, it's full-blown wireless."

At this point I'm tired of this, and really don't want to explain to someone that intoxicated that he needs to USE the ethernet cable and not use wireless while just plugged IN to the ethernet, if he even was using it to begin with... but then the conversation goes in a whole other direction.

"What are you doing right now. Are you busy."
"I'm about to do some work, yes sir. I'll be busy for a couple of hours." (Read - don't bother me more after this)
"So you're about to haul ass?"
"You're leaving?"
"...No, I'm here until 7. I'm just about to be busy for a couple of hours is all."
"Is anyone down there? Down there with you?"
"...No...just me..."
"What's your major."
"What are you majoring in."
"I'm not IN college." (at the moment, but none of his beeswax?)
"What are you doing with your life."
"Oh, sorry, my bad. Thank you."
"No problem, sir, good night."



Sunday, December 4, 2011

Oh, You Make Me Feel Like Such a Success in Life, You Know That?

I keep meaning to make up a fake life story to tell curious guests (because my number one pet peeve is getting asked if I go to the local, huge college, followed closely by pitying me for working the night shift, tied with telling me to wake up) but I've just never gotten around to it. Well, that's not true - I've made up tons in my head, but they're all a little ridiculous. Like:

"Oh me? My birth parents mailed me by USPS to a circus, where I was raised juggling monkeys for my dinner. It sure was tough back then, but I'm so happy to be here now, where YES I DO happen to go to this college here in town that everyone under the age of 30 attends and everyone over that age is employed by. I mean, the apartment I live in doesn't really know about the monkeys yet, but I'll be graduating with five degrees come May and I just couldn't be happier!"

or maybe

"Do I go to school here? Why yes, yes I do. All five of my parents were alumni, too, before they all died of Tuberculosis last year. You've had a vaccine, haven't you? Because I'm kind of susceptible."

or perhaps

"Oh, I'm from here. I was born in this very building, actually! I have a slight fear of leaving, but my parents sure didn't! They travel the world and send me back suitcases of money, gold, and treasures every month. I spend it on cars, and then drive them around the parking lot. Or sometimes I spend it on really nice work clothes. I'm happy here - and I never want to leave here, and I'm definitely not a slave worker stolen at birth. Soda? Sure thing, that'll be $2.17."

Anyways. I should probably make something up one of these nights. And then stick to it. In any case, this conversation just happened with a meandering drunken fat man who wandered in a few minutes ago:

"Good evening! How are you doing tonight?"
"*Shrugs* You stuck workin' the late shift?"
"Oh, not stuck! I work it most nights, 11-7! (being cheerful)"
"Woah. That sucks."
"No, no, I like it."
"You go to school here? *Staring at my wedding ring*"
"Oh. I'm sorry."
"Well, it's none of my business. *Walks off* Well, good for you for workin'."

...What just happened? XD


Thursday, December 1, 2011

The Trouble with Calling Support...

Click it to see a picture less tiny and actually legible.

(I'm baaaack!)

Saturday, October 29, 2011

He Was Trying to Jog His Memory. Get It?

First of all - guess what!!! I get a night off manana! WOOHOO! :D

In other news!

A guy just came in asking where another hotel was. I gave him general directions, but he insisted I look it up for him. While I'm google mappin' it, his buddy comes in and slams his face into our door.

Like, full-face smashitude.

He stumbles halfway in with his hands on his face, falls to his knees, and crawls the rest of the way in. His friend says "it's okay, he's Canadian."

When the guy finally gets to his feet and I see that I do not, in fact, have to call an ambulance, he asks "Where's...where is the...that place..."

His friend tells him I'm already looking it up.


"HEY! What's that on your hand?" Asks Mr. Canada.
"It's a tattoo, man, DUH!" Cuts in his friend.
"Actually it's just henna, kind of a tradition - I'm getting married in a couple of weeks." Esplains I.
"It's what religion?"
"No, not a religion, just a tradition. We have some close friends from India."
"So, it's Islam?"
Just take a right on Road and it'll be on your left. If you've passed Place then you've gone too far."
"OH OKAY, thanks bye!!"

Yeah. That happened.


Friday, October 28, 2011

Been a long time, been a long time, been a long lonely lonely lonely lonelyyyy tiiiime

Since we had a TGIF post!

Tonight, we have a tale of karma being a drained and tainted bitchdog. I don't even know what I did, but it had to have been something epic.

Or you know, maybe just because it's Friday, and everything happens on Fridays.


First I come in and the volume is turned up on our lobby television. This is a gigantic no-no, from the a much higher level. There was quite a crowd around the tv, though, so I gave them ten or fifteen minutes into my shift before I turned on captions and the volume off. Immediately, you know there was uproar and calls of bullshit. The last shift was still there as I sorted through their strange handling of the fact that we were overbooked by seven rooms, and they both raised their hands in the air and told me the AGM had told them to turn the volume on for sporting events.

Let me explain. The AGM is not above corporate on the ladder of decision making, but he fully believes he is. Shocker, right? At night I am liable though, so whether he thinks he's the boss of everyone or not, TV volume go bye-bye. Besides. He has it on sports events 24-7. So yeah. Fuck 'im.

Of course, you know the bitching and shouting went on for about ten minutes, at least. Yeah, it was my own fault for messing with a huddled group of avid sports fans, but down the hall in the conference room, and upstairs in each of their rooms, the volume works perfectly fine. And the conference room TV is to be on 24-7 while one of our groups is in house. So it isn't like I lost the game for them.


Seconds after this fiasco, a phone call comes in with a guy demanding to speak to the manager. It's still very noisy and crowded in our lobby, and the person on the phone wants to speak with the man in the "purple shirt." (WTF?) I swear, I kind of think he's calling from the lobby about the volume, but it turns out he's calling from a hotel the last shift walked him to.

When you have seven arrivals with no space for them (gee, thanks, sales), you have no choice but to walk them to another hotel that does have rooms. It's that or the couches in the lobby. I mean where else COULD you put them? Thankfully, kind of, last shift did that ahead of time for me. Walking someone angry when you are alone at the front desk is...well you'll see.

"I want to know why YOU put me in this FLEABAG MOTEL when you still have three guys coming in from my same group who haven't even gotten there yet!"
"Sir, we had no more space, and that was arranged by the last shift. Can I put you on the phone with him?"
"No. I am asking you why you put me over here when YOU told me you had a room. I want to speak with your manager right now."
"Sir, that's not possible, our manager leaves at 5 PM. Can I get you his contact information?"
"NO. I want YOU to tell me what the hell is going on! YOU! Put the manager on the phone right now!"
"Hold please."

Oh my goodness. Well...technically the guy from the past shift is still signed in and is at the front desk...and he IS a day shift manager. So I ask him if he would like to speak with the guy. Or if I should just pick the phone back up and use a foreign accent. Or something.

Dude from last shift takes the call to the back and tells the guy to STFU. I am sincerely hoping he doesn't show up and get in my face. Sometimes they do that. No lie.

So next I'm counting the drawer to make sure we are correct, and we aren't, but it's close enough. I let the last shift go home after they tell me NO ONE ELSE is coming in and that we are completely squared and good to go for the night.

Then the arrivals that angry guy was talking about show up.

While trying to check them in I discover I can't, because even though last shift has left rooms for them, they have also pre-assigned other guests arriving tomorrow to those rooms. And the ones trying to check in are for multiple day stays. Yeah. Yeah, they got it all set up for me, dinnit they.

While I'm getting new arrivals their keys, a guy wants to buy a soda. I go to put his money in the drawer and get him change, and wind up having to short ourselves on change because the drawer WILL. NOT. OPEN. I try all the tricks I know, but something inside it is preventing it from opening. Joy. So I let the guy pay a little less for the sake of making him wait on me less, and come back to the drawer later.

When the fellas are checked in, and the lobby is quiet for two seconds, I go into the back to try and finally get my piercing retainer in (I have a couple of piercings the guests and my employers would rather not be obvious, but will close if I leave them out, and with a retainer in them they are pretty much invisible). I realize I've lost the ball to my actual piercing. It's the only one I have. New ones are expensive. I am broke. Getting your lip repierced is painful and even more expensive.

I come back out front and fuck with the cash register drawer. I finally manage to yank it open, and the reason it had been sticking was that one of the dividers was ever so slightly raised. I fix it so it won't happen again, then realize I can't slide it out ALL the way because all my fiddling has caused it to slip under itself in such a way that now the drawer itself is too high. I have to leave it open a crack so I'll be able to open it later in the night - but in trying to close it I realize I FUCKING CAN'T. Now the drawer is so fucked up I can't close it. I slide it half-shut and leave it there.

A guy comes down the elevator and wags his finger at me, saying he knows it was bullshit to turn off the TV volume and how I shouldn't be doing things like that. Then he asks if I can please get him a towel.

More flies with honey, jackass. Sure, I'll have that towel right out for you.


When I get him the towel he decides he wants to buy some snacks from our snack area. I take his cash and try to get him change, but now the drawer won't budge open OR close - it's stuck half open. I squeeze out a couple of dollar bills and some change, and breathe out the biggest sigh of my life as soon as the elevator doors slide back closed again.

I reach into my bag for a xanax, because this all occurred in the first HOUR of my shift.

I have left my xanax at home.



Thursday, October 20, 2011

SEE! I'm NOT Nuts!!!

I definitely just checked out a guest who was the most awesomest guest ever. Okay, lots of them are really awesome, but this one was awesome in a truly unique way - he knew jaxlab!

Okay, let's start at the beginning! The AWESOME beginning!

He came down to check out, and to get directions to the airport. I immediately noticed that he smelled really, really, really good. No, I didn't wanna jump him. I just really liked the way he smelled. But that isn't something you can just come right out and say...

So I did anyways, of course. I asked if he was wearing a cologne, because it smelled lovely, and he said his kids pick out all his colognes. I laughed and said my fiance picks all mine out because I work with animals quite a bit and it sort of messes with your sense of smell. He asked if I was a bio major by any chance, and I explained that I was a micro major on hold, vet tech on the side to keep away the loan payments, but do most of my work in rescue - everything from mice to cats/dogs to livestock.


Apparently he's a bio fella! So he works with mice a lot! I told him about how much I adored the Jackson Laboratory, and we started talking about it, and it's's's...




Monday, October 17, 2011

The Point...Is to Show Moving Pictures...

We're not allowed to turn up the volume on the televisions in the lobby. Seeing as how there are could get pretty noisy and hectic if we did, not to mention people have a tendency to change the channels to less-than-breakfast-conversation channels. But what it really boils down to is that the rules say no. So no volume.

Anyhoo, we have to go through the menu and actually turn the volume option OFF, because guests have brains in their heads and will find the volume button otherwise. In working here as long as I have, though, I've never had a guest manually, from the TV, load the menu and successfully turn the volume option back on.

I mean...I didn't know you could even do that without the remote. I can't even FIND THE BUTTONS on those TVs.

But yes. This fella did!

Picture a grumpy old feller, kind of farmer-ish, fiddling with the controls like a pro.

"Sir, I'm very sorry, but we are not allowed to have the volume turned up on the televisions."
"What are you talking about?"
"It's our hotel policy, I can turn on captions for you, but we can't have the volume on. Did you need to change the channel?"
"What the hell good would that be if there's no volume??"


Thursday, October 6, 2011

Maybe I'm Just Spoiled

I spent a small portion of this evening calling out-of-state hotels to ask if they permit pets or not, and what their policies were on it if they did. This was not for work. But it's hotel related. So I'm sharing anyways.

One of the conversations ended when the man MAY have fallen asleep, or MAY have set the phone down without telling me. All I know is there was about 60 seconds mid-conversation of silence on one end and me going "Hello? Hello? HELLO?!" before I gave up.

The other conversation went a little like this:

Me: "Hello, yes, I was wondering if your hotel is pet-friendly?"
Motel: "For what night?"
Me: "Um...for...any night?"
Motel: "Ten dollars."
Me: "Okay, great, is that per night or a set fee?"
Motel: "How many nights?"
Me: "...I'm really not sure about that, this isn't for me."
Motel: "$10 per night then."
Me: "...Great...and do you have any size restrictions on what pets are allowed?"
Motel: "How big is your dog?"
Me: "It's not for me."
Motel: "Well, is it for tonight?"



Monday, September 5, 2011

Maybe They Wanted Us to Wonder

So, this past weekend was EXTREMELY busy. Which meant we were packed full of very strange people. Some of whom did very strange things. Such as the car who parked in front of our hotel for an hour but never got out. EVER. Observe:

For those of you who can't read my napkin-font, a transcript:

Bossman: There is a guest here for you. (Looks like Calvin)
Me: Yeah.

(Half an hour later)
Bossman: Why are they still there? (Looks like a douche)
Me: I don't know.
Bossman: One is moving his arm around funny.

(Half an hour LATER)
Me: We should throw eggs at them.
Bossman: YES. (Looks like a lesbian. I can't draw my bossman.)

I really can draw. I just have this style. From a long time ago. But I can actually draw. HUSH.

Also, around 6:45 AM in the morning a man came down the elevator, walked all around our breakfast area, through the lobby (I almost typed that "blobby," which is way cooler), outside, back inside, and back upstairs, all while rubbing an electric razor all over his face-hair.


Think about that next time you have a continental breakfast.


Thursday, September 1, 2011

Gettin' Some Valuable Feedback Over Here

"WELP. Feels like they turned the AC off, so I'd better head to bed." (We didn't)
"My room was FREEZING last night!"
"Well the thing is - the bed is exactly between the unit and the thermostat. So you have to carefully calculate the optimum temperature before gettin' into bed."
"Yeah, because the AC is RIGHT ON the bed!"
"Right on the bed."
"That was the good thing about the handicapped room - you had some distance between the bed and the AC unit."

Huh. Good ta know. *Scribbles notes*

Few minutes later...

"They make ya a waffle?"
"Tell you what, that was the best damn waffle ya ever had, because ya didn't have to make it!"

*Scribble scribble*

Few minutes later, on their way to the elevators...

"I Cee Lo Green you."
"I Cee Lo F you."

People are basically awesome.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Teenage Boys Should Not Exist

Somebody's mothers should have beat them upside the face with bars of soap. Seriously.

Four teenage guys come in and walk toward the elevator. A truly deafening stream of profanity gushes from their mouths until the doors close. They return a few minutes later and head toward our food and drink while one friend branches off and walks down the hallway.

Asshole #1: How much is a sandwich?
Me: $8.50 before tax.
Asshole #1: *Jaw drops* EIGHT FIFTY?! *turns to friends* EIGHT FUCKING FIFTY for a FUCKING SANDWICH.
Me: We make them personally - they don't come pre-made.
Asshole #2: *saunters up to counter* Are the sandwiches REALLY $8.50?
Me: Yes...we make them here... *shows menu*
Asshole #2: EIGHT FIFTY. Jesus fucking Christ.
Me: Yes. $8.50.
Asshole #3: Can I buy this drink?
Me: I can only take in cash at the moment, is that alright? (I was running close day) It's $2.17
*Asshole #1 & 2 are still bickering about the sandwich and staring in awe at the menu*
Asshole #3: Yeah, that's fine. *Pays $2.25* Keep the change.
Me: Thank you...
Asshole #1: Is there like...a dollar menu? HUR HUR HUR HUR!
Asshole #2: HUR HUR HUR HUR HUR. #*^$*#$*#*^%!@
Me: No.
Asshole #1: Look, bro, fuckin' appetizers! I didn't think of appetizers. (wtf?)
Asshole #2: Oh, bro, you can get a fuckin' 8 inch pizza for 8 bucks!
Asshole #1: 8 inches for 8 dollars?
Asshole #1: HUR HUR HUR HUR HUR. &^%!$*%@$#%$^%!
Asshole #4: *Returns from down hallway* BRO! THERE'S NO ONE IN THE POOL!!!
Me: *mentally - The fuckin' pool fuckin' closes at fuckin' 10 o' fuckin' clock fuckers*

*All go off to play in the pool*

Ya know, at least I got a TON of free food today because sorority girls didn't eat everything they ordered. Yeah, I could throw it away...or I could eat for a week. Jeez. Was I this awful five years ago?

(Has had enough of people under 30 years of mental age for this week. Form line at door and shut mouths.)

(Then again...the guy who just complained to me about our lack of vending machines, lack of ice machines on every single floor, and cost of our WATER BOTTLES had to have been at least 40.)

(Just fuck all you guests who can't behave like normal human beings in public.)

Monday, August 22, 2011

The Mirror Was There the Whole Time

This week in house we have...sorority chicks. And a small handful of older people who should by all logic be happy about this fact, but in reality are NOT.

(No sir, there is no ice machine on your floor, and there is also nothing I can do about that. Yes, that means you have to walk down a whole floor and all the way down the hallway for ice. No, I can't do anything about that, really, I can't. I understand you want TV, but there are no other rooms for me to switch you to. If you would like a discount I would definitely recommend speaking with our GM after 8 AM. Yes, I do understand 8 AM is not tonight. What? The thing I told you to do fixed the TV and you aren't angry anymore? Uh huh. Goodnight, sir.)

My opinion of them flip flops. On one hand, they hate paying for things. A lot. On the other hand, they ARE polite every time they speak with you, and that's really saying something. ANYWAYS.

Back to my original story!

Elevator goes up to the second floor. Elevator comes down. Doors open up, and there's a girl in a Greek shirt, fixing her makeup in the mirrored wall. The elevator door closes (as it does each time it comes down after opening), and then...

The elevator goes back up to the second floor and returns empty.


She'll do just fine in college.


Friday, August 12, 2011

Normally I'm All for Three-Ways, but...

Me: Good evening, thank you for calling the LOL Hotel, my name is Wednesday, how may I assist you?

Caller: Yes, um, I was wondering if you had any rooms available for August blah-th?

Me: Let me take a sir, it looks like we're all booked up that whole weekend. You may be able to try Thatother Hotel, Anotherone Hotel, or Thisotheroneoverhere Hotel perhaps - would you like their numbers?

Caller: Well, I've already tried Thatother Hotel, could you maybe give me the number for the Thisotheroneoverhere Hotel?

Me: Absolutely, are you ready for it?

Caller: Yes ma'am.

Me: It's 555...

Caller: *boop boop boop*

Me: (did you just dial it while still talking to me on the phone?)

Caller: *boop boop boop*

Me: ...4567... (yes, yes you did)

Caller: *boop-boop-boop-boop* Okay, I've got it

Me: Sounds good, (oh dear god is it going to start ringing or something?) is there anything else I can help you with?

Caller: Nope, that's all I needed, have a good night!

Me: You too, sir, goodbye! least he was polite...right?


Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Meanwhile, Across the Hall, Some Guy Just Banged a REALLY Pretty Hooker.

The elevator goes up.

Then the elevator comes down.

Next, while three or four guys snicker uncontrollably in the elevator, a man in full horse/donkey/prettypony mascot garb shuffles out. He shuffles two steps down one direction, turns around, tries the other way, and shuffles into the opposite elevator. A guy in a different, unidentifiable, black mascot outfit shuffles behind him, trips, falls in slow motion, and then slides his way into the elevator as well.

Both elevators go back up.


Wednesday, July 13, 2011


Why do people keep asking me for milk? Is it code?

Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Oh. Lordy.

First contact with (crazy people) restaurant starter-upper-people:
Woman comes around the counter, hugs me. Becomes frustrated when I don't hug back hard enough, goes in for hug #2, saps a little piece of my soul. And tore it to pieces. And threw every piece, into, a fire.

Next contact. Crazy people stay up drinking, partying, and running around the hotel until 5 AM, past when people start waking up and using the gym.

Next contact. Crazy people go to bed early, but let themselves behind the counter while I'm gone for LESS THAN A MINUTE to retrieve booze from the fridge. Thankfully, it is their booze. Heart attack averted.

Next contact. Begin to notice effects of contact with crazy people. Fairly certain soul is being sapped longterm, I shall call it soul poison, -2 hp per round. Crazy people come in drunk, juggle oranges, dropping and hurling them across lobby, try to place them back in basket. When asked for them to be handed back, crazy people instead run them across the lobby and hide them in the breakfast fruit basket, citing that now I can't possibly determine which oranges were horribly maimed.

Most recent contact. Fear for life, only need to survive 4.25 more hours of exposure. One crazy person, accompanied by two crazy people peers, sits on chair in lobby and squishes face matter into a pout. Refuses to move until she gets what she wants. Eventually is convinced to go to room, but peers return. Whispering ensues, and one begins to sob, covered in ritualistically decorative glowsticks, beads, and a feather boa. Peer #2 escorts peer #1 outside to presumably relieve the sprinklers of their tasks for the night. Four more crazy people have inhabited the lobby and are exponentially increasing Soul Poison's effect.

If I don't make it, tell my dog I love her, my cat where the catnip is, and my fiance that he owes me a barbeque chicken pizza.

Signing off.

Wednesday, June 29, 2011



Both sets of automatic doors just flew open at the exact same time and slid shut simultaneously. No one was around. No bugs, no stray cats, no people outside smoking. Both sets did it at the SAME TIME.


Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Aw...My Poor, Violated Paper.

Jeez...we have such an odd group in tonight.

So, a fella comes over, says "Mildred Topplehouse." No he doesn't. He says a real name. But he doesn't say anything before or after it, and looks at me, waiting expectantly. I'm confused. I ask him...what...he some kind of more-polite terms. "Can you connect me to Mildred Topplehouse?"

Gee...sure. Let me just transfer you right over. I mean, it isn't as if there was a guest phone around the corner, or even one in your room.

Just hang on a second, while I connect your call.

Same fella comes over a little bit later and, almost proudly, proclaims "McToodles!" But, you know, a real last name.

There is no one named McToodles in our system. Ah cannot a-transfah ya call.

Fella is outraged that no one is awake.

Couple minutes later, fella's friend comes over while on his cell phone and asks to borrow my pen. I'm trying to do credit card authorizations, and had just started writing out the list of room numbers, but I figure eh - just gonna grab another pen. It's a pen. So whaaat.

He does say thank you, to his credit, as he grabs my paper, too.

He brought me back the pen.

I needed that paper...

A little while later, a guy calls down asking about how to connect to our internet. This is a good, albeit complicated, question, since I can see on the phone that his room is near the elevator, which is the farthest you can possibly get from a router and still be inside the hotel. We place them at the ends of each hallway, so elevator rooms are sadly internet deficient.

Anyways, I walk the guy through how to connect, and he is very, very confused. It should be simple. Connect to any wifi signal with our hotel's name in it, open your browser window, and enter the password. Bam! Interneted. This guy is wondering if he should create some kind of profile...and it's confusing me, too. Finally we get him connected, and I tell him to open his browser. A long moment of silence passes. Eventually he says "okay, I'm coming down." *click*

Say whaaaa? I'm not IT. Y u come down to bother meeeee.

Actually, still haven't seen that guy. Must have figured it out. Meh.

Oh...and people who think they are funny. You know the ones. They happened tonight. They came in at 11:30 and started howling about how they caught me sleeping, I'd better stay awake! And then when they press floor 1 and the door closes and opens right back up again in the elevator, they take the opportunity to holler out and make sure I hadn't fallen right back asleep again! HAW HAW HAW.

I got here half an hour ago mothahfuckahs. YOU are going to sleep. I'm just gettin' this party started.

A guy just walked down the hall in a towel. There MIGHT have been shorts of some kind underneath...but I'm not positive. All I saw was a towel.

Then my eyes were burned out of my skull.

This is going to be an interesting night.

Saturday, June 25, 2011


So this woman comes stumblin' in with her two friends from New York, and they're promising each other they'll facebook each other and hang out in the future. One of them is flying to Houston, and drunk woman says:

"You gotta have Tax-max!! You haven't been to Houston unless you've eaten Tax-max outside. And have a margarita. You have to have Tax-max and a margarita outside in Houston!"


I could really go for some good ol' Tax-max.


Friday, June 17, 2011

It's a TRAP!

Hey there, new blogger! I've just joined Wednesday on night audit duties for the summer, and I have been delegated to write the humorous happenings of our place of business. But first, to introduce me - I'm a summer employee only, I think to the dismay of my other night crew (unless that's a huge delusion of grandeur). In September I leave for another country to waste more money on education. I hold two jobs to fund the non-starvation part of my trip - night auditor and bookstore clerk-person. What have I learned from this? People are strange and amusing on so many levels.

For example, a guest returns from a restaurant tonight, around 1am, in a taxi. Around the same time, our food for the evening (yes, we do that) was being delivered, so his comments about a bus not showing up were not seeping through the layers of distracted brain as they should. When said delivery boy/man, correct age unknown, was handled, the guest returned to the subject of the missed bus. Apparently, he asked for a pick-up from the restaurant and waited for a long period of time before getting a taxi instead.

Us: "When did you order the shuttle service? Because the bus doesn't operate at night."
Guest: "Well, I called the hotel, and they said they would send one over."

Us: "When did you call?"

Guest: "Around 15 minutes ago."

Us: "Oh. Um, we haven't had any calls. Our shuttle doesn't run at night."

Guest shrugged, confirmed his necessary arrangements for tomorrow, and returned to his room.

So, if you call our hotel for a shuttle at night and a van arrives to pick you up, don't get in it. That's not us. It's a trap.


Monday, June 6, 2011

Before They Get Their Coffee. And During. And After.

5 AM
"What time does breakfast start?"
"We serve breakfast from 6:30 to 9:30."
"...Wow."  *makes appalled face*

5:45 AM (phone call)
"Where are the ice machines?"
"On the first and third floor, at the end of the halls."
"Wow.  Sooo...nothing on my floor?"
"No ma'am..."
"Just wow.  Okay."  *click*

6:10 AM (to breakfast shift)
"Ummmm...there are coffee grounds in this.  Where's the coffee without grounds in it."
*Breakfast shift removes the coffee to make more.*
(To other wrinkly bimbo woman) "There shouldn't even be coffee grounds IN it.  That's ridiculous.  We're waiting for the real coffee."

Woohoo, we have some mighty posh guests in here this morning!  I wonder if they've ever made their own coffee in their life?  Do they think we have a coffee dinosaur in the back, vomiting up revolutionary coffees at the touch of a scale, grounds-less and state-of-the-art?  XD

To be perfectly fair, all of the other guests this morning have been darling.  :)


Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Do Not Make Hulk Angry!

Ever meet someone who appears to be extremely calm...too calm...almost as though deep down they could be a serial killer?

This fella who just checked in gave me just that impression.

He asked when he checked in if we had any food, so I offered a few things from our menu - pizza, nachos, artichoke dip and chips...

He goes "ugh, I HATE that, that sounds just awful."  ...Artichoke dip is like the most amazing thing I've ever tasted, and if I could afford it every night I absolutely would.  Ah well.  "Do you guys have must have a sandwich or something."

"Yes sir, we have sandwiches right over here.  They're a little on the expensive side, though."  Every single person I have ever sold a sandwich to complained about the price.  Every.  Single.  One.

"Oh you don't want to sell me that, then.  I get angry when I see something expensive."


And he says all of this in a completely calm, serene, I'm-about-to-murder-your-dog, relaxing voice.

"What about this stuff here?  That looks pretty dry.  That's been sitting out all day, hasn't it."  He's pointing to our bakery items.  In a refrigerated case.  At midnight.  That we rebake every 1-3 days depending on the item.

I never lie to the customers, though.  I always give my honest opinion, because otherwise I get lectured by the guests about how awful they think something or other is.  We don't have any cookies out, so I say the lemon bar is probably his best bet for fresh, delicious goodness.  Not in those words.

"Ew.  I'm going to stop asking you for things, because everything you recommend is just nasty."

It's midnight - do you know where your dog is?

"Ha...sorry, sir, guess we have different taste buds!"

"There's gotta be a fast food place around here somewhere."

So I give the guy directions.  He leaves his stuff in the lobby to go pick up a bite to eat.  I'm sure he hates my favorite fast food joint.  I glance over at his stuff as I go to sit back down.

He has a huge bag of chips on his suit case.


Friday, April 22, 2011

Insatiable Chip Lust

My favorite kind of chip is Baked Barbeque.  Holy crap try them, they're amazing.

Tied for second place is Cooler Ranch Doritos, Nacho Cheese Doritos, Cheetos (do those count?), and Barbeque chips.  Third place is every other kind of chip except Fritos.

Last is Fritos.

Anyways, while going about my auditishness business last night, I noticed a bag of BBQ chips next to the guest computers.  It was folded over.  Meaning they probably weren't even stale.  I thought about these chips ALL NIGHT.

I wanted one.  Or all of them.  Would anyone notice?  They were just left there, unwanted and unloved.  Deep in my hobo-esque heart I desperately wanted to tuck them safely away in my bag, and then my belly.

I was ready to make my move in the early morning hours, ready to pounce like a wild cat on unsuspecting prey.

Then this fellow came walking down the hall, bucket of ice in hand.  He was giant.  This fellow was the second largest human being I'd ever seen, second only to memories of my obese grandparents (I'm pretty sure their weight was a little exaggerated from the mind of a six-year-old).  Okay, I'm not trying to be mean here - he was a very nice fellow who said hello and went on his way.  He made me think, though - whose hands were IN that chip bag before?  Were they sweaty?  Did they just pick their nose?  Were they sticky from licking off the bbq dusting?  If I continued to eat chips like I have a disease and chips are the cure, would my "few pounds higher than the number I want" turn into "few hundred pounds higher than the number I want?"

I left the chips alone.

I'm pretty sure that revelation's gonna leave me by the next time I go grocery shopping, but hey, I'll wash my hands first.


Friday, April 8, 2011

If You See a Guy with 17 Papers...

So our papers come around 3 or 4 in the morning.  I am usually closing day at that time, so I typically let them sit until I'm finished up and then replace the old ones.

Today, however, I was having a particularly vicious fight with the scanner in the back office.  When I emerged (not done, but too frustrated to keep fighting with it - it took an HOUR to scan 13 pages.  An hour!) I noticed something weird.

Somebody stole mah newspapers.

They weren't completely gone, no.  The band had been removed and all but 8 papers were missing.



I'm sure it's completely possible that the newspaper dude was running short or something and decided to split an order between two businesses.  Or something.

OR there is a happy fellow wandering around town with his proud stack of 17 Wall Street Journals.


Thursday, April 7, 2011

Why Night Auditors Should ALWAYS Sleep 8 Hours a Day are freaking creepy at night.  Yeah, sure, most nights you'll handle it just fine with your music, your computer, your phone, your studies.  But there WILL be those nights when it's just quiet enough for you to hear every spooky ass phantom tossing dishes around, every ghost stomping here and there, every shadowy figure sneaking up on you.

So for the love of god sleep, SLEEP.  These things are easier to handle when you aren't groggy.

But I don't sleep.  Nope.  I do my best and hey, I frequently succeed, but I had a doctor's appointment.

Anyhoo, here, have the freaky-ass shit that has gone down tonight:

  1. Starting at 4 AM the fire alarm control pad that we recently fixed (after quite the fiasco and a few weeks of patient waiting) started beeping.  No, not really, more like emitting a constant tone.  Only there was no message on the screen.  Normally it will say something like "crud, something's up on the third floor, guys!"  This time, all it says is System Idle.  Sometimes it randomly resets itself.  This is the weirdest and most annoying thing in the whole world.  I will literally sit one butt cheek down only to have to hop right back up and go stop it from screaming again.  My poor, right butt cheek is so unfulfilled.
  2. Upon my first arrival in the lobby I noted a high pitch tone, but couldn't locate it.  The last shift didn't hear anything, but gosh darnit, I know I'm not completely crazy.  It's in here somewhere.  And it has been going since 11 PM.
  3. I keep hearing voices just down the hall, but that might just be the music.  I keep checking because it really, really sounds like someone talking.
  4. While sitting down on the other side of the lobby, only the inner set of doors slid open randomly and back shut.  There were no bugs, no people, no anything near them.  Creeeepy.
  5. When I got in the elevator to deliver newspapers and bills it made a loud crack-thump sound and shuddered before taking me to the second floor.
  6. Upon arriving on the third floor, I turned out of the elevator to see the fire alarm door shut.  They're magnetic, so I can't just open it.  I was pretty positive I was going to open it to find a bunch of zombies on the other side.
  7. On both the third and fourth floors, a few of the doors were propped open but the lights out.  This is particularly disturbing to me, because I know nobody checked out early last night.  Technically I am supposed to shut them, but what if someone is in there??
  8. On the fourth floor I look out the hall window from down the hall to see what looks like headlights.  On the fourth floor.  Alright, so it turned out to be the lights of the business next door, but it was really freaky, okay?
  9. Someone/thing just made a loud clattery/shuffle sound in the kitchen.
  10. The door to the back office keeps slowly opening by itself.

This is why you need good rest.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

They're evolving.

Now there is a WASP flying around the lobby.

Now it's in the elevator.

There is a wasp in the elevator.

...Now it's on a curtain.

Ya know, when I worked in a lab a little while back it was part of my job description to immediately kill any six- or eight-legged pests.  I was required to squish cockroaches.  When you consider that I was also required to scrape up chicken poop, get pecked and bitten, and hose out mouse and finch crap, it doesn't seem that bad.  I actually liked that job, but if there's one task in life I suck horribly at, it's squashing scary bugs.

Yes, the cockroaches were scary.  They flew at you.

In any case, I am so fucking happy with this job it isn't even funny.  I mean yes, I should probably kill the wasp if it goes in the elevator again.  That's just plain scary.  Guests could take the stairs, but what if they didn't see it in time and it stung everyone to death and one guy was allergic to wasp stings and it stung him in the eye and he ran out of the death-filled elevator screaming bloody murder and I got fired for endangering/killing the guests?

I have my newspaper rolled up and taped like the bug-destroying weapon of justice it is.  Hopefully the wasp will find his way out before breakfast.  If not, maybe a man will come in and kill the buggy for me.  :)

I am an optimist!

-Wednesday (hates the bugs that come with spring time)

Thursday, March 24, 2011

And Then the Police Showed Up and Arrested the Fly

So this woman walks into our hotel at 2:30 AM asking for a pay phone.  We don't have one, and I don't know if she's a guest or not, so I point to where our lobby phones are.  She's very polite and goes to make her phone call.  She peeks out from around the corner to ask what hotel we are ( not a guest!) and I tell her.  She goes back and completes her phone call.  She comes back into the lobby and makes a little small talk, but mostly seems like she's waiting for something.  Makes sense.  Probably needs a ride.

And then the police show up.

The police show up and remain in the little entrance section of the hotel, not saying a word to me.  They talk with the woman...then they leave.

Meanwhile, the piercing alarm in the back office that goes off every time a 911 call is made from a hotel phone will.  Not.  Shut.  Up.

She hangs out in the lobby for awhile, continuing to be polite, uses the restroom, waits for them to come back.  Eventually they do and they talk to her inside for a second, when I finally get my chance to ask a copper what is going on - because we do have to keep a record of this stuff.  He doesn't have much to say, just that somebody smashed her phone so she came here to call the cops.  That's all I got.  That's why this stupid alarm won't stop going off.  It took them an hour of sitting with two cop cars outside our hotel, four cops, all talking to this woman before they finally left.  Oh, and they mentioned we had a "geyser" in parking lot about 20 feet high.

And there is a horsefly the size of my fucking hand on the wall right behind me.

I can't stop watching it move.  I'm too scared to squash it.  La mosca muerta, those fuckers don't die.

Of course, it could just be the largest house fly on record EVER...but guys...I can see its fucking mouth.  I'm too afraid to take my eyes off of it for more than a couple of seconds.  This thing wants to eat me.

I have kind of been petrified of biting flies ever since I watched one take a strip out of a girl's leg at camp as a child.

Flies are the fucking devil, yo.


Saturday, March 12, 2011

Two Russian Guys Walk into a Bar...

Or they tried to, anyways.

These two Russian fellas walked in at a little before 3:30 AM and asked when breakfast started - I told them 6:30 AM.  They looked at each other for a sec, and walked back toward the front door saying they were going to take a walk for 3 hours then come back for breakfast.

They walk back in a half hour later, arms out, saying "It's closed!"

"What's closed?"

"The Hilton!"

"...The whole Hilton?"

"No, the front desk is open, but the BAR is closed!"

"...yes sir, it's state law to stop serving alcohol at 2 AM."

"...That's a stupid law."

"Yeah, I know a lotta people who'd like to change it, heh."

"You should tell Bush to change it."  *walks off to elevators.*

Oh my god, I laughed for like five minutes straight after the elevator doors closed.  So many things were wrong with that, but they were so hilariously cheerful about it.  Besides, accents.


Friday, March 11, 2011

...It IS Friday, isn't it?

You know how a little while back I walked the halls with my eyes closed while delivering bills and newspapers?

Well, today was walk-the-halls-like-I'm-America's-Next-Top-Model.  I did my little turn on the catwalk.  On the catwalk.  On the catwalk.  Yeah, I did my little turn on the catwalk.

Next time I think it shall be walk-the-halls-like-I'm-lost, or walk-the-halls-like-I'm-in-a-rainstorm-with-hurricane-force-winds-and-a-broken-umbrella.  I don't want to know what anyone who might be peeking out their peepholes must think when I tango/gallop/meander by.

But why the hell would they be looking out their peepholes in the middle of the night?

That picture has absolutely nothing to do with what I was talking about.

ANYWAYS - it's Friday...and nothing bad has happened yet.  That's right, Fate, consider yourself tempted.  Of course, there's much more of Friday yet to come.

Maybe the universe is doing this to me because it knows it's just as bad to make me expect something horrible all day long and not know when it's coming.  It knows I will spend my Friday in fear.  Well, not all of Friday, I'm going to be going to sleep in a couple of hours.

Suck it, Fate.

(I think I'm tired again)

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

It's Your Fault

*ring ring*
"Front desk, this is Wednesday, how may I assist you?"
"Yeah, can I have some ice cream?"
(...I feel like we have some in the back freezer, but it always has heavy stuff on it, so I never look...)  "Yes ma'am, I believe we do have ice cream down here.  We can't deliver it to your room, though, you would need to come get it in the lobby."
"Oh.  Well...why not?  Do you not offer room service?"  (sounds like I just told her that her puppy died)
"No, ma'am, we don't."
"Well why not?"
"'s not our policy?"  (I'm so confused...I didn't realize not delivering it was a dealbreaker)
"Ohhh.  That's not good."
"I'm sorry, ma'am."
"Okay?  Alright ma'am, you have a great night."
"Byeeeee...but it's your fault...buh byeee."

It took all my effort to postpone laughing until after I'd hung up the phone.  If she'd said it jokingly it would have just been, well, normal.  Goofy, even.  But she was sincerely deflated and upset.  She sounded like by telling her she had to come down to get the ice cream I'd popped her balloon of ice cream-based happiness.  And she was not happy that I had popped her balloon.

She was not happy at all.

(who still does not understand how "it's your fault" fits into the middle of a goodbye)

Tuesday, March 1, 2011


There is this ADORABLE family sitting at the bar eating breakfast, and this little kid asks me very politely (he's maybe 2 or 3 years old?) how much the candy bar costs.

I was going to ring it up, but it was SO BLINDINGLY CUTE that I put it on guest satisfaction instead and told him it was FREE.  How weird was that, that he picked the ONLY free candy bar we had?  What a lucky guy!

He turned to his mum, held up three fingers, and happily exclaimed:

"THREE!!!  IT COSTS THREE DOLLARS!"  Smiling like I'd told him he could have a million candy bars.

His mom explained that free meant zero dollars and he got EVEN HAPPIER.

Then he ate it and even said thank you.  <3


Thursday, February 24, 2011

If we tip a lot?

Things you probably shouldn't do at your hotel:
  • Tell the night auditor you'll tip REALLY well if she reopens the bar for your group of already-intoxicated buddies.
  • Look at your watch when she says the bar closes at 11, snap your fingers, and exclaim "we JUST missed it!"
  • Tell your friends if the bar had been open it would have been cool, because you're a really great bartender.
  • Leap drunkenly from the pillar outside like Spiderman.
  • Play your guitar in the elevator.
  • Make the night auditor microwave you two bags of popcorn in the back.

That's about it, really.  Yeah.  Don't do those things.  You probably shouldn't.


P.S. - if you think your day sucks, just think about this guy who came in at midnight and asked me to set him a 1:00 AM wakeup call.  It'll make ya smile, because either you're still a notch above that tired, or you're a sadistic bastard.  Either way, I bet your day improves.  :)

Friday, February 18, 2011

Oh, the Drippy Sounds this Hotel Makes...

Who's got two thumbs and had to stick a bucket IN a cabinet to catch a water leak tonight?


I think it rains more inside this hotel than outside!  :p


Thursday, February 17, 2011

Can She Do It?!

I know all of you have been wondering about whether or not I can walk down the second floor hallway with my eyes shut the whole way.

The answer to this perplexing life question is - yes I can.

Some of you may be thinking to yourselves - that's crazy.  How can she know when she reaches the end?  She'd go right through the window!

The answer to THAT perplexing life question is - that I peeked.  Really, it was more like I walked about 50% of the hallway with my eyes shut and the other half with them open.  It's cheating, I know.  But you can't judge.  Because I don't see any of YOU walking down the whole LOL Hotel hallway with your eyes closed.

I can't see anything, in fact.  Because my eyes are closed RIGHT NOW.  Now they aren't.

And that's called spell-checking.  Spell-checking with your eyes closed is just freaking stupid.

-Wednesday (who thinks she has a mild fever)

Friday, February 11, 2011

Ah...Guests. I love you. Go Away.

Weird guests are amazing in tiny, extremely small doses.  XD

We started tonight off with a couple of guys coming in from their night of drinking and stopping to look at the case of food and drinks.  One of them DEMANDS our last cookie.  He has a desperate need for the cookie.  His friend points to the muffins and says he needs a cupcake, then claims three packs of Reese's.  While that fella consumes his yearly nutritional requirement of chocolate in about two minutes, his friend, cookie-guy starts to talk to me about tattoos.  He wants me to design chocolate-fella's tattoo, which really doesn't need any designing because it's just LETTERS, but his friend finishes gobbling his food and they forget about it on their way up to their rooms.  I'm pretty glad, honestly, because I sorta have cooler stuff to draw tonight than letters.  :p

Oh, and by the way?  Every single person who has come in tonight has said good morning to me.  I know that sometimes I have a problem with saying good morning in the evenings because I just woke up, but I didn't expect it from a guest at the hotel.  And man, I really didn't expect it from EVERY guest who's come in.  Maybe it's good-morning-day, or a secret conspiracy of goodmorningdoers.  In any case, it makes me smile.  :D

One good-morninger just came in a minute ago and hollered about the brand new day and how amazing it was.  He then loudly noted that we had a new dance floor (tile) and asked me if I'd ever been out with a buncha drunk friends.

Better to be loud, drunk, and happy, than to be this fella, though:

A guy wanders in holding three packs of cigarettes in one hand.  He's scrawny and middle-aged, and while he did nod at me, he mostly stares off into space.  He doesn't look around, he doesn't wander, he just walks in a slow, mostly straight line toward the elevator and stops.  The fellow he'd followed in (I don't think they were together?) hits the elevator and takes it up.  The guy is looking at the wall.  The elevator arrives and dude is turning around every now and then, looking like he's either thinking about something very interesting, too interesting to show any expression or movement of his head, or absolutely nothing at all.  A couple of minutes later, guy gets in the elevator and rides it up.

And rides it right back down without so much as getting off of it.  I know he didn't press the 1st floor button, because it didn't ding when the doors opened on the first floor.  In fact, nothing happened when the doors opened on the first floor.  I could see half of his reflection in the elevator wall, and he was just standing there, staring out of the elevator like he hadn't noticed it opened.  The doors closed again like they do after reaching the first floor, then reopen, and guy waltzes on out.  He spaces his way right out the front door, and I haven't seen him since.

So what's your vote, guys?  Prostitute with second thoughts, drugs, both, or neither?

Like I said.  I LOVE the guests here.  They're weird, quirky, goofy, and most of the time friendly.  Small doses, though.  Very small doses.

TGIF (or maybe it's Friday's fault!)

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Burnt Cookies

Actually, "Burnt Cookies" is the name of a webcomic I sincerely, desperately wished I'd gotten around to.  Of all the things ADD has allowed me to start, and that I've dropped the ball on finishing, that one's the worst.  The writer was awesome and the storyline and boards rocked, I just never took anything beyond a sketch.  Saaaad.  But that's not what this is about.

Actually, I just burned a cookie.

Normally our cookies are our very bestest thing here.  They're heaven.  Scrumptious.  Today, though, when I came into work our cookies were replaced by...lumps...of things that might be called some other dimension.

They looked like oatmeal, possibly?  I had to try one, because I needed to know what to tell people when they asked what kind of cookie they were.  Plus there were tons of them anyways.  So I tried one, but it was cold.  So I microwaved it.

30 seconds is safe, right?

Everything certainly sounded like it was safe...the microwave beeped, and I opened it, prepared to cautiously touch a potentially hot molten "cookie."


I disappear like a magician in a cloud of smoke.  I peer up through the haze and see a smoke detector on the wall.  Crap!  I try to fan the door, but the door won't budge.  What's it stuck on?  NO TIME!  I start running maniacally back and forth through the doorway trying to fan the smoke out of the room and disperse it.  It smells like burned peanut butter and poo.


I still haven't gotten my damned cookie, having had to close the door to the microwave quickly to seal in the smoke.  I make the foolish, rookie mistake of trying to open it fast enough to grab my treat.  I NEED to see if it's a charcoal brick or not.  Call it Science.

This releases another giant puff of smoke, so I resort to breathing in deeply, running to the hallway and blowing out, lather-rinse-repeat.  In the midst of hyperventilating, I remember my cookie, make one last attempt at grabbing it and, noting that the world hasn't ended yet, retreat to the lobby to enjoy it.

Oddly enough, only the VERY CENTER of the cookie is burned.  The outsides, top, and bottom are fine, though they do NOT taste like deliciousness.  They taste like peanut butter and possibly nuts.

No fire alarms, just massive cookie-disappointment.

Fuck you, cookie.

P.S. - What do you do when you have to answer the ringing phone, but you have to sneeze REALLY bad?  ...You talk in a funny voice, that's what.  -.-

Friday, February 4, 2011


It does not snow here at the LOL Hotel.  If someone were to call and ask if it snowed around here, one would say no.  No snow.

But the past few years have seen a few snow days, light as they may be.  Tonight was one such night!

For the record, if you happen to be parked at the LOL Hotel when it snows, you may very well have the snow on the hood of your car photographed next to the night auditor's goofy mug.

That same night auditor may become very embarrassed when the local newspaper delivery fellows arrives and catches her taking pictures like a tourist.  XD

So anyhoo!

This fellow comes down the elevator and is looking for the USA Todays.  Unfortunately, they and the other national newspaper weren't delivered today.  One assumes the unusual snow is to blame, so I mentioned that we could get him a local paper, but that the others didn't come due to the weather.

The fellow loses his cool, as so many people are apt to do before 8 AM.  He flings his arm toward the doors and exclaims:

"SNOW?  You call THAT snow??  That's FROST.  You have no idea what snow is (wtf?)!  I'm from Colorado where it snows A FOOT AND A HALF A NIGHT.  A little frost on the ground and you guys completely shut down!"

He didn't raise his voice much, but he continued to bitch and complain until he reached the elevator.  The woman who was ACTUALLY working (I was off shift at this point and quite irked with being chewed out while not being paid) tried to calm him by joking back about how crazy it was that locals called THIS snow, but the man wasn't having it.  He stomped back into the elevator and returned grumpily to his room, hopefully to read the damned paper online.

I like my job, otherwise my response might have been something closer to:

"Oh, pardon me, sir!  Let me call the newspaper and have them bring you one right away!  I'm sorry, I guess I shouldn't have called the paper man and told him not to bring any today.  I'm also EXTREMELY sorry that I had the WHOLE city shut down to inconvenience you - my bad."

Seriously...people without their coffee do not grasp basic concepts of blame.  XD  Like how the night auditor probably isn't at fault for a warm city's response to a few inches of snow.  A city that was 70 degrees a few days ago, and will be back in the 50s by the weekend.  I understand that people from cold climates feel quite superior (and I use "understand" loosely, pride is one thing, but I'm not sure how dealing with snow more often makes you tougher than everyone who is currently south of you), but if you're that crazy over a newspaper, maybe you should go back to your room and chug some caffeine!

Let's go!  Chop chop!  Coffee doesn't quit just because it's cold outside!


Wednesday, February 2, 2011


So it's that big wintery storm, right?  Pretty gosh-darned cold out there.  So cold and sudden, in fact, that we had a hard freeze warning while it was still 70 degrees outside.  Now it's 20 degrees, and let me tell you...  it's cold.

Texas has no idea how to handle that much cold.  We get days like this a few times a year, but it's always a shocker and we just have trouble going from 70 to 20 in the span of a few hours.  Call it a flaw.

Of course, our lobby heater has no clue about what's going on outside.  Or maybe it does!  Every now and then, on the very coldest days, when it senses it is MOST needed, the heater will break.

Maybe not completely, or maybe it's the abundance of other heaters keeping the lobby in the 60s, but when this occurs I have no shot at achieving the typical low-seventies of your average LOL Hotel lobby environment.

It's20Degrees outside.

Normally I get around such silly heaterish mishaps by ducking into the back office area, where the heater is usually turned WAY up to compensate and I can thaw out.  Of course, today, this is not so.  It's not exactly freezing back there, but the heater won't warm up more, either.

My other trick for staying warm?  When my fingers freeze up and it hurts to type, I pop open the little, perpetually-on oven and - no lie - stick my hands inside.  It's nice.  Like sticking your head in the freezer on a hot, summer day, but in reverse.

Guess what's broken?

Heater Failure

Allow Oven to Cool"


Friday, January 28, 2011

Grah Is an Anagram of Argh.

Well.  Last night we had only 33% occupancy.  I should have learned to better appreciate that, because tonight we had 99%.  Technically it was supposed to be 100%...but weird things happened.

The last shift had two leftover arrivals but only one room, so they booked the last room for the person who was a part of a group.  Unfortunately, the other person was the one who came in for them, and they walked her and sent her to another hotel.  Well...that person who had the room never even came in, and a fellow wound up calling me at midnight or so to ask if the walked lady could be compensated, get the room free, something like that.  He intimated that she was extremely upset with the situation.  Awesome.  Of course, there isn't much I can do about it, so I asked him to call sales about it after 7 in the morning and that they'd let him know if there was anything they could do to make it right.  Le sigh.  At least I didn't have to speak with her directly!  :)

So we have one free room, but there's no telling for sure until 3 AM or so.  People have been known to go to the bars first, and check in after 2 when they close.  So at 1 AM when a fairly rude fella walks in, whips out his credit card, and demands a king room, I told 'im we were completely booked up.  He makes a face like someone just told him the moon wasn't made of cheese, and stomped back out to his great, big hummer.  He pauses halfway out, turns around, points his finger at me and informs me that there aren't that many cars in the parking lot.  He was driving off before I got to tell mooncheese man that they came in a bus.

Oh, and our bank's off by some 60 or so bucks...under, that is.  It was 100 when I started, which blew everyone's minds until the last shift realized they'd accidentally deposited a check's amount AND the check...leaving us quite short.  Ah well, at least the money's there.  Just not in the cash register.  Fridays, man, I'm tellin' ya.

Last thing - it turns out I should NOT have waited this long to do audit, because on Fridays here at the LOL Hotel, Murphy's Law runs rampant.  Right as I get started on close day...our system breaks and I have to call support.  I get a guy on the phone with a speech impediment, who my boss had actually warned me was not a very nice fella.

I only briefly considered hanging up and calling back before I sucked it up and explained my problem.

Only it took me forever to explain it, because every time he asked a question I had to ask him to repeat it, citing the "bad connection."  Couldn't be more awkward?  Oh, but it is.

He takes over the computer remotely and starts fiddling with it, then tells me to go ahead and close day, but to leave the connection open.  He says he's going to let me close it, then take over again once it's done and figure out what the problem is.  I say okay, but it does take it a few minutes to run.  (Should I get off the phone or does he want me to stay on the line?)  ...He says okay?  I say okay, sounds good.  Then...silence.

I have no idea if I'm supposed to hang up or not, so I leave the phone on just in case.  I hear silence and a few key strokes in the background.  I hear this for a good 30-60 seconds (time flies when in excruciating awkwardness, so I don't have an exact number for ya!) before *click!*

Wow. read right - it just got all kindsa more awkward up in here.

All I can say is - TGIF!


Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Stupidity Sandwich of Noise

Maybe I'M old-school.  And I don't mean I can't bring myself to hit bitches with big hammers, either.  Well I mean, I don't hit bitches with big hammers, but that's not what I'm talking about.  Really, it's cell phones.  Cell phones drive me mad.

Ear pieces are their own debate. I'm talking about full-on cell phone chatter.  Glued to your ear, talking away, making eye contact with the cashier/clerk/salesperson despite speaking to the phone.  It was only a few years ago that everyone knew that was bad manners.  Now you get to participate in idiotic discussions about who dissed who while crowded in W*lmart.  Now, if you have strong feelings about what that bitch said to you, you can rally the backup of the whole drive-through crew, the stockers, and the fuck-you-and-put-down-your-fucking-cell-phones.

Today, one such etiquette-murderess got exactly what she deserved, and despite the grating sound of it, I LOVED it.

First of all, she drives in at 2:45 AM drunk.  She DRIVES in drunk.  I actually thought she was the newspaper dude because it was the same kind of car.  When I saw her come in I hopped up to help her.  She asked, while on her phone, if I had a room available for the next few hours.  I now have a way to check people in without calling, but it's been so long since I learned how to use that program I'd rather ask someone to remind me first which fields to fill out so I don't mess one up.  I haven't done that just yet.  So I dialed up the number to central reservation.

Immediately she goes back to her phone conversation, speaking very, very loudly.  The walls behind me are actually echoing her voice back to me.  It's like I'm in a stupidity sandwich of noise.  It's hard to hear the recorded introduction to central reservations over the wind blasting out of her mouth and flinging my hair back.  I'm in a wind tunnel.  It's all I can do to remain standing straight and not be flung through the wall.  I think I've been connected to someone on the phone, but I can't hear anything over her voice.  It occurs to me that she is speaking so loudly and uninterruptedly that I can hear it again through the earpiece, and that someone in Europe must simply be very confused.  Then I hear very faint hold music.  Well, okay then.

I wait a little while longer hoping desperately that she'll hang up so I can at least ask for her license and credit card.  She finally says goodbye, in order to switch calls to someone else, who then asks if THEY can have room(s???), too.  I take advantage of the slight pause after her floating question mark to explain that I can't actually reach central reservation, and that because of the hour, it might be better for her to try next door.

She explains to the person on the other end of her phone about how weird it is that we would want her to go somewhere else.




Friday, January 21, 2011

He's Old-School

When I got here tonight, there was a group of seven or eight people QUITE inebriated at the bar, eating a delicous-smelling pizza.  I usually hate dealing with drunk people who stay past the bar closing, but these dude's were alright, if a little nonsensical (and sometimes pretty obnoxious).  I feel it's necessary to point out that one of these nicer of the fellas looks exactly like a hobo.  His beard was longer than my hair, and his hair was even longer.  Scraggly and pleasant to the max.

Here are some amazing excerpts:

"It's NOT YOUR FAULT, man, it's NOT.  YOUR.  FAULT."

"I love you, man.  I love you, man.  I love you, man.  I can't say it anymore, but I love you, man."

"Hey, hey!  How old are you little lady?" (suddenly from a completely different conversation with his friends)
"How oldr you?"
"Dear lord, I got a grandkid your age.  But I love you."

"I can NOT find your room."
"I know, but with the elevator, I couldn't find it."

 "Am I your singer, am I your singer?"
"I'll be who you want me to be, HAHAHA!"

"I'm...I'm a dick.  No, I'm not a likeable person, I'm a dick."
" seem nice..."
"Well, you're a beautiful."

"Your old man is a hard-workin' fucker."
"He IS a hard-workin' fucker."
"Your old man is a hard-workin' fucker.  Your old man is a hard-workin fucker."

"Poke him in is right eye, poke him in the right one."

"I had a big hammer in my hand one time, and I couldn't beat that bitch.  I don't know.  I'm old-school."

"They're inbred, remember, they're INBRED.  Their mother is their brother, or something."


Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Hoodies More Dangerous Than Previously Thought, Reports the LOL

Breaking News, Fellow Lollers.

Our heater broke, and the lobby is currently a balmy 63 degrees Fahrenheit.  So I decided to break dress code a little and wear my hoodie over my button up shirt and slacks.  Well...I asked permission to.  I don't actually have guts, nor do I live on the edge.

Actually, I was particularly concerned about wearing an oversized hoodie with an out-of-town college name scrawled across it, due to the knowledge that I may very well have to tell some guests that we don't actually have room for them after all.  I figured that might be taken a little better by someone looking at a woman in a button up, professional-looking shirt.

In any case, nobody came in after I bundled up, so no worries.

In the morning, however, I was helping a fellow check out and back in, because one of the day shifts had experienced trouble making a continuous reservation and instead booked a few people for multiple days, re-checking in each morning.  It was taking a minute, but I was clearly helping a guy, when a fellow with a DESPERATELY URGENT NEED for coffee interrupted to ask if I worked there.

Nope.  I'm just playing on their computer while the real employees aren't looking.

Why do you ask?


P.S. - Rest assured that your night auditor may very well be pretending he/she is Santa Claus when delivering your morning paper and bill.

I totally do.

Friday, January 7, 2011

In case you were wondering about the state of our floor...

It was once wet.  Very, very wet.

Also - do you ever mispronounce words in your head?  Mine just said "ruzzins."  Like raisins.

Or some miracle dried fruit related to the raisin.

That cures cancer, but only when correctly pronounced.  In your head.

You NEEDED to know that.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

I'm Psychic.

I wrote Hitchcock's The Birds, and now they're all dying wherever and that's all me, baby.

Not really.  BUT.  Wouldn't that be cool?  Then it would be Wednesday's The Birds.

That's not what this post is actually about.  I really am psychic.  This evening I was kinda daydreaming and thinking about how I should probably check out the rooms some more because I don't actually know what all is in them.  What if someone calls and asks if there was a safe in the room?  I'd have no clue!

I thought about how I'd probably just attempt to dodge the question by offering to store items behind the counter if there wasn't a satisfactory spot in the room.

Then this fellow comes in the lobby and stops on his way to the elevator to ask me if the room has a safe in it.  NO LIE.  So I tell him that I am not sure, but that I can store things behind the counter for him if he'd like.  He explains that they're a bunch of really important passports and papers and asked if we had a safe we could put them in in the back (we don't).  Dodge dodged!  Sad.

So I'm psychic but not psychic enough to see into the rooms with my mind's eye.

I wonder if we have safes in the rooms or not?