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.

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





All I can say is - TGIF!

-Wednesday

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.

Yeah...

Weird.


-Wednesday

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)
"...What?"
"How oldr you?"
"22..."
"Dear lord, I got a grandkid your age.  But I love you."

"I can NOT find your room."
"WHADDYA MEAN?  I TOLD YA IT'S RIGHT UP THE ELEVATOR."
"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."
"No...you 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

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?

-Wednesday



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.

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.
-Wednesday

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?

-Wednesday