And Our Bellhop Is From Bedlam!

It’s quiet until a guest storms up to the desk, clearly irritated.

Guest: “I want to speak to the manager! Right now!”

Me: “I’m the night manager. How can I—”

Guest: “—No! The real manager! The one from lunchtime!”

Me: “I’m afraid the day manager won’t be in until the morning, ma’am.”

Guest: “Then what room are they in? I’ll go wake them!”

Me: “…Ma’am, the manager isn’t here. She’s at home, not sleeping on the premises.” 

Guest: *Shocked.* “What do you mean she’s not here? Don’t you all stay at the hotel?”

She’s actually being serious! Well, I guess I could have some fun with this:

Me: “No, ma’am. All of us actually live together at the local insane asylum. We get bussed in together in batches for day and night shifts.” 

Guest: “…Oh.”

Me: *Leans in with a wide, unnerving grin.* “[Manager] is busy right now; she’s hosting her ward’s bingo game.”

Guest: *Quieter, sheepish even!* “Well… when her bus gets in, get her to call me…”

Me: *Tilts head, still smiling.* “Oh, don’t worry… we’ll send her riiiiight on over.”

The guest backs away toward the elevators, suddenly very quiet. I go back to my paperwork, chuckling to myself.

Oh, and the issue that she needed the “day manager” for? The weather page on her in-room TV service was set to Celsius. (It wasn’t, it rotates between Celsius and Fahrenheit but it always seemed to be Celsius whenever she looked).