Being Sick Is Not License To Spit

I work in a hotel. We had a guy staying with us for a couple of weeks. He was annoying but didn’t break any rules. He’s been very ill, apparently, and doctors have been little help. I know this because he complained about it literally every time I saw him. He also drank and smoked heavily, which probably wasn’t helping things, but it was none of my business.

Today, he finally checked out, saying he was feeling extra terrible and was going to the hospital. Apparently, that did not pan out because about half an hour ago, he showed up again looking to check in.

Okay, no problem. Except… my credit card terminal decided it was a great time to be a butthead. So, as quickly as I could, I tried to figure out what the problem was, ruling out this and that, trying and trying again to get the payment management system to connect to it.

He started whining and talking about how much pain he was in.

Man: “Just check me in. I’ll sort out payment tomorrow.”

Yeah, right.

Me: *Politely* “I cannot check you in without payment. I’m sorry, sir, but I’m working as fast as I can to get the problem sorted out.”

He kept grumbling, complaining, and swearing under his breath for a couple more minutes.

Another guest came in while he was away from the desk getting coffee.

As I politely apologized to the guest, before I could explain that I was helping the other gentleman, he came over and quickly got in front of the guest. He very much copped an attitude with the man.

Man: “I was first!”

Guest: *Awkwardly* “I’m sorry.” *Stands back*

By then, I had determined that the problem was most likely with the credit card terminal itself, so I reset it and hopped over to the other computer. I seldom use that computer, so I had to turn it on and get logged in, which took another moment while the angry man was complaining and hacking up a lung. I made a mental note to sanitize everything.

I got logged in on the extra computer and went to check the man in, but apparently, his impatience had finally won out.

Man: “Give me my card back! I’m going to go and lie down in my truck.”

He wasn’t exactly behaving in a way that made me want to check him in, so I handed him his card back and apologized for the inconvenience.

Man: “I’ll be back in an hour to try again.”

I hoped he wouldn’t.

I apologized to the other guest as he stepped up to check in.

Guest: “Hey, you should probably know… that guy spit on the floor several times while you were trying to fix the thing.”

I came around the desk and, sure enough, there were a couple of brown spit splotches on the floor. Great. I resolved to not check the man in if he came back.

After managing to not throw up while cleaning up the spit, I found his truck, where he was smoking a cigarette with a case of beer the size of a mother-in-law suite riding shotgun. I got his attention and informed him that he wouldn’t be able to check in.

Man: “Why not?!”

Me: “You spat on the lobby floor — multiple times.”

Man: “I’m very sick!”

Me: “That doesn’t mean you can just spit on the floor.”

That was probably even more reason not to, really, but I didn’t say that.