Hot Under The Collar And No Way Out

I work the morning front desk shift at a long-term stay hotel on an island in the Pacific Northwest. Today, a guest encounter at first gave me anxiety, but then I got a good laugh when it was all over.

In the pass down from the night audit shift, I read that a guest had called down to report that the air conditioning wasn’t getting cold enough. The night audit employee offered to fix it — very easy button-pushing involved — and the guest declined service, yet the note said they were extremely upset. They were rewarded 10,000 member points, and [Employee] apologized profusely. So, it was clear we had an entitled jerk to deal with.

Later in the morning, this same guest called down and said their room was “too hot” (72°F) and they didn’t sleep at all. My manager happened to be the one to answer their call, and wow, did it escalate. When [Manager] offered to come up to the room and fix the air conditioning (again), I could hear the guest shouting over the phone.

Guest: “Absolutely not! I’m naked right now! Jesus Christ. How many times have I told you it’s too hot in here?!”

My manager turned bright red.

Manager: “Ma’am, you’ve given us no opportunity to fix this problem, and we are willing to award you more points for the complaint; however, we suggest you seek accommodation elsewhere if our hotel is not to your liking.”

The guest screamed something again and hung up.

A few hours passed, and I was ready for a fight when the problem guest came to the front desk to check out. She glared at me as I was printing her receipt and asked a series of confusing questions about where she had parked and how to take the closest exit there.

Guest: “As you can see I’ve injured my leg; there is a brace and there are pins in it. This pharmacy in your stupid town doesn’t have my medication, so I’m pissed off at the world. Also, I found two fleas in my room, and I don’t have a dog!”

I politely handed her the receipt and finally looked up to make eye contact and tell her goodbye. Her mask said — I swear to God — “Shut up, Karen,” in big white lettering.

I’m still not over the irony of it all.