Hotel Californication

(Our hotel has a strict rule about protecting our guests’ privacy. We do not give room numbers unless they say it’s ok. A young woman of about 21 comes in. She’s wearing ripped up old stained tank top with no underwear, and she’s pale, shaking, and thin. Another woman, her friend, looks more normal and stands behind her.)

Woman: “Hello, is [Name] here?”

Me: “He is.”

Woman: “Great, which room number is he?”

Me: “We are not allowed to give out his room number.”

Woman: “But I’m his girlfriend!”

Me: “Even if you were his mother I could not.”

(Round and round we go, with the woman piping, “But I’m his girlfriend!” every time as if that would magically get her his room number. Her friend behind her starts giggling, and then becomes bored and tries to pull her away.)

Friend: “C’mon, let’s just go. They can’t give his number. We’ll find another way.”

(The young woman continues insisting I give his room number, and I keep saying no. Finally, she looks at me with a complete psychotic look in her eye, and says:)

Woman: “He’s in there with another woman, isn’t he? Isn’t he?!”

(She made her hand into a claw and tried to attack me. Security and her friend helped pull her out, yelling incoherently. I never saw her again. I reported it to my manager and he told me later that he told the guest that his girlfriend has tried to see him. He said, “What girlfriend?” and told us that he’d broken up with someone earlier that day and thanked us for protecting his privacy!)