Reasons Number One And Number Two Not To Work With People

I’ve been working at a hotel for about two years. I learned to work all shifts, so there are nights that I work as an auditor (overnight shift). We’re also a hotel that receives distressed passengers from the local international airport, which is where some (not all by a long shot) of our most insane customers come from.

This happened to me on my audit shift, and I’m still wondering what is wrong with some people.

I sign in and run my reports. My shuttle driver is heading back with a few people who’ve been stranded due to the weather, so I set aside some rooms and wait.

Five people get off the shuttle. The first four are normal; they’re tired from waiting for a flight but for the most part pleasant and nice to deal with. The fifth is staggering back and forth and muttering to herself. Everyone in the lobby is trying to stay as far away from her as humanly possible, which is my clue that this last person is going to be… “fun.”

I check in the fourth guest and greet the fifth.

Me: “Hello, how may I help you?”

She stands there for about a minute with her mouth open and walks closer to the front desk, where I am barraged by the smell of alcohol. She stands there for another minute staring at me before she finally slurs out:

Guest: “I need a room. G**d***ed airport sent me here.”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, did they give you a letter for a discounted rate?”

A little FYI: unless it’s a mechanical failure or a staffing problem, the airlines will NEVER give out a hotel voucher; they’ll give you a distressed rate that’s approximately 20 to 30% cheaper than the regular rate.

Guest: *Still staring at me* “Yes.”

Me: “I need that letter, an ID, and a credit card for check-in.”

Guest: “What? Why d’you need that for?”

Me: “Well, this letter gives you a discounted rate, so I need your credit card for the cost of the room and your ID to prove that it is your credit card.”

Guest: “Fine!”

She starts rummaging through her ginormous purse, throwing all kinds of stuff all over the place.

She then stops mid-toss.

Guest: “I need to use the bathroom. Where’s the g**d***ed bathroom at?”

Me: “I can make you a key to use one of our bathrooms and give you directions to it.”

I make a key for it, point her down the hallway to where the two bathrooms are, and hand it to her.

Guest: “Gimme the key!”

The drunkard tries to swipe it out of my hand and misses twice before grabbing the key and staggering down the hall toward the bathroom.

While she’s out of the lobby, I pick up all of the crap that she pulled out of that cavernous bag of hers and pile it together so she can shove it back into her bag when she gets back. Five minutes pass before she comes back to the front office, and she’s swearing louder and louder as she’s walking toward me.

Guest: “There’s no g**d***ed bathroom down there! I gotta go, and there’s no bathroom down there, just two doors!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, those doors are the entrance to the bathrooms. You use the key to open them.”

Guest: “I don’t have time for this! Gimme a room! I gotta go!”

Me: “Okay, I need your ID and credit card for check-in.”

Guest: “You’re not getting s*** until I go to the bathroom! Now gimme a room!”

Me: “Well then, ma’am, I suggest that you take the key that I made you and use one of the bathrooms down the hall because I can’t check you into a room without some sort of payment.”

Now, this is where it goes straight to crazy town.

She stands there for a couple of seconds, and then she unbuttons and takes down her pants and proceeds to evacuate both ends all over the lobby floor.

As she’s crouching there, I dial 911.

Thank whatever hotel deities are out there that the cops walk through that door as she is still relieving herself. They cuff her and walk her out the front door as she’s screaming.

Guest: “That stupid c*** has all my s***! She’s gonna steal my identity! She doesn’t even know where the f****** bathroom is!”

I called my maintenance guy to get the bio cleaners, filed a report with the police, and bagged the pile that I had put together.

The officer informed me that they did find her ID (which she was accusing me of stealing) and were going to put her in the drunk tank until she sobered up.

All I had to do then was help clean up the whole mess she had left. Fortunately, my maintenance guy helped, and I was able to run the audit without any more problems.