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.

I love honey on my toast and in my tea, so I usually carry some in a couple of mini jars when I’m travelling. They literally hold about two teaspoons each. I’m having a buffet breakfast in my hotel, and they don’t have honey, so I’ve brought my tiny jar to my table.

The family at the next table spots it.

Child: “Mum, look! I want honey!”

Mum: “Excuse me. Where did you get the honey? We didn’t see any.”

Me: “I don’t think they’ve got any. I brought this with me.”

Mum: “I’ll go ask.”

Off she goes, and I carry on enjoying the last of my breakfast, spreading honey on my toast.

Mum: *To her daughter* “They haven’t got any. We’ll ask the nice lady.”

Dad: *To me* “Excuse me. They haven’t got any. Can my daughter have some of yours?”

Me: “No, sorry. It’s just enough for one.”

Mum: “But she just wants a bit. Can’t you spare a bit?”

Me: “No, sorry, but it’s really just enough for me.”

Daughter: “Daaaaad, I really want honey.”

Dad: “Look, she’s just a kid. Can you just give us a bit for her?”

Me: “No. I can’t.”

I spoon the last of my honey into my tea and put the jar into my pocket.

Mum: *Angry now* “Oh, well, that’s nice. Sorry, [Daughter], the lady won’t give you any honey.”

The daughter starts crying.

Dad: “Are you happy now? Look at her!”

Me: “I’m not the one who promised her honey when there wasn’t any. Yeah, I’m happy. Looks like your day’s going to suck, though.”

I took my tea and headed to my room while the daughter had a complete meltdown behind me.

Work has sent me off to Chicago to conduct a training. I have arrived at the airport in San Diego, but the plane is delayed. It happens, but I’m now worried about my connection since the flight is not direct.

While we’re waiting, there is a small earthquake. Is this going to affect my flight? Yes and no. It is large enough to be felt but small enough that they’re just taking the reports of all the staff that there is no damage at face value and continuing. But my flight is still delayed. What was supposed to have been a 9:00 am flight is now well after noon, but it still hasn’t been canceled.

The flight finally comes, but I have clearly missed my connection, and by the time they get me onto a new plane for Chicago and I get into O’Hare, it’s about midnight. The rental car agency has closed, and I need to get to North Chicago, about thirty miles away. My hotel is also up there.

My first decision is to find a room where I am, get my rental car in the morning, and hightail it up to my location to hopefully get there in time. However, the cost of the hotel by the airport is outrageous, so I make some more phone calls and find a long-haul taxi service to get me to my hotel. I have called to let them know that I am here but I’m stuck at the airport.

Fortunately for me, the training is taking place at a location right across the street from the hotel, so I don’t need transportation if I can just get to the hotel. They understand and say that they’ll be waiting for me and will have all the paperwork set up so that all I’ll need to do when I get there is sign on the line and I can go straight to bed.

The taxi driver is very sympathetic to my plight.

Taxi Driver: “How are you going to get back to the airport?”

Me: “I’ll either have someone at the training give me a ride back or find another taxi service to get me back.”

Taxi Driver: “No, no, I’ll have none of that. When is your flight out, and when do you expect to be done with training?”

I tell him, and I point out that the timing is such that I’ll pretty much need to leave immediately after the training in order to have enough time to get to the airport and through security to make my flight.

Taxi Driver: “I’ll make sure that I’m available at that time.”

He gives me his business card.

Taxi Driver: “Call me an hour before you think you’ll be done so I can be there to collect you.”

The next day went off pretty much just fine. I did my training, I called the driver, and he came to get me, driving a bit quickly (but not recklessly) in order to get me to the airport on time.

To that taxi driver, thank you so much for this. I’m sure that part of it was that you’d have a good fare, but it was still exactly what I needed given the predicament that I was in.

And by the way: when I got to the hotel, the paperwork was right there, I signed, and they directed me to the room that was right there on the first floor by the front desk: room 101.

It was actually a very nice room.

My husband is supposed to go to a conference in a big American city. However, a hurricane has just come through our home province in Canada. We have no power, and there’s some damage to our property. I’d have trouble dealing with all of this alone, especially as we have small kids, so my husband decides to cancel his travel plans. He calls the hotel.

Husband: “Hi, I’m supposed to arrive tomorrow, but I need to cancel my reservation because we’ve just had a hurricane come through here.”

Hotel Staff: “Sir, we require seventy-two hours of notice to cancel, or you will have to pay a reservation fee.”

Husband: “I understand. But I didn’t know in advance that I wouldn’t be able to travel.”

Hotel Staff: “But we will have to charge you a cancellation fee.”

Husband: “Okay. It is what it is, I guess.”

Hotel Staff: “If you cancel with less than seventy-two hours of notice, you have to pay the cancellation fee.”

Husband: “Yes. I understand.”

Hotel Staff: “Please hold. I have to get my manager.”

He’s put on hold for several minutes before the manager comes on. 

Manager: “Sir, if you cancel your reservation with less than seventy-two hours of notice, you will have to pay a cancellation fee.”

Husband: “Yes, I got that.”

Manager: “If you give us seventy-two hours of notice, we can waive the fee.”

Husband: “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind next hurricane, I guess.”

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.