(I work the front desk of an inexpensive hostel. It’s a travelers hostel, so we don’t accept residents of the city. All guests have to show proof of address on their ID that shows they live at least fifty miles outside of the city limits. The rule exists mainly because displaced residents of the city will try to live at the hostel for extended periods of time, and criminals will use it as a place to conduct their business because it’s so inexpensive. Because of that, we don’t accept US passports and can only take state IDs for US citizens. It is around 9:40 at night, and a man who is notorious for sneaking into the hostel to use the facilities without paying has a reservation under his name. He walks in, messily eating a mango, and brings a middle-aged man in with him.)

Me: “Hi, how are y’all?”

Mango-Eating Man: “I brought my friend in here to get him checked in under my name.”

Me: *addressing the friend* “Okay, no problem. I’ll just need your ID so we can go ahead and change the reservation to your name.”

Middle-Aged Man: *annoyed* “Okay, here.”

(He puts some old, tattered US passport on the desk about a foot from me.)

Me: “Do you have a state ID? We’re a travelers hostel, so we have to see an address on your ID that shows you live at least fifty miles outside of the city.”

Middle-Aged Man: *still annoyed and hardly listening* “What?”

Me: “We can’t take a US passport. We need a state ID to verify you aren’t a local resident.”

Middle-Aged Man: “Ugh. Here.”

(He pulls out some card that only has his photo, his name, and the words “The State of Commonwealth of Massachusetts” on it. It doesn’t have his date of birth, an ID number, an issue date, or an expiration date. It looks like a job ID badge. I’m not terribly familiar with out-of-state IDs, and I don’t get a chance to get a good look at it. He briefly flashes it and begins to put it back in his wallet.)

Me: “Is that a state ID?”

Middle-Aged Man: *getting angry* “Yes, what more do you want?”

Me: “Well, I have to input your name as it shows on your ID, your date of birth, your ID number, and the expiration date of your ID.”

Middle-Aged Man: “Well, mine doesn’t have all that.”

Me: “Then it’s not a valid ID. We have several people check in from all over the country and the world every day, and that looks nothing like the other Massachusetts IDs I’ve seen. Can I see it?”

Middle-Aged Man: “I’ll just write all that information down.”

Me: “The card you showed me has none of that. Is that what you would present to a police officer if they asked for identification?”

Middle-Aged Man: “This is what I have.”

(At this point, I’m willing to just take the passport, and his friend has all the while been slurping on the mango and licking the juice off his fingers.)

Me: “Is your passport expired?”

Middle-Aged Man: *very angry* “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, well, we can’t take it because it has to be valid and not expired. Can I see the ID you have so I can input the information?”

Middle-Aged Man: *glares at me* “You don’t need to see it.”

Me: “If you’re unwilling to show me your ID, then I can’t check you in.”

Middle-Aged Man: “You know what you are? You’re a Nazi.”

Me: “I’m going to have to ask both of you to leave. You’re being very rude. I’ve been nothing but nice, and you’re being insulting.”

Middle-Aged Man: *loses it* “I’m not being insulting! You’re a Nazi! You want all this information! And for no reason!”

Me: “You need to go.”

Middle-Aged Man: *walks away in a huff*

(His friend who brought him in and who has been eating the mango the whole time speaks up.)

Mango-Eating Man: “Can I still use the reservation?” 

Me: “As long as you have a valid ID that does not have a local address, then yes. But you can’t sneak your friend back in here.”

Mango-Eating Man: *squinting and giving me a look like he’s got the last laugh* “I’ll be back later.”

(He emphasized “later” as if to mean after I got off. It’s nights like that one that make me eager to graduate college and get the heck out of customer service!)

(I work in a hotel. I’ve finished most of my work for the evening and am eating my lunch when a phone call from one of our guests comes down. He is asking for an extra couple of pillows. I tell him I’ll be up as soon as I can. A few minutes later, I knock on the door and he opens it before I even finish knocking. It’s about 2:00 am, and there’s some Barry White going on in the background. The guy answering the door is quite young, fit, and stark naked, and… is very well endowed. He smiles as if everything is as it should be and thanks me for the pillows. Before the door closes, I hear a woman speak.)

Female Guest: “Can she bring some champagne up?”

(He looks at me, and I’m about to answer, shaking my head, when I hear another woman speak.)

Other Female Guest: “Oh, and some strawberries and cream!”

(He looks back at me. I smile but shake my head, trying to ignore the blush that’s fighting to get to my face.)

Me: “I’m sorry, our restaurant and bar are closed. You should have some wine and champagne in the mini-fridge, though.”

Male Guest: “Ah, we already went through that. Thanks, anyway, sweetheart.”

(He winked at me and closed the door. I barely made it to the lobby before my blush exploded on my face and I started laughing.)

We had a guest staying in our hotel under his boss’s card. He was fired on his last night and stole the hairdryer, three pillows — with cases and protectors — the trash can, the mattress pad, the sheets, the blanket and comforter, the bed skirt, the coffee basket with all the cups and fixings — but not the coffee maker — a lamp, and the three-foot square wall mirror! 

His boss was called and paid with his card for the damages, and then called the cops on the former employee. Housekeeping and maintenance somehow managed to get the room rentable within four hours. 

Honestly, we are surprised he left the TV!

(I am the front desk manager at a hotel. A guest comes in stating he has just made a reservation online and wants to check in. I check for his reservation and find nothing.)

Me: “Are you sure you made the reservation at this hotel?”

Customer: “Yes, I’m sure it was here. This is [our address], right?”

Me: “Yes, it is. Is it possible the reservation might be under a different name?”

Customer: “Nope, just mine.”

Me: “So, you have the confirmation number?”

Customer: “No, but I have my reservation right here.”

(He shows me his cell phone. It is open to our hotel’s website and is showing a search for rooms on today’s date.)

Me: “Sir, this is just a search result, not a reservation.”

Customer: “No, this is my reservation. See? It says right here, one double room for [today’s date] for [price].”

Me: “If you scroll down, it also shows other rooms and prices. You need to select one and then fill in your info along with your credit card number.”

Customer: “But, this is my reservation…”

Me: “No, sir, this is a search result. I’m happy to make a reservation for you right now, though.”

Customer: “So, you’re telling me—” *does something on his phone and shows me another search result* “—that this is not a reservation?”

Me: *sighs* “Let me make you that reservation.”

(I work in a hotel.)

Customer: “Do the stairs go down?”

Me: “Yes, sir, and at the bottom, they go up!”