I’m Sorry… That You And Your Son Are Idiots

, , , , | Right | September 17, 2008

(The night before, I called the police because of a hit and run in the parking lot of my hotel. The cops put some kid in handcuffs because of a tip I gave them. The next night, the kid’s mother found me.)

Mom: “Hey! You’re the girl [My Name] that was working last night!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

Mom: “You know that the cops put handcuffs on my 16 year-old son?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I was here for that.”

Mom: “The police told me a girl named [My Name] told them my son wrecked that car last night. I want to know why you told them that.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, your son was down here talking about the car accident he was involved in last night.”

Mom: “But the cops put him in handcuffs!”

Me: “…”

Mom: “My son is only 16 years old, and they put him in handcuffs and didn’t even tell me!”

Me: “Well, what would you like me to do about that?”

Mom: “I want you to apologize.”

Me: “For what?”

Mom: “For calling to police and getting my son handcuffed!”

Me: “You want me to apologize for reporting a crime?”

Mom: “Yes!”

Me: “Well, I’m not sorry.”

Mom: “But the police put him in handcuffs!”

Me: “Sounds like you have a problem with the police.”

Mom: “Listen here, b****, I’m not leaving until you say you’re sorry!”

Me: “You might be a while, ma’am, because I’m not sorry!”

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On The Need For Male Role Models

, , | Right | September 7, 2008

(While standing in line for the bathroom at a resort, I overhear two young boys talking.)

Boy #1: “Why are the lines for the girl’s bathroom always longer? Is it because the boy’s bathroom has that special sink?”

Boy #2: “You mean the urinal?”

Boy #1: “Yeah. ‘Cause you can fit like five guys around it.”

Boy #2: “Or, if they’re skinny, you can fit seven or eight.”

Boy #1: “And if they’re FAT you can only fit two.”

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Your Prank Got Spanked, Part 2

, , | Right | August 28, 2008

Me: “Thank you for calling [Hotel]. This is [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?

Caller: “I’m trying to get in contact with Mike Hunt.”

(I check the guest list to make sure we don’t actually have a Michael Hunt staying with us.)

Me: “Yes, Mr. Hunt is sharing a room with I.P. Freely, and he asked me to give you a message: he said to not call here again until you can come up with something a little more original, you pathetic losers.”

Caller: *hangs up*

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Horizontal Distance, Loopy Thinking

, , | Right | August 10, 2008

Me: “Good evening, thanks for calling [Hotel]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I’d like to make a reservation. I’m with the [Name] wedding party.”

(I take down his information for dates he’ll be staying and size of beds. Then, we get to the type of room…)

Me: “And would you like a standard room, or would you prefer poolside, or could I interest you in a suite or other luxury room?”

Customer: “I want a standard room. It needs to be near an elevator, because my wife has back problems.”

Me: “We also have rooms on the ground floor with parking directly outside, which would be much less walking.”

Customer: “No. I want it near an elevator.”

Me: “Sir–”

Customer: “It’s about the horizontal distance.”

Me: “Sir, there is no parking near the elevators, and it would be farther for her to walk to the elevator.”

Customer: “She can take elevators. It’s about the horizontal distance.”

Me: “Yes, sir. I understand, but we have rooms on the ground floor with parking directly outside. It would be much closer than if you had to park and then take the elevator.”

Customer: “I want to be near the elevator!”

(I put him in one of the standard ground floor rooms anyway with adjacent parking, for the sake of his wife.)

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Just Tell ‘Em What They Want To Hear

, , , | Right | August 1, 2008

Me: “Hello, and welcome to [Hotel]. How was the drive up here?”

Wife: “Oh, it was stunning! I have never seen such beautiful trees, and the water, such a pretty color in the lake!”

Husband: “It was a very nice drive indeed.”

Me: “Well, that’s great! We pride ourselves on our natural beauty here in Canada. Can I get your names for your reservation?”

Wife: “Yes, indeed. Here you go.”

(She hands me her confirmation sheet.)

Wife: “Can you tell me, though, how do you get the water in Lake Louise that turquoise color?”

Me: “I’m sorry? What do you mean?”

Wife: “Well, the water is so clear, but it’s green; it looks like the ocean. Do you paint the bottom that color?”

Me: “Oh, no, the water has a green color because of the copper minerals in the water. When they oxidize, that’s why it looks like the ocean.”

Wife: “Oh, that’s crazy! Everybody knows copper is brown like a penny, not green. It’s painted, isn’t it?!”

(I try to explain for quite some time that we don’t dye the water, and that copper is the reason it looks blue-green.)

Wife: “There is no way that its natural! ”

Me: *getting annoyed* “Yes, we drain the lake and paint the bottom of the lake at night.”

Wife: “See? Was it so hard to tell the truth?” *walks away*

My Manager: “You know, I should fire you for that… but I think I would have done the same thing.”

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