Guest: “We are checking out a day early. Can we get our money back for the extra day?”

Me: “Unfortunately, your reservation was booked and paid through [Budget Third-Party Company], which has a non-refundable clause, and therefore, we cannot refund you for the remaining night.”

Guest: “Thanks. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

I have a friend who is… strange, to say the least. He is FIERCELY pro-gay rights and yet is simultaneously one of the most homophobic people I’ve ever met. Don’t ask me to explain his logic, because I can’t. It’s worth noting that neither of us is gay.

I invite him to go with me on a trip to London, which requires an early morning departure; our flight is at 6:30 am or something like that. To soften the pain of waking up early, I decide that we’ll go to the airport the night before and check ourselves into the airport hotel, literally a three-minute walk from departures.

We arrive at the hotel and check in, and on entering our room, we discover that the reception has put us in a double room instead of a twin. I say nothing, but my friend starts THIS conversation.

Friend: “It’s a double bed.”

Me: “Yes, it is. Reception must have messed up.”

Friend: “So, can we talk to them? It’s a double bed!”

I phone reception, who realise their error and apologise, saying that they can’t do anything about it as they are fully booked. They give us a complimentary dinner in the hotel as an apology. I thank them, tell them we manage with a double bed, and hang up.

My friend emerges from the bathroom as I’m hanging up the phone.

Friend: “Well?”

Me: “They’re fully booked.”

Friend: “So what do we do? It’s a double bed.”

Me: “We’ll have to manage.”

My friend looks genuinely terrified at the prospect of having to share a DOUBLE BED with a male friend.

Friend: “But…”

Me: “But what?”

Friend: “…”

Me: “Oh, come on, mate. It’s one night. What are you afraid of? Sharing a bed with your male friend isn’t going to turn you gay, you know!”

Friend: *Panicking* “Don’t say stuff like that!”

We went down to dinner and my friend seemed more nervous and on-edge than usual; he always was highly strung. Back in the room, I lay on the bed to watch TV while my friend sat awkwardly in a chair. When bedtime arrived, he squirmed as I climbed into my side of the bed, and then he rolled over and tried to get as far away from me as possible. He was being ridiculous.

We both ended up sleeping very well, and my friend survived his “ordeal” with no “damage” to his sexuality. We had a great time in London and arrived home safe and sound. To this day, I still feel his response to sharing a bed with me was an overreaction. Am I right?

My husband works in hospitality, as do I. We decide to take advantage of a discount on a room and spend the night in a hotel during a weekend of wine tasting with friends. Check-in is uneventful and we proceed to our room. My husband tends to evaluate it as an engineer and housekeeper to make sure all is well. I tend to look at the upkeep details.

My husband finds two lightbulbs that are out, so he takes them out of the lamps and leaves them on the dresser. I notice some minor upkeep issues.

Then, we realize that there is no real airflow in the room, despite turning the fan and AC on. My husband looks around and locates the return air filter and opens it. The filter is completely blocked and disgusting. When we look at it, we notice a date written in the corner; it is two years old!

Upon checkout, I mention the lightbulbs to the front desk agent.

Agent: “How would we know unless you tell us?”

I was shocked silent. I skipped mentioning the air filter, figuring they would see it leaning against the wall when they serviced the room. In the industry, it is standard for housekeepers to test all lights to ensure they all work, among other things. There is no excuse for the air filter.

I’m the author of this story. This is from when my brother and I were younger; I was eleven, and my autistic brother was five. Now, my mom, being a smart mother, would always make sure we went to family-friendly venues if we’d go out. My idiotic know-it-all sperm donor, not so much.

One time when my brother was in this interesting linguistic phase, my father wanted to go to a convention out of state and take us with him to turn it into a family vacation. The convention was at a rather nice business hotel. Despite being a large hotel, we might have been the only family there. I’m sure the poor hotel workers and other patrons were thrilled.

One night there, my mom took us kids to go eat dinner at their fancy restaurant. My sperm donor was busy with his all-important convention. We made a point to go early to avoid most other patrons and make it easier on everyone. My brother got some noodle dish, and I’m guessing it was the best thing he’d ever eaten. He loved it. Unfortunately, my dear little brother had somehow gotten it into his head that the word “disgusting” meant really good. So, envision this: a fancy restaurant, mirrored walls, golden chairs, white table cloths, other diners dressed in suits, and a five-year-old repeatedly screaming, “IT’S DISGUSTING!” very gleefully. 

The poor waiter ran up to us a few times. My mom and I were doing our best to shush him, taking it in turns to try and educate him on the meaning of the word, telling him he needed to be quieter, and just desperately trying to distract him.

It was all to no avail. Throughout the entire dinner, he continued to exuberantly exclaim how truly disgusting his food was. After all, this was truly the most disgustingly good meal he’d ever eaten, and he wanted to show true appreciation. My mom and I hurried the meal as quickly as we could, apologizing to the poor, horrified waiter each time he came over.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, we escaped, paid the bill, and ran back to our room. We never dared step into that restaurant again. At least my sperm donor enjoyed his convention.

Related:
Fooied That Up

I work at a resort in a tourist town. For the holidays, we have set up special outdoor tents for dining. We only have twelve, and they book for all of December and January within two weeks. Our waitlist is monstrous, and people are usually understanding of this.

We get the occasional interesting call, but this one sticks out. I inform the guest that the tents are fully booked, but that we can add her to our waitlist.

Caller: “Okay, can you put me on the waitlist?”

Me: “Certainly! I will need your name, phone number, and the date you are interested in.” 

Caller: “Which date would be the best?”

Me: “Well, whichever date you like! Which date would work best for you?”

Caller: “No, no. Which date would I be most likely to get a call back about?”

Me: “I am terribly sorry, ma’am, but I don’t understand. We have a waitlist for every day that the tents are available, so no one day is better than another. If you would like, I can put you on the list for every single day so you have a better chance?”

Caller: *Deep sigh* “I don’t want to be put on every day. I just want to be put on the list for the day that I will get a call back for. You’re the employee. You should know which day is most likely to open up for me.”

Me: “I am very sorry, but I do not have that information. It would depend on each individual reservation. A day with two people on the waitlist might have no one cancel, and a day with ten people might have twenty cancellations. There is no way for me to know. The best option would be for me to add you to the waitlist for every day.”

Caller: “I do not want every day. There are only certain days I can do. I want you to tell me the days that will have cancellations so that I can tell you if that works for me or not. Why is this so hard for you to understand?! You’re the employee! This should be easy for you!”

We go round and round for fifteen minutes, repeating the same things back and forth. I offer a manager a few times, and she refuses, so my manager gives me the signal to end the call however I can.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I am not psychic. I have no way of knowing who will or will not cancel. You can either give me your information so I can add you to our waitlist for every day, for certain days of your choosing, or for none at all. Those are your options. Nothing else.”

She hung up on me without ever providing her information. Some people.