I was around fourteen years old at the time of this story. Our high school arranged a special trip every four years for the band and choir kids (and some parents to chaperone) to go to Florida to perform at Disney World. The performances were just a tiny part of the trip; the rest of the week was basically just one big vacation for all of us. We caravanned in charter buses from Ohio down to Florida with our bandmates and choirmates and got to stay at a nice hotel and do lots of fun Florida activities.

I was always a loner in school. I was the smart, chubby, quiet girl with basically only one friend; my friend was a guy in my instrument section in band, and he was supposed to be my seatmate for the bus ride down. He bailed on me that morning when we all showed up at the school to load up because he had a crush on a pretty blond girl and wanted to sit with her for the bus ride.

I was a little upset, but as luck would have it, while we were waiting to load the buses, I somehow made fast friends with another loner kid who I’d somehow never really talked to before. (I still don’t really remember how that happened, but I’m grateful it did.) We spent the entire trip in each other’s company, palling around off the beaten path.

One day during the trip, it was arranged for us to spend the day at a big beach that was next to a nice hotel. All the students and adults were happily soaking up the sun, sand, and ocean fun while my buddy and I decided to avoid it. Both of us were pale and didn’t do so well in direct heat and sun, and I wasn’t comfortable in a swimsuit, so he and I found the hotel arcade and spent our “beach time” happily playing video games.

I got thirsty at some point and wandered over to the outdoor pool area to the juice bar to get a drink and maybe a snack. The server gal behind the bar was maybe in her early twenties, slim, blond, pretty, tan — all the things that I wasn’t. This was fine, of course… for me, at least.

Me: “Hi. Can I please get a bottle of water?”

Server: *Ignoring my request* “Why aren’t you in a swimsuit?”

I looked down at my dumpy T-shirt and jeans and then back at her. 

Me: “Oh, I’m not swimming today. My friend and I are spending our time in the arcade.”

Server: *Scoffs* “Well, you don’t have to swim to wear a swimsuit, you know.”

Me: *Starting to get uncomfortable* “I know. But I’m fine, thanks. Can I please have a bottle of water?”

Server: “You know, you could at least lay out and tan or something if you don’t want to swim.”

Me: *Feeling more and more insecure by the minute* “I’m just not comfortable with how I look in a swimsuit, I guess.”

She finally handed me my water and looked me up and down.

Server: *In a condescending sing-song voice* “Tan fat is better than white fat!”

I turned red, took my water, and scuttled out of there and back to my friend in the arcade. I told him what happened, and he was pretty upset on my behalf. He reassured me not to listen to people who say things like that.

He and I stayed friends for a long while after that — which was awesome; he was a great friend — and twenty-five years later, I still remember that conversation with that server, verbatim. And though I’ve slimmed down since high school and grown into my looks, I’m still very pale, averse to heat and sun, slightly intimidated by pretty blondes, and not comfortable in a swimsuit.

I work in a hotel. This guy walks in on a Thursday.

Guy: “Hi, I’m [Guy]. I am building a house that isn’t going to be finished for a year. I need your best room and lowest rate because I’m building a house.”

Me: “That’s great! I’ll forward you to our sales director; she can assist you.”

A few days later, he returns.

Guy: “Hi, remember me? I’m building a house.”

Me: “Yes, sir, I remember you. How can I help you?”

Guy: “Well, I am checking for a year. I talked to your sales director, and she said it is okay to pay daily.”

Red flag number one!

I listen to him tell me how great he is and how great this house is — I don’t know if I mentioned it, but he is building a house — and I get him checked in. All the while, I am curious as to how I can check in a thirty-day stay (that’s how we do long-term check-ins) with only one night’s payment. I do it and don’t say anything.

All the while my new trainee, a young kid, is falling right into this man’s bulls*** trap of stories and lies, and now the two are fast friends and talking at the desk, which is super annoying.

The next day, Friday, is super busy — seventy-five check-ins with a trainee. Halfway through my night, the phone rings, and it is [Guy].

Guy: “Hello, I was just on the phone with your corporate office and they issued me 60,000 [Reward Program] credits. I need you to apply those to tonight’s payment.”

Me: *Politely* “That isn’t possible, sir. You can call and make a reservation starting tomorrow using the credits to pay for that reservation.”

Guy: *Very angry* “I can’t do that! I need them to apply to tonight because my bank, [Nationally-Known Bank], is currently having a network glitch where all cards are coming back declined!”

I laugh out loud on the phone. I know that he has no money and that he is going to be one of those guests who can’t admit it.

Me: “I’m not sure what I can do. I guess you’ll have to wait until [Bank] fixes the… glitch… because I can’t issue you a new key until today is paid for.”

Guy: “That’s okay. I have keys.”

Me: “Yes, but they don’t work. I had to lock you out because we still have to receive money for tonight before I can let you back in.”

Guy: “This is crazy. I am building a house!”

The next morning arrives, and he hasn’t come back to the hotel. He finally comes in complaining that he had to sleep in his car because of the “glitch” at [Bank] and that we wouldn’t give him a key. He pays for the previous night and tonight, securing him until tomorrow (Sunday) at noon.

So, here we are on Monday morning. I eagerly relay all of this information to [Sales Director], who is mad that [Guy] lied. She never agreed to daily payment, and he never signed his contract. Normally, for long-term guests, we collect a week’s pay minimum in order to honor special rates. [Sales Director] is going on and on about how [Guy] lied during the initial conversation, how she is going to not honor his rate now because he did not sign the contract in a timely manner, and how he isn’t going to be allowed to pay daily. She then turns back around with excitement on her face and says:

Sales Director: “Did you know he is building a house?”

Me: “I had no idea!” *Laughs* “I did know because he’s interjected it into every conversation 100 times.”

She then proceeds to contact [Guy] in his room and let him know that because he did not sign the contract and he is having payment issues, we will no longer be able to honor the rate they verbally agreed upon. He gets very upset.

Guy: “I am just going to have to find another place to stay.”

End of the whole problem. RIGHT?

Not right.

A few hours later, the phone rang, and it was our corporate guest help line. They had [Guy] on the phone, and he wanted a complete refund for all his reservations for the last week because he was unsatisfied. He had a laundry list full of complaints. There were children running around unattended, his bed was not made properly, the bathroom was dirty, we wouldn’t honor the agreed-upon rate, the staff was rude, etc. (You can insert more ridiculous complaints on your own because he probably tried them.)

I calmly addressed the guest help operator and let her know the entire scenario and the most important part: that he was building a house. She said the story she had been given was grossly different, all except for the fact that he was building a house. She mentioned that he was particularly upset about the rate withdrawal.

The bottom line is that he didn’t sign the contract nor did he pay in a timely manner. That gave our property all the right to nullify the offer. I couldn’t deal with hearing, “I am building a house,” for an entire year. I really don’t even think it was true. I think that’s the scam he probably runs from property to property. He also probably gets away with it.

I am just really happy we dodged the house-building bullet. Ugh. Sometimes I wonder why I do this job!

CONTENT WARNING: Death

I was working in a hotel when a murder happened in one of the rooms. It was a well-reputed hotel that had mostly a corporate clientele. Of course, the guests disturbed by the events and the police presence during the night were compensated; after all, they were there to sleep after and/or before a day working and were kept from that.

But what made me lose all hope in humanity were all the people with reservations in the following weeks who called and made the same request.

Guest: “I have a reservation there on [future date]. I was wondering if I could get a discount because of the murder that just happened there?”

Their reservations were in no way impacted by the events; they basically wanted a discount because a young woman was killed in her room. The incident had nothing to do with the hotel; we were just the establishment where they decided to meet that day.

Of course, no discounts were given to those who weren’t in the hotel when the events happened, but three years later, it still makes my blood boil that people would use someone’s death to save money.

I was a front desk manager at my hotel. To make a very long story short, some guests were caught using fraudulent credit cards — among other things, apparently, though the cards were what I knew about for sure — and were intercepted trying to leave the hotel by police. (It was a LOT of stolen cards.)

I was relieved to see them go, as they had been a pain in my rear because we wouldn’t allow them to order from the restaurant when their card was declined, and they claimed we were discriminating against them for being a same-sex couple. (Half of the front desk staff was part of the LGBT+ community.) It was a whole production getting them finally caught, but the most ridiculous part to me was the woman who stormed up to the desk as the men were being questioned outside.

Guest: *In the most offended tone you can imagine* “Ex-cuse me! Could someone explain to me why there are people getting arrested outside this hotel?”

I was already fried from dealing with the couple so, admittedly, my response was somewhat less than tactful.

Me: “…I’m sorry, ma’am, would you prefer they hadn’t been caught?”

Luckily, she just huffed and stomped off, apparently not having a response to that. Sorry, people, there’s no criminal repellent we can spray to keep every single shady guest away. We can only do something about them once they’re here!

Bonus post-script: the couple that was arrested had the gall to post a negative review online, in which they claimed that the hotel had called the police on them with absolutely no evidence and that they had been released without charges because they had done nothing wrong. (We didn’t even call the police; the owner of one of the stolen cards did.)

The next day, there was a news spot aired about how the couple had, in fact, been charged with a rather extensive list of crimes.

An American hotel guest comes up to me at our buffet restaurant.

Customer: “I want to speak to a manager about the eggs in your buffet! They’re rotten!”

Me: “Ma’am, those are pickled onions.”

Customer: “I don’t care what kind of bird laid them, they’re gross!”

Related:
Putting Themselves Into A Bit Of A Pickle, Part 2
Putting Themselves Into A Bit Of A Pickle