Wish You Could Build Your Own Pillow Fortress Of Solitude

, , , , | Right | January 8, 2019

(It is right at the end of my shift as manager on duty at a hotel. It’s been a night that I could tell a lot of stories about, but I’ll just settle for the absolute most ridiculous complaint I’ve ever fielded. My front desk agent comes to the back to get me.)

Agent: “[My Name]? There’s a lady at the front desk who wants to talk to you about our ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs.”

Me: “Okay. Was she missing hers?”

Agent: “No… Seriously, you’ll have to talk to her. She’s freaking crazy.”

(I go out to find a woman standing at the front desk with a DND sign in her hand, with a couple of friends. It’s worth noting that some of our DNDs have cutesy sayings on them just to break up the monotony of “do not disturb.”)

Me: “Hello! What can I help you with tonight?”

Guest: “Well, I just wanted to tell you that THIS—“ *holds up a DND reading “Busy Constructing a Pillow Fort”* “—is just unacceptable!”

Me: *assuming she thinks it’s too unserious* “I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am. I—“

Guest: “I showed this to my friends and we all agree — a pillow fort means an erection, and that is just so inappropriate!”

(She rambles on for a while about this, which is good because I need a moment to process what I just heard.)

Me: *when she finally stops for breath* “Ma’am, I assure you it’s not meant to be anything like that. It’s… you know… like when little kids stack pillows to make a little cave…”

Guest: “Well, no kids should be putting out Do Not Disturb signs!”

Me: “No… but their parents are…”

Guest: “Well, I want you to inform your corporate office about this! It’s just vulgar!”

Me: “Um… I’ll do that, ma’am. I can provide you with a different sign if you’d like.”

Guest: “Oh, this isn’t mine. My friend saw it on a door and took it to ask us what it meant.”

Me: “Wait. You took a do not disturb sign off of another guest’s door?!”

Guest: “Yes.”

(This is bad; we take DNDs very seriously and it’s a real issue if a guest who didn’t want to be bothered gets walked in on by housekeeping.)

Me: “What room is it from?!”

Guest: “I don’t know! It shouldn’t be up, anyway!”

(She then handed me the sign and left. So, now, I get two angry guests for the price of one, just because this woman couldn’t take responsibility for her own dirty mind!)

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Ready… Set… Ready?

, , , | Right | January 5, 2019

(I answer the phone at work and go through my normal spiel. The caller wants Accounts Payable.)

Me: “Sure. May I tell her who’s calling?”

Caller: “Yes.”

(Silence for a few seconds on from both of us. I’m about to repeat myself when…)

Caller: “Tell me when you’re ready.”

(Lady, I was ready when I asked the question!)

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Making Spam Is Somebody’s Job

, , , , , | Working | January 3, 2019

(At my current workplace, I’m one of the more knowledgeable front desk agents. This is partly due to having been there for several years, and partly due to having actually been management for a short period before requesting to go back to my previous position. I’ve decided that I no longer enjoy the hotel business and have been looking for a new job, but I haven’t had much luck. My manager is aware of this and has mentioned that he’s glad not to lose me quite yet. The following takes place over text.)

Me: “So, [Manager], you know how my job hunt hasn’t been going too well?”

Manager: “Yes, and shamefully, selfishly, I am glad for that.”

Me: “Yeah, about that… I just got an email from [Institution where he knows I applied for a job].”

Manager: “Don’t open it! It’s spam!”

(It was not spam, and much to my manager’s chagrin, I have an interview later this week.)

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Throwing In The Towel For This Year

, , , , | Right | December 31, 2018

(It is New Year’s Eve, and it’s INSANELY busy in our hotel. It falls on a weekend this year, so more people are out to celebrate than usual, and at least half of them have brought their children, and probably their friends’ children, as well, since most of the rooms have between two and four kids in them, some even more. To make matters worse, due to it being the end of the year, corporate decided to meddle in our scheduling for budget reasons, and we are incredibly understaffed for the volume of people we are taking care of. There are a great many issues during the night, but one recurring one is towels. The pool is forever running out of towels. One of the many guests approaches my desk.)

Guest: “Excuse me! Why aren’t there any towels in the pool?! How does a hotel run out of towels?!”

(She has four children in tow. Each one has a towel around their waist and one over their shoulders and a few have a third on their heads)

Me: *in as even a voice I can muster* “I don’t know, ma’am. I’ll get right on that.”

(We actually ran out of towels because most people were taking the dirty ones to their rooms and leaving them there, instead of putting them in the hamper by the pool, so there weren’t even any available to wash. Thankfully, it was only in the last hour of the night that we ran entirely out.)

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Using Spanish To Complain About Thai

, , , , , | Working | December 16, 2018

(I take a friend, her daughter, and her daughter’s friend to a Thai restaurant that friends and family have loved to go to for many years. I haven’t been there in many months, but I promise my friend great food. Unfortunately, I am very disappointed with my meal and she is with hers. The girls order from the kids menu, and I think they got better food than we did. I am really feeling bad about this and I’m not sure what to say. My friend and the girls are very obviously Hispanic, and a busboy, even more Hispanic looking, comes up to the table. He starts talking to my friend, and the following conversation ensues, loudly and in Spanish.)

Busboy: “How was your meal?”

Friend: “Not really so good.”

Busboy: “I’m not surprised. The place has really gone downhill recently. You should really try [Competing Thai Restaurant nearby].”

Friend: “Thanks. Maybe we will.”

Busboy: “I’m not going to stay here much longer. They don’t treat staff very well.”

(I was a bit taken aback by the bluntness of the conversation, and glanced around. It seemed I was the only non-Hispanic in the room who knew what they were saying. Since I look as gringo as they come, the busboy might have either figured I didn’t know Spanish or that my Latina friend trusted me enough. Either way, the conversation made me chuckle later, and I figured that the restaurant would figure out their own mistakes when the books began to run in the red.)

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