Hiring

We're finally starting to get some new people, which is great because a) that means I won't have to do the morning shift and b) I will not have to do the morning shift. I was starting to wonder if Jackie actually planned on bringing in anyone new or if she was just going to continue perpetuating this whole "now hiring" ruse in order to get some fresh meat through the front door (literally). I was also wondering if anyone ever made it past the interview process. I mean, come on...surely someone noticed that one of the job requirements here is "must taste like chicken" or that Jackie often salivates like one of Pavlov's lab animals whenever someone looks particularly palatable. But today a new person started and another person was being interviewed in the back room, so all seems promising as far as getting some distance between me and that damnable morning shift. Now if only it were as easy to do the same with my boss...but alas, that is a gargantuan task which requires silver bullets, garlic, Raid, eye of newt, a child's laughter and the like. And even then there are no guarantees. You know?

Tickets

If my life here at the hotel was a musical it would probably be called Those Damn Tickets. (Or possibly The Phantom of the Opera—No Wait, That's My Boss.) Jackie called about five minutes ago and said I sold them incorrectly again. Apparently yesterday when I was selling those accursed attraction tickets at the Friday price (because it was Friday) I should have been selling them at the Saturday price because it was after five o'clock. This is how she explained it:

Jackie: No one can use them after five o'clock, you know?
(Sounds of her feeding on half-deceased former guests in background. It's exactly as squishy and terrifying as your imagination thinks it is)
Me: (Silence)
Jackie: I'm also calling because I was wondering why you let the people in 417 change rooms three times. We can't be letting people go from room to room like that, you know?
(Pause; sound of kidneys being devoured by horrible undead creature of the night)
Me: (Disgusted silence)
Jackie: What if it was summer time? (Sound of drinking tears) We wouldn't have any rooms for them to switch to, you know? (Chewing vigorously on part of someone I once worked with and had simply assumed was fired...UNTIL NOW) Okay, I'll talk to you later.

Any day now that holy water I ordered is going to come in the mail and I'll be able to save us all. Any day now.

PPS

A woman just came over and complained that people were--prepare to be horrified--being too loud by the pool. She said I really needed to go and do something about it because everyone was having way too much fun in there. She added that she felt she couldn't stay in the pool area any longer because it was just too crazy. Then she skulked back up to her room. So what do you suppose happened next?
You already know. Seeing as how I am head of Pool Protection Services here at the hotel, I immediately swung into action. Yep, I got me another cookie. And I forgot all about everything else. Mmm…chocolate chip.
After scarfing a few cookies I felt tempted to call the people over at Guinness because I am pretty sure I've broken all the records concerning the number of times a person can say/hear the following in one evening:
1. "Wal-Mart is about seven minutes down on your left."
2. "We don't accept pets."
Typical customer reply: "Oh, no. Now my wife/son/girlfriend/dog will have to stay in the car." Here they pause for what they feel is inevitable raucous laughter on my part and when none comes they lunge for the nearest box of Kleenex because here come the waterworks, you f**king crybabies. I mean, damn. Let's try strappin' on them big boy pants the next time we travel, all right?
3. "Where are the strippers at?" Actually, I was only asked this once, but it's sure worth mentioning, isn't it? It came from an inebriated woman and her ten-year-old son (her son is the one who asked). When they noticed the mirth failing to creep across my face the woman slurred, "It's a joke. You're supposed to laugh." Oh, rest assured that I will laugh--at your questionable child-rearing abilities after you leave. Because the fact that your ten-year-old is already looking to pay for sex is a snort riot of the highest order, isn't it, you bucket of skank?
4. "The elevator is right over there. No, that way. That way. Look where my finger is pointing, not at my finger."
5. "No, over THERE. Next to the sign that says 'elevator.' Okay, have a good night, and here's hoping you make it all the way to your room because we have five whole floors and I'm sure that must seem like a big ol' labyrinth to a Minotaur-sized tard patty such as yourself."
Really, really good times. And do not let me neglect to add that we have a junior varsity volleyball team staying with us tonight, which means girls in the hallway right next to my desk giggling and loudly sharing their favorite ringtones (no fewer than three hundred per girl). Now, I know what you're thinking because I always do: you're afraid I'm going to lose it and hurt one of them, or maybe all of them, possibly with my trusty golf cleats. Well, that is a valid concern, and thanks for caring, hippie, but I can maintain. I mean, think of it this way. When those locals come back with their firearms looking for a Final Showdown with yours truly I am going to have so many different who-do-I-use-as-a-human-shield-first options that I can't really be angry with these girls. They're going to save my life, and I appreciate it enough to put the golf cleats away. For now.

Locals

My hotel doesn't accept guests that live within a fifty mile radius of us. My boss is a cranky individual and accordingly does not want anyone touching her collection of roughly severed handicapped infant heads, telling the authorities about her nightly feeding frenzies down at the morgue, or having wild parties if she hasn't been invited (and locals are the people most likely to have them). So anytime a local wants to make a reservation I have to explain our policy to them, which usually elicits the following, completely rational response: "Don't give me that. You will rent a room to me. You will. You will. What? You won't? Are you serious? You can't be serious. That's f**king ridiculous. You inbred dung-ingesting kidney stone. If I ever find out where you live, I am gonna cut out your esophagus, put it in a blender, set it on 'mince', and then force feed it to you. You pudding-filled colonic obstruction. Damn I hate you" etc. My typical response to such an undeserved tirade (usually delivered to the dial tone because they've already hung up) is: thank you. Thank you for hanging up because your voice is like Britney Spears trapped inside an abattoir and I was honestly two seconds away from coming through the telephone and stomping on your throat with my golf cleats until you begin to sound like the finest of woodwind instruments on account of your newly hole-filled breathing passages. After all, everyone who knows me understands that I cannot be CCDR: Controlled, Contained, Denied, or Restrained. So accept it, because I have.
One prime example of the anger slash denial that seems to thrive in the heart of every local would be this evening when I took a phone call from a woman who lives about five miles away. I told her, not impolitely, that we couldn't accommodate her and I explained why. After trying for some time to get me to change my mind, she hung up on me. I didn't think anything of it (other than "If you ever show your doubtlessly ugly face in this hotel then I'll see you in the ICU") until a reservation popped up on my screen not ten minutes later. Apparently she went to our website and booked a room there since I wouldn't do it. I tried to call her several times using the phone number she provided but it just rang and rang. So Steve and I cancelled the reservation and resolved to tell her in person when she showed up for check-in. And about ten minutes ago her husband came in here and tried to do just that, much to our INSERT HERE WHATEVER WORD MEANS SOMEWHAT SICKENING MIXTURE OF CHAGRIN AND DISGUST, YET ADDITIONALLY SLIGHT AMUSEMENT AND PITY. After we both explained again why they couldn't be our guests, and I helpfully added that I already spoke to his wife regarding the no-locals-no-how-now-f**k-off policy, he came at us with (I swear) "So, do you have any rooms?" I'll tell you one thing--whatever our town's genius quota is, when this guy moved in, he obviously upped it. And by upped it I mean attacked it, felled it, and poured corrosive acid over it until it was reduced to nothingness, which is exactly what resides between his (and his wife's) ears.
Steve and I watched as he went back outside to tell his wife the bad news, and they sat in their car for quite some time before finally driving off (we speculated that they may have been hopefully combing the backseat in search of firearms). All I can say now is: if those two ever come back they are going to regret it because I'm wearing my golf cleats tonight and I'm looking to dance on someone's vital organs. So...yeah. Stay somewhere else this evening.

Flyers

Remember how I got that free pizza the other night? I knew you would, since an evening like that goes down in the annals of legend (i.e., this blog). Well, Steve found their flyers in the garbage today and we couldn't figure out how they'd gotten there, so he put them back on the counter. Then this guy comes over with the flyers in his hand and says he threw them out. Apparently he did it because ABC hasn't paid for an ad in our hotel restaurant directory so they're not allowed to leave anything in our lobby. Naturally, my reaction to this was along the lines of this is news to me, I didn't even know we had a directory, why doesn't anyone ever tell us anything important, they gave me a free pizza so now I don't give a f**k if they land an airplane made out of sandpaper loaded with incontinent senior citizens across your giant forehead, you are a corporate sphincter, etc., etc. This is the same guy who's been creeping me out for a week because he is constantly smoking outside (that's not the creepy part, damn! Can't you be more patient and at least get through the sentence first before you start questioning me? Actually, scratch that. Don't EVER question me) and he always stands behind this huge pillar so you can't see him at first if you're walking towards the front door and then at the last minute you notice him and it's just weird so I don't like him. The funniest thing, however, was that the whole flyer situation really, really bothered Steve, and he basically flipped out and started ranting. He even went and got the flyers out of the trash again and said he was going to put them back on the counter once the a**hole checks out. It was refreshing because typically I am the one bitching and freaking out (I'm sure you noticed) and for once it wasn't me. Yay!

Business

I just found out that the guy who left me the angry note last night came back this morning and checked in...but not before he complained about how rude I was. He said he stayed somewhere else yesterday because I was on the phone and refused to come out and wait on him. Well, in addition to reiterating the widely-known fact that I didn't care yesterday and I still don't care now, I have news for that guy: he's a tard. After all, the note said I lost his business and we didn't, since he is going to be staying here (and for a total of four nights, no less--that's plenty of business). Also, when I looked up his room information it said he wasn't even the one picking up the tab, which technically means we would have lost that person's business had we lost any at all (which, as mentioned previously, we didn't). So now everyone knows he's a moron and a liar. Little did he know I would be giving him the business...logically and in this blog. SNAP.
I'll admit things like this are a little disheartening sometimes. It's kind of sad to know that all I have to look forward to around here is tending to the seemingly endless stream of refugees from Idiot Island. Although I did have one awesome customer today--he tipped me three dollars after I sent a fax for him. Yeah! Three dollars baby! That’s like getting two weeks’ pay in advance! Dreams become reality at this hotel! Whoo!

Awesome

Two totally sweet things happened tonight:
1. ABC came and brought me a free pizza! They wanted to leave some menus in the lobby and in exchange they offered me the pizza, which was delicious. Yeah! Stop wishing you were me!!
2. My boss called (I know, but this story does have a happy ending) and was yapping my ears into early retirement as usual when a man came up to the front desk. I kept trying to get her off the phone but that's as futile as trying to stuff a Portuguese man-of-war into an electrical outlet, so I was stuck. Needless to say, by the time I finally hung up, the man was gone. However, he was thoughtful enough to leave me a little note, which read: You just lost my business--we'll be staying elsewhere. Well, I'll admit I was completely floored...with delight. Who knew it was that easy to get rid of pesky customers?
Why, you might ask, do I not regret losing a potential sale? So many reasons, really. Patrons of this hotel typically suck worse than having to wear a colostomy bag, for one thing. These are people who are full of rage, but it isn't a healthy, dynamic red rage like I myself proudly possess. It is a nefarious rage. It is a rage without purpose or direction. They can't carry something that ugly and terrible around inside themselves for too long. And that is why they tend to carelessly release it--sometimes on their spouses (Lord help them), sometimes on that hooker they frequent, and sometimes on low-wage peons such as myself. During one of their tantrums, they might say something like: "Whoever cleaned my room this mornin' stole my expensive down pillow what I got at the Pottery Barn and I am personally gonna see to it that they pass a law in this state so that becomes a killin' offense." But what they mean is: "I am angry because I am only forty-five years old yet prompted by necessity to wear Depends undergarments. Since there's nothing I can do about that seeing as how God created me purely for his own amusement, I am going to unleash this dark weight in my soul upon you, hapless hotel clerk. Here, take it. Take my anger. That's right. Oh, I like it when you suffer. More. MORE!!"
At any rate, I'm sure the man who left me that note thought I was idly chatting away with a friend or something and got mad because he had to wait, but he is still a rude bastard and it was super sweet that he left so I didn't have to deal with any of his crap. Plus, may I add, like I care? This isn't my hotel, you malfunctioning catheter. I get paid whether you check in or not. I ain't workin' on commission. SNAP!
Oh, I know what you're thinking: Now the rest of my shift is going to be boring because I used up my awesomeness quota for the evening. We'll see, but hopefully you're wrong like you always are. Yeah! Free pizza baby!!

BFDK

The funniest thing I've seen since I started working here (other than the calendar over by the time clock which would be offensive seeing as how it has half-naked ladies on it but is actually humorous since it's been defaced and now all the women have mustaches, oversized eyeglasses, and bushy leg hair) has to be the Bodily Fluid Disposal Kit. I almost typed Bodily Function Disposal Kit, which would be even funnier. Clean that pesky diarrhea explosion in half the time! However, I'm pretty sure that since it says Bodily Fluid Disposal Kit they're looking to clean something even more diabolical than butt stroganoff. I would like to inspect the box a little further (perhaps there's more information on the back about its various uses) only I don't dare touch the thing. If I ever work with Rob again there will be more on this subject because I'll make him do it.
Also, I can't help but notice that right next to the BFDK there is a box of menstrual cramp tablets. Oh the wacky hi-jinks that would doubtlessly ensue if I were able to proffer a package of these staunchers of the dreaded red tide as if they were merely breath mints to every guest, male or female, who dared to raise my blood pressure. I think I might try that tonight. I can already see their furious little faces in my mind's eye, huffing like teenagers with paint thinner, offended perhaps to the point of delivering physical blows. Pictures will be forthcoming should that actually happen.