Corkscrew

The woman in 501 called and asked if I could bring a corkscrew up to her room because she was having trouble opening a bottle of wine. She said she tried using her room key, but it broke. Then she tried her Mercedes car key and that broke too. So now she was thinking maybe she was ready to use something like an actual bottle opener. I asked her to come get it herself because I can't leave the desk unattended when I'm working alone. She showed up about five minutes later, and it was not pleasant: her hair was mussed, she smelled like unwashed feet, and she appeared to be intoxicated to the point where the thought of opening yet another bottle of the bubbly was perhaps one to be reconsidered. To top it all off, since my antics at the hotel greatly amuse the good Lord Himself, the one corkscrew I had did not work. This was something I hadn't previously realized, since I don't pass the time here with mimosas. The bottom part of the device, which is supposed to drill into the top of the cork, had snapped off. Unfortunately, it took my drunken customer some time to understand this, even though I kept providing helpful hints such as:
*It's not working
*It's broken
*Seriously, it's broken
*Look, now you're holding it wrong
*Well, I guess it doesn't matter that you're holding it wrong, seeing as how it's BROKEN
*You know what? Just give it to me
*Is your very first memory one of being born inside a test tube, or what?
The best part, however, was when she proceeded to sloppily inundate me with her pain. The pain of spending fifty dollars on a bottle of wine and then not being able to open it. The pain of losing a nice Mercedes key in the pursuit of said elusive wine. The pain of hotels not providing functioning corkscrews to customers that are paying good money for a night's lodging. Yes, she was the epitome of that most deadly of combinations: besotted woe and a mouth filter that committed suicide when she was three. The woman simply would not leave me alone. It got to the point where I was considering showing her Jackie's vast collection of human clavicles (picked clean, of course) while pointing menacingly towards the door when she finally managed to prise the bottle open with a pair of scissors and stumbled away.
I really wish our guests wouldn't drink so much. This was not the first time I had to deal with someone who knocked back way more than they should have and then became excessively needy. They might as well just come out and say, "Take care of me! Change my didey!" Sadly, that childish behavior is not limited to drunks around here, and therefore I will be on "didey duty" until eleven o'clock. Sigh.