The party never stops when you're open all night, part 2

Previously on my grocery store escapades, I was witness to a gentleman devouring saltine crackers. And he wasn't beating around the bush, either. He was crushing a whole box of them. We pick up our story as I continue my journey for lunch.

I cautiously made my way past the couple; first around the nondescript woman, then around the ravenous man and his box of saltines. I nearly started laughing as I rounded the corner and headed toward the sandwich case. After waving to the passing forklift operator, I started to think about what kind of sandwich I wanted. I mentally settled on an italian sub, as usual.

I was somewhat startled when I got to the area where the deli sandwiches because there was someone else there. I rarely run into anyone on that side of the store because of its location. It's toward the back corner, by the bulk foods and the deli. Every now and then, there will be someone bagging up some bulk candy, but I can count on one hand the number of times that I've actually had to wait before grabbing my food at the deli cold case.

I casually make my way to the other end of the cold case so I don't crowd the gentleman that was there ahead of me. It's one of those unwritten guy rules - don't crowd another man while in a public restroom or at the sandwich counter. Common courtesy, really. As I'm biding my time looking at the pizza and chicken, I've got the corner of my eye on the dude. I was pretty hungry and I just wanted to get my food and go.

I was surprised and disgusted when I saw the guy putting his hands on nearly all of the sandwiches in the case! Yes, they're all wrapped in plastic. I still found it pretty gross to watch this guy grab and lightly squeeze all of my potential lunch choices, however. Remember common courtesy? This guy was copping a courtesy feel on a bunch of deli sandwiches.

As I watched in the corner of my eye, I tried to make a mental note of what racks and/or sandwiches he tainted. By the time he left, I couldn't bring myself to purchase any of the sandwiches at all. My first rationalization was that I couldn't find an italian sandwich any way, so why bother. My second rationalization was that some of the pizza I was looking at earlier was just as viable an option. I really wanted a sandwich though!

Rather than get one of the cellophane-wrapped sandwiches that the guy molested, I went with one of the box lunches instead. Genious! I got a ham and cheese sandwich, chips, and cookies. Truly a bountiful feast fit for any king. But it wasn't just the quantity of food that drew my attention. It was also the bulletproof plastic clamshell that was safeguarding the food.

There's no way I was going to eat a pre-smushed sandwich wrapped in dinky plastic wrap. The plastic clamshell, however, looked safe. It's like the food was wearing a kevlar vest. I triumphantly picked out a box lunch, left the scene of the crime and quickly made my way to the cashier. Having had two phenomenal instances already happen, I didn't want to stick around and wait for the third. Only time will tell what great adventures await me next time.

The party never stops when you're open all night, part 1

At least once a week, I try to make a trip out to the local grocery store for lunch. Not so much for the fine cuisine they serve up at obscene hours of the night/morning, but more for the sheer entertainment/weirdness factor. It reminds me of the fast food place near campus - I would go there and stomach the horrible food just to watch the festivities. Shit was better than TV.

We get our share of strangeness at the hotel, but we're fortunate to have locking doors and therefore are able to at least screen for potentially hazardous people. The grocery store, on the other hand, has its doors wide open all the time except for major holidays. This open invitation is taken all too willingly by some choice clientele.

After last night's excursion, I could no longer deny the need for bloggeration on the subject. When I get lunch from the grocery store, I try not to go too late. I'm all for having a fun time, but sometimes things just get too strange even for my tastes. I went out just before 2 am and that's a pretty decent time to go - it's too late for people to be getting beer but it's not too late for a horde of drunk people to be causing mischief within the store.

As soon as I walked in, I was reminded of why I make the weekly trip. I make my way down the first aisle that leads from the front of the store toward the vegetables and fruits, and there's a couple perusing a cold case. The woman was insignificant. The man on the other hand, was awesome. He wasn't physically deformed; sporting an extra appendage, missing an eye, wheelchair-bound, etc. Quite simply, he was chowing down on the snack of the moment - a box of saltine crackers. For serious.

When I go grocery shopping with the family, I usually end up snacking on something with my son. We've been known to crack open a bag of chips or get something from the hot case. I've never snacked on a box of saltines, though. And let me emphasize that he was holding the box. It's not like he brought in just a single sleeve of crackers because he was nursing a sour stomach. Dude was crushing an entire box like it was the most delicious meal on the face of the earth.




To be continued!

The Front Desk Christmas List

Dear Santa,

Christmas is here along with all the holiday travelers and I've been working sooo hard lately (sort of) that I think I deserve some new office goodies. And thus I present my

Front Desk Christmas List.

1. A new fax machine.

I know what you're thinking and yes, people still send and receive faxes. Dont ask me why. But I dont know if you've noticed but the one we have in the back is a little worse for wear. Its literally being held together with scotch tape. And it jams very easily. Its old and slow and pretty much a pain in the ass. We need a new one. Maybe it could be one of those "new fangled scanner/ fax/ copy machine all in one thingamajigs". Also, we could use some more scotch tape.

2. A new countertop

The countertop we have is exactly 12 years old. Its a P.O.S. The laminate has detached from the wood and there is currently a bow in the middle causing office supplies to slide slowly away from one's reach. This is unacceptable. I'm not asking for marble, just something that lays flat? Maybe?







3. Scissors

We have an office scissors bandit. I'm sure he or she is right there on your naughty list but nonetheless they are relentless in their klepto tendencies. Scissors are very useful for all sorts of things. Like making snowflakes to hang in one's window or cutting up plastic six pack rings to help save the dolphins and sea turtles. Dont you care about the sea turtles Santa? Of course you do.






4. New computers

For the love of God, writing this blog is a hefty task for this dinosaur. Or all three of these dinosaurs. I have a better computer at home and you dont even want to know my hourly wage. It would make you cry. Our computers cant handle most of everything and every day more and more websites have the ability to freeze them. IBM doesnt make pcs anymore just so you know. The money I would pay to take a crowbar to these things. I'm oh so tempted to go "fishing" for viruses but karma is a bitch so yeah.





KTHXBAI - Madame Midnight

(oh and merry christmas santa)

the weather outside is frightful....

So, all I have to say is that it is very cold and no sir, I don't like it. More posts on the way to "all our readers". Lulz - Madame Midnight
P.S. if you're really itching for bloggy yummies check out our fav places on the internet, right hand side. <3

This one time, a guy fell from a balcony

Several years ago I was wrapping up a rather momentous night. It was a changing of the guards, as it was my former supervisor's final night on the job and I was the incoming supervisor. It was a smooth night as I recall, with the only problem being a rowdy group of guests on the 4th floor of our hotel. They were celebrating a bachelor party, if my memory serves me right.

Around 6:30 in the morning, my former supervisor and I are having the obligatory talk - wishing each other good luck in our future endeavors, passing on advice, etc. Actually, I was just nodding my head without really paying attention to what he was saying. Around 6:45 I got a call from a frantic guest. Someone had fallen from their balcony and was needing some serious medical attention. That's right - someone fell from their balcony. I immediately called 911 and my supervisor started the rigorous process of documenting the incident. Here's what I remember.

It turns out that one of the folks partying on the 4th floor was the one that fell. That's approximately a 30 foot plummet onto a not-so-soft concrete pavement. You can see the point of impact from the back office, so naturally I had to take a peek. I didn't see much of anything, other than some EMS guys helping someone into the back of an ambulance.

The first thing I thought was - hot damn! This guy just fell 30 feet and he, for the most part, was able to walk to the ambulance. There was a very distinct limp going on; one that you would expect from such an accident. I was amazed that the person didn't wreck their body any worse because I was expecting to see someone getting strapped onto a gurney.

The next thing I thought was - how in the hell does one manage to fall like that? It's not like our balconies don't have guard rails on them. You have to try in order to fall from them. When the police came by, I overheard them talking about how the person that fell had dropped their cell phone and went after it. Right off the balcony. 30 feet. Onto the pavement below.

Look, I've bobbled my cell phone while taking it out of my pocket before and dropped it. It seems like no matter how hard I try to catch it, I'm never fast enough when I lunge for my falling cell phone. You know what I've never done before, though? I've never dropped my cell phone from the balcony of my 4th floor hotel room and jumped after it.

Word is, there was a significant amount of alcohol involved in the incident. That goes a long way toward explaining the extreme stupidity of the event. I could only imagine the amount of pain that person felt as the alcohol wore off later that morning.

--------

Fast forward about 3 years later...

I was having a meeting with an acquaintance one afternoon. He and I drove down to a local bar where we were going to meet up with another person to talk about marketing a line of clothing. As we're waiting for the person in charge of the clothing to show up, I get introduced to one of the friends of the acquaintance.

As we're exchanging pleasantries, it comes to light that the friend of the acquaintance was in fact the person that jumped off the balcony. I was completely dumbfounded as this person recounted the entire situation. I thought he was full of shit until he started giving verifying details. Turns out that alcohol wasn't the only thing involved, either. Yayo was involved (allegedly) as well, which helps explain the whole "jumping for the cell phone" routine. I felt like I was in the presence of a celebrity. Scratch that - more like a complete idiot.

-Captain Stamina

Please dont molest our Santa

So yeah, we have a statue of Santa Claus in our lobby. He's fun to pose with. Especially when you're here for dinner with your family. He stands between two beautifully decorated trees making the whole display a perfect backdrop for seasonal photos. All throughout the month of December guests love to take photos to memorialize their trip to our beautiful hotel.

But please dont molest Santa. So you've had a few drinks at the bar. You're cracking a few dirty jokes with the girlfriends. But tomorrow you might not want to wake up with a photo of you blowing Santa all over your facebook. You know that teacher that got fired for taking a picture while holding a glass of wine in one of her vacation photos? This is a tad worse than that.

Yes, we here standing guard at the front desk saw the whole thing, had to stop ourselves from gagging, and were relieved when you and your posse of giggly thirty somethings left the premises.

I should have taken a picture with my cell phone camera so I could make sure you were humilitaed but I have a little more class and instead drew up a little something.




Merry Christmas (and have fun scrapbooking?) - Madame Midnight

A toast to a toasted bride

Every summer our hotel ushers in the wedding season. For many, weddings mean fancy parties, beautiful flowers, long white gowns, and vows of matrimony.

For a Night Auditor weddings mean lots of drunk people. Lots of drunk people staying up until the wee hours of the morning refusing to end the "celebration".

One such wedding party last summer took the cake when it came to the overall alcohol intake. The catering staff blamed the excessive drinking on the late arriving live band that left the guests and wedding party with nothing to do for a good portion of the reception except to "take shots". That may well have been the case but the aftermath was pretty unexcusable.

At 1 am in the morning I wander into the lobby ladies restroom after noticing 2 or 3 girls in matching dresses going in but not coming out after almost an hour. First thing I notice is the smell. Vomit has a certain "special" aroma. Then I notice 2 of the 3 handwashing sinks clogged with vomit. One of them was almost half full. Last of all I notice bare knees connected to matching fancy footwear on the floors of 2 stalls. Then the sound of retching.

At this point I promptly vacated the restroom for more friendly territory.

Around 2 am I notice the bride stumble in this same restroom. Fifteen or twenty minutes later a brideless groom is asking around about his missing mate. I kindly motion him over to the desk and inform him that his lovely bride is currently in the ladies room and might not be in the best of shape.

Unfortunately, he asks me to go in and check up on her.

I begrudgingly pull myself away from my safe zone at the front desk and brace myself for the adventure. I find the bride in the last stall with the door closed, her beautiful lace embroidered gown draping over the bathroom floor tiles.

I knock on the stall door.

No answer.

I knock again, this time with a "Ma'am, are you okay?"

No answer.

Then the sound of vomit splashing into a toilet bowl catches me off guard and I scamper out.

I kindly inform the gentleman that since there were no other gals in the restroom besides his beloved that it might be best for him to go to her aid rather than myself. He follows my instructions and about ten minutes later he walks out supporting his stumbling, vomit smelling, glassy-eyed bride as she makes her way to the elevator.

What a way to start a marriage...

Lets talk wake up calls.

* warning - major rant incoming*





Most hotels offer a wake up call service. Most actual wake up calls are done by machine. But a human is given the task of programming these wake up calls. Humans are flawed. Humans make mistakes. It saddens me that this is so because I am somewhat of a perfectionist and I know perfection is something that can never be obtained by humans. But alas this is the burden we must bear.

If, say, a typical human working as a front desk clerk is 99.5% accurate (very optimistic considering some of my colleagues)in recording wake up calls (writing down the correct time for the correct room) than we can say if a hotel has 200 rooms, 199 of those rooms will have their correct time recorded.

But it does not end there. Usually the person that records your wake up call is not the same person to program the machine. So now you have two humans involved in the wake up call procedure. We'll pretend that human # 2, the programmer is not a complete idiot and that he/she is also 99.5 % accurate in deciphering horrendous handwriting and and entering the correct room number AND correct time.

So now we have a potential for 2 out of 200 rooms to not receive their wake up call at the correct time or even at all.

Now, you are a guest at a hotel. You ask a human hotel worker for a wake up call and you trust, even expect, that you will receive it at the correct time. You have an important business meeting/ golf game/ porn film shoot to be at in the morning and you getting there is dependent on this wakeup call. You didnt think to also maybe program the alarm clock in the hotel room as a back up. You didnt set your cell phone alarm even though all cell phones are now equipped with one. You didnt set the wake up call feature on the tv.

Now I expect you to come down and tell me how you shouldn't have to pay for your room because you didnt get your wake up call that was so important that you trusted a 20 year old desk agent with 2 jobs and classes with its execution. How you insist on speaking to the manager to explain what kind of impact the missed wake up call had on your meaningless existence.

But the fact remains, you relied on humans instead of machines.

To you I say... !%$# you, you dumb animal.

Fondly, Madame Midnight

Funny questions we've been asked (Part 1)...

Guest - Is the bar still open?
Me - Unfortunately, it's already closed up for the evening.
Guest - Any food options in the hotel?
Me - We have snack items in the gift shop if you'd like.
Guest - Do you sell wine in the gift shop?
Me - No, we do not. LOL.
Guest - KTHXBYE

Guest walks through the front doors barefoot,in a bathrobe and walks up to the front desk. At 4 in the morning.
Guest- Umm, the hotel next door sent me to your guys's gift shop. Do you guys carry... ummm protection?
Me- protection?
Guest- like condoms?
Me - Oh, ummm no, we dont sell condoms.
Guest - well do you know where I can get some?
Me - Well, there's a gas station around the corner.
Guest - How far of a walk is that?
Me- about ten minutes
Guest - (mumbling under his breath) doesnt anybody believe in safe sex?

Guest - I know this is sort of a weird request but my buddies and I have this tradition of collecting socks from hotel clerks and I was wondering if maybe you would give me your sock?
Me - No, I'm sorry, I need my socks.
Guest - I'll pay you for it!
Me- No, my socks are nice thick wool ones.
Guest - I'll give you fifty bucks.
Me- (thoroughly creeped out at this point) Umm, no, sorry. You could ask my coworker. Maybe he'd give you a sock. (*Note - I'm female, coworker is male.)
Guest - No, that wouldnt be the same. Well, I guess I'll just have to go up to my room.

Guest - have you guys had to call the cops at all tonight?
Me- Umm... no, why?
Guest - Just wondering.
Me - should I have called the cops?
Guest - oh... ummm, no, no. ( guest slowly backs away from desk)

Guest on phone - I'm about to check out. Can you call a cab for me?
Me - Absolutely. Are you headed to the airport this morning?
Guest - Yes I am.
Me - No problem. The cab will be here shortly.
Me, after hanging up the phone - Your mom can call you a cab.

Sitting in his own feces.

Here's a classic I dug up all the way from May of 2007. After sending this email out to several coworkers(names and specifics have been changed to protect all parties) many commented on how ridiculous and hilarious it sounded so it was an inspiration somewhat for this blog...


The night started out with a group of extremely loud,heavily intoxicated guests in the overflow area of the restaurant (located next to the restaurant). The group
lingered until a little after midnight at the tables consuming several bottles of wine (bar closes at 10:45). Around 11:45 pm we received a complaint from a guest on the second floor concerning the noise level of the downstairs party.

I politely approached the group and requested they quiet down. They obliged for about ten minutes and then the voice levels continued to rise. Eventually the party
made their way outside to continue drinking at the tables just outside the front doors. From 1 am to about 2 several of the guests were coming and going out the front doors between the restroom and the party taking place outside. Many could not walk straight and were slurring their speech by this time. Things finally quieted down about 2 am and most of the guests had made it to their rooms.

Then around 2:30 I heard a small commotion from the second floor. I went to investigate and came upon a man sitting on the floor leaning against one of our expensive decorative wool blankets draped over the railing, overlooking the
lobby. As I ascended the stairs I noticed the man was fully exposed from the waist down, with his slacks and briefs pulled down around his ankles, and he was
asleep. I proceeded to fetch my coworker.

We decided the best course of action would be to cover his lap with a towel before attempting to wake him. I managed after shaking him firmly to obtain his name (we'll call him Mr. Wino). My coworker then went to research his room number and make a
duplicate key so that we could escort him to his room.

Mr. Wino was so intoxicated that he could barely comprehend my request that he stand up, dress, and return to his room. When Mr. Wino finally did stand up I proceeded half way downstairs to give him some privacy while he dressed himself. After noticing that Mr. Wino had forgotten the task of dressing himself within the last few minutes and was now laying down against the railing, on the floor, I again proceeded upstairs to wake him a second time, at which point I noticed a horrid smell. I managed a second time to wake Mr. Wino. He stood up and I immediately noticed a large pile of feces underneath him. (no I don't get paid enough for this)

After escorting Mr. Wino to his room I attempted to clean the area. This took about an hour considering I could not use the very noisy steam cleaner at 3 in the morning. Much of the man's feces was rubbed into the carpet and on the blanket we had
thrown over him earlier to cover his genitals in case a guest happened to come out of their room. Furthermore, residue was on the expensive decorative wool blanket used for decoration.

About halfway through the task of cleaning the area Mr. Wino came out of his
room, still in a severely intoxicated state and went to lounge on the chairs near the Mezzanine. I had to again ask him to return to his room. I even had to
direct him to his bed, as I noticed he had quite a bit of trouble figuring out where to go once he reached his room.

The whole incident set our audit schedule back quite a bit and the rest of the morning was quite hectic due to the time spent on cleaning the second floor and attending to Mr. Wino. Honestly, my coworker and I seriously considered calling the police so they could get him to a detox center but for some reason decided against it.

I don't know what course of action will be taken but to whomever it may concern, this man needs to get some help with his drinking problem. I hope this account of things helps.

-Madame Midnight

*note to readers - this happened after only a few months after me being hired. The man was probably almost fifty (not some dumb punk kid) and staying in house with a bunch of his coworkers for his company's training convention. I hope he never comes back.

And apparently, I'm the shithead

Mr. and Mrs. Douchebag, a couple probably in their mid to late 60s, came in extremely drunk one evening, a fact that my cohort could easily attest to. When they arrived, Mr. Douchebag asked for a wheelchair for his wife which I quickly furnished for him. I asked if he and his wife needed assistance with it, but they were too busy drunkenly laughing to pay me attention. Not wanting to be a bother, I went back to the front desk to resume my paperwork.

When it looked like Mr. and Mrs. Douchebag were having trouble operating the wheelchair, I headed over there to ask if I could be of assistance. I was concerned that Mrs. Douchebag was going to end up faceplanting in the lobby. One of the things on my list of things not to do - watch a drunk old lady break her face on the lobby floor. Again, they were too busy laughing at themselves to even acknowledge me. After the couple finally got Mrs. Douchebag situated in the wheelchair, Mr. Douchebag wheeled over toward the front doors and then navigated through the chairs and tables in the lounge area before heading to the elevator; because, you know, it seemed like the sensible thing to do.

Maybe 15 minutes later, Mr. and Mrs. Douchebag came back down to the front desk as I was locking the front doors. I went back to the desk as soon as I saw them making their way toward it. I politely asked Mr. Douchebag what I could help them with, and he quickly put down a set of work keys that he had grabbed from across the counter. I couldn't tell you why he grabbed the keys in the first place. At this point, the conversation with Mr. Douchebag degraded into a drunken tirade.

First he asked me who I was, to which I replied that I was one of the front desk agents working that evening. Not wanting to stray too far off topic, I asked him again what I could help him with. He said he wanted to know why he couldn’t get into his room. Fantastic! I love simple questions that I can provide simple answers to. I explained that room keys often get demagnetized. Although in this case, I'm willing to bet Mr. Douchebag was either putting his key card into the reader incorrectly or was at the wrong door. Bonus points if he did both.

I asked what room he is in, but alas, he replied “I don’t know”. Really? Let's try something a little simpler, then. My followup question was what his first and last name is, to which he replied “you tell me”. Fabulous. I love comedians. Fortunately, I had one final question that usually solves this problem. I then asked him for some kind of identification so I could find out what room he is staying in. At this point, he gave me his first and last name.

As I was setting him up with a new key, I apologized for the inconvenience caused by the malfunctioning key. At this point, he began to personally blame me for several things. He blamed me for not being able to get into his room. He then blamed me for not being considerate toward his wife who “is mentally handicapped”. I asked for clarification on this matter because I did nothing to insult her – I didn’t look at her strangely, I didn’t make any comments under my breath, nothing. I don't do these kinds of things and it bothered me that he accused of doing something along those lines.

He dismissed the subject and went on to the next item of blame. He blamed me for his key not working in the pool area; to which I politely reminded Mr. Douchebag that the pool had been closed since 10 pm. Time check - roughly midnight. He said this was poor service on my behalf. I apologized and told him that it is hotel policy, not my personal policy, to have the pool closed up at 10 pm. 99% of the people that want to use the pool after hours are entirely too drunk to do so. Rule of thumb - if you ask me for after-hours access to the pool, don't be blatantly drunk/high/tweeked/etc., don't be an asshole, don't have a posse of 20 people in the lobby. I don't want shit going down in the pool area while it's open for use; and I sure as hell don't want shit going down in the pool area when guests are trying to sleep and I'm trying to get my work done and/or not in the mood for dealing with said shit.

Mr. Douchebag then reminded me that he can’t believe how I was treating his wife, who “is a quadriplegic”. For those of you scoring at home, this is affliction number two for Mrs. Douchebag. Much like the comment about her being mentally handicapped, I don’t know why Mr. Douchebag thought I was treating his wife in an improper manner. He should have been commending me for putting up with his and her drunken bullshit. I tried to move the conversation and the guests along, but as they made their way to the elevator, Mr. Douchebag came back for more.

Once again, I asked what I could do for Mr. Douchebag. He just wanted to remind me that he can’t believe how I’m treating this situation and his wife, who “has MS”. Yes, that's the third afflicion. At this point, I’m completely at a loss for words. I had done nothing to even suggest that I was looking down at his wife or her condition(s). I don’t have anything else to say at this point, so I ask them again what I can do to help them. Mrs. Douchebag answered this question by saying “you can tell that shithead to shut up”, with me being the shithead in question. Brilliant!

Mr. Douchebag then tells me he wants to be compensated for the inconveniences that he and the missus suffered:

*Room key not working in room

*Room key not working in pool area (after hours)

*Me not being considerate toward his mentally handicapped, quadriplegic wife who suffers from MS

*Me being a shithead in general

He demanded the contact information of “someone that is capable of making decisions because clearly I am not”, so I gave him the card of my immediate manager. He also demanded that I write my name on the card, which I wrote on the back and pointed out to him. He then asked me to write it somewhere else, so I wrote it on a note pad, but as I gave it to him, he said he didn’t need it because he already had it on the card. Then he asked where it was, and I pointed it out on the back. Right where I pointed it out. The first time.

By this time my coworker had made her way back to the front desk. The guests were on their way back to the elevator, but Mr. Douchebag came back for his grand finale. This time he wanted me to personally escort him and his wife to the room and he was muttering something about his wife's condition(s). I insisted that I was going to have my coworker go in my place. And even though Mr. Douchebag insisted that it would help me to better understand his poor wife's condition(s), I explained to Mr. Douchebag that I don’t want the situation to escalate any further, so I wanted to remove myself from it. That, and I was at wit's end, so it was highly likely that I would have said something I shouldn't have.

I hope I see these people again because I will take pleasure in asking how Mrs. Douchebag's mental status/quadriplegia/multiple sclerosis is treating her.

-Captain Stamina