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
