Horny Heater Hobbits

A Tuesday night. Location: The hotel. Again.

I hoped it would be better than the night prior. Whether it was a full moon, or if every Red Eye flight douche-licker wanted to descend upon me collectively, I was in no mood for weirdness. To say I was at my wit’s end would be an understatement. I was witless.

Then they came.

She seemed like a normal woman in her mid-forties. Well, as normal as Desperate Housewives had educated me. Strung-out bleach-blond hair, out-of-date prescription glasses, a twitchy brow, and a hunched-over posture indicating a steady diet of antidepressants and Advil. That was my guess anyway…having observed a similar posture in the mirror back in college.

Like many who’ve passed through the lobby doors at “magic hour”, she grumbled at the walking distance between the front desk and her room, wondered when breakfast would be, shrugged, then left. In most cases, that’s the last I hear of such folks. Those are the kind I get; burnt out husks of life living from paycheck to paycheck in constant airline migration. Such a living must take a toll on their nerves. Lord knows it does mine, um, from a third-person standpoint.

Ten minutes later, I got a call.

Husk housewife was on the other end, “My bathroom door is locked!”

I responded nonchalantly, “I do apologize, but maintenance has gone home for the day. I can transfer you to another room if you’d like.”

She rambled on about the possibility of someone jumping out from the locked bathroom and raping her, then asked if she had to come back to the desk to fetch the new keycards. I informed her that I was the only one on duty and could not leave the gatehouse area unless it was an emergency. In a further frantic tone, she indicated it was an emergency to her. To her room, I went.

Once I arrived to her room, I went in to check the bathroom myself. The door was wide open.

“Not that one,” she said and pointed at the closet next to the bathroom. “That one.”

My shoulders slumped, “Ma’am, that’s the water heater.”

“I just have this fear someone might jump out. It happened to a friend of mine, ” she explained.

I tried my best to explain that the door was locked from the outside and only maintenance had access to it. That and no normal sized human being could fit in the closet with a full-sized water heater. Unless the culprit were a Hobbit, she was perfectly safe.

“I’ll still take the other room,” she said.

“Fair enough, “I replied.

Escorting her to her new room, three buildings down, she relayed how she was generally a fearful person. I empathized. As soon as she was situated, she apologized for the trouble and tipped me five bucks. Couldn’t complain there.

However, I returned to the gatehouse to four very impatient people - two Hindi girls in need of curry sauce (no joke), a dumbshit who locked himself out, and another middle-aged woman waiting to be checked in. We’ll call her Housebitch #2.

Dealing with the first three was easy enough, but the new woman was another matter entirely.

“What took you so long?” she asked, lips thin.

“I’m sorry, I had to transfer a guest to a new room personally, ” I said. “She thought someone would jump out of the water heater and attack her.”

I laughed a little…but she wasn’t amused.

“You’re not going to give me that room, are you?”

“Uh…no?” I returned

“Good,” Housebitch #2 said, grabbing her keys.

I thought that was the end of it.

Wrong.

Five minutes later, I got a call from Housebitch #2, “There’s a locked door by the bathroom!”

I took a deep breath.

“That’s your water heater.” I couldn’t even hide my sigh.

“Oh,” she said.

Housebitch #2 hung up.

I sat down, kicked my feet back, nursed my tea…

And honestly hoped there was a teleporting Horny Heater Hobbit out there to prove me wrong.

Tags: heater, hobbits, horny, Hotel

Hell Hath No Fury

Tags: A, Hotel, Scorned, Woman

Thoughts from the Third Shift

Warning! This rant may contain language offensive to the Baby Jesus.

Working at night screws with your head. There’s no way getting around it. After awhile, regardless of how normal your leanings are during the day, you start to wonder things - do things - that no normal person would do. Think Risky Business without the underwear dancing. (Although that would be kinda cool.)

A few examples.

Hunting and Gathering:

Sometimes when I’m running late for work, I forget that whole “food foraging” step necessary for my continued existence. Luckily, I work at a hotel. There’s a kitchen, and an unwritten rule exists that the night guy (within reason) can partake of what there is. Sometimes I get lucky with leftover meal-helpings from guest reception. Oftentimes, it’s a mission of scrounging.

Most common meal for me around 12AM:

(1) Two bagels with cream cheese, ketchup, and mayonnaise.

(2) An apple.

(3) Two of those tiny, coconut-glazed donuts. (Dear God, those are crack!)

(4) Tootsie rolls.

Breakfast is more normal-ish, consisting of oatmeal with brown sugar and banana. Although, occasionally, I’ll partake of the store-brand Captain Crunch.

Dealing with the Public

The biggest problem with night shift work is dealing with other night people; business travelers that thought it a dandy idea to take the fucking Red Eye flight from Chicago or some other bumfuck location. They are almost always an impatient and irritable lot. Who can blame ‘em? They’re tired. However, it’s not conducive for a good clerk/guest relationship, given the fact that I am irritable and impatient as well. To combat this, I’ve perfect a means of getting them in and situated as quickly as possible. Most appreciate the brevity. But there are those that are inconsolable and seek nothing but to make the torture last as long as possible; sometimes intentionally.

Internet Bookings:

If you have ever used Priceline, Hotwire, Expedia, or Travelocity…fuck you.

Seriously, die in a fire. I’ve never dealt with a more needy, contemptuous subhuman offshoot of society in my life. Okay, some decent folks use it, and it is a convenient way to make travel arrangements. However, travelers need to keep in mind that internet bookings have their limitations.

We can’t extend your stay. We can’t refund your stay. We have absolutely no bloody say in your stay. My answer is always the same. Take it up with Pricehotexlocity…or whatever back-alley abortion of a website you used to reserve with. We are there to check you in, not hold your hand. I understand that a new hotel in a new town must be “big and scawwy”, but grow a set of balls. Women, you too! Use your ovaries if you have to! They look like balls!

I’ve worked at two Marriotts and an Econolodge, and it’s the same thing at each place. Internet bookers are “speshul”. No exception. This is to serve as a warning to future Priceliners et al.

Keep…to…yourself!

Midnight Snackers:

Nothing makes my heart sink faster than hearing the slam of the refrigerator door from the gift shop. The denizens of the late-night fix tend to look the same; unkempt hair, half-pajamas, half-clothes-worn-day-prior, corpulent abdomens, and an insatiable love of Ben & Jerries, Hot Pockets, and Mountain Dew. They are generally a friendly lot, talkative and amiable. What they don’t know is that I am not.

I’m not happy to see them. Most pay with cash, and cash procedures are monumentally frustrating at a hotel. (Separate amount from register total, give change, put cash drop in envelope, have succeeding shift witness drop. ARGH!) I even get those who want beer. Like I’m a pusher or something.

I also get that dreaded phone call. It always seems to be at 1AM…on a Sunday.

“Hey, is there anything open at this hour?”

IT’S ONE O’ CLOCK IN THE MORNING!

Ugh…moving along.

Less commonly, we get those folks that think they can pull a fast one. One night I was working out some cluster-eff issue with the money till in the back office. I had to call a co-worker to find out what the heck happened to it. The gift shop fridge door slammed shut. I heard it, but I couldn’t get to it quite yet. I looked up at the monitor. Fat guy, white-striped shirt, curly hair, beard, brandishing an ice cream pint.

I got off the phone a minute later. One minute. Dude was gone.

The next night, I saw him again. This time I was front and center. He came to the front desk with a pint of ice cream and a need for coins for the washer/dryer.

I said, “You also need to pay for that ice cream yesterday.”

He looked dumbfounded, “What do you mean?”

I continued, “Ice cream…yesterday…you left without paying.”

He paused for a moment, “Uh, I’ve never been here before. ‘Cept for when I checked in.”

Yeah right, I thought. Then how did you find the ice cream so quickly. Spidey-fatty sense?

I dropped the issue. “My mistake.”

I knew it was him. He knew he’d been had. Watching him squirm was totally worth it…but not worth losing my job over.

Foreigners:

I love ‘em. I really do. The Chinese, the Japanese, the Germans, the Irish, The Brits, the Hindi, etc. Great folks…really.

Checking ‘em in is a fucking bitch.

The biggest issue is twofold. There’s always a language barrier, and they always come in groups. Meeting all of their needs takes at least a half-hour, longer if there are more than five. And if they have special requests, consider the evening spent.

As I said, most are generally very nice, very considerate, and willing to work with me on helping them. Two exceptions though - those from the Middle East and India. I have to ask now: Is it literally a cultural thing to treat everyone in a service industry position as the lowest rung of society? Look, I have respects for the cultures. I love the movies, the food, the women, the songs, all wonderful! But they tend to be the most demanding and refer to the uniformed lackey with a less-than-hospitable tone.

The only group not included with this are the NRIs (Non-Resident Indians) - Fijians, Malays, Indonesians, Singaporeans, and so on. Never have a problem with them. But the mainlanders…Jesus H. I want to like you. I do. It’s a two-way street, however. Cut the night troll (i.e. me) some slack!

I have developed one technique that works. Shock value! No Hindi I’ve ever checked in expects me to know anything about their culture, let alone their pop-culture. Name-dropping Bollywood movies has saved me time and trouble on more than one occasion. I knew that hobby would come in handy.

Drunk People:

Fuck off.

‘Nuff said.

Who checks into a hotel inebriated? Honestly…there’s no excuse for it. My favorite is when they blame me for something that never happened!

Die…die…die…

Yes, this aspect of the rant was ineloquent. It was supposed to be. They don’t deserve finer prose.

Alleviating Boredom

When attempting to make a ten-hour shift whisk by quickly, the night worker will resort to any means necessary to speedily conclude a work stint. Well, besides actually “working”, that is. Thank Yahweh for the Internet. If it weren’t for Lolcats, Myspace, Wikipedia, webcomics, Youtube, or Aintitcool…I think I would die. Much to my delight, there’s also a television as a back-up. Adult Swim! I’m so glad I have geek-ish leanings. On the off-chance the Internet is down or the cable is out, however, drastic measures need to be taken.

Rubberband Flinging:

Perfecting a means of hitting your target, it may come in handy someday. (Still trying to compensate for that left lean and spin.)

Staple Fight!:

Not as entertaining with only one person, but you’d be surprised what you’d resort to.

Imagining Zombie War Fortifications:

The hotel is way too un-strategic a local. Too many windows. Low food supply. Not enough blunt instruments for weapons-use.

Er…uuuuh…yeah.

Contemplating Ways of Getting Fired:

Seriously, I have a list.

(1) Answering the door in my boxers.

(2) Changing all the guest names to “Fucktard”.

(3) Finishing off all the guest reception booze.

(4) Answering the phone with, “How can I fuck you?”

(5) Demagnetizing the master keycard before leaving shift.

(6) Masturbate in eye shot (or money shot?) of the camera. Then asking for the footage the following day and saying, “It’s for the Internet.”

(7) Starting an orgy cult in the middle of the reception area.

(8) Putting a bunch of animal porn on the computer.

(9) Calling 911 while wearing a tinfoil hat and yelling, “The Plutonians have arrived! We’re saved!”

(10) Hitting on an elderly guest.

Or…maybe I should just walk out.

Eh, I’ll stick it out another…damn, has it been four years already?

Kill me.

Tags: graveyard, Hotel, night, third shift, troll