I love posting these stories for you guys, but I have to say that not one single part of me is going to miss it when I’m no longer going through them.
Tonight an extremely intoxicated Frenchman came to the front desk for a new room key. He hit on me (in French) as I checked his ID and made him a room key. Now, Paige can tell you I can’t speak French to save my life, but I did spend a year in college sharing an apartment with a French exchange student, so I have relatively good comprehension skills. I knew enough, at any rate, to make out several of his phrases, the least slimey of which were “I love you” and “you are beautiful.” I smiled politely through this and then handed him his key. Instead of taking the key, he grabbed my hand and (after switching to English) told me how lovely my hands were. I tried to remove my hand but he bent his head and kissed it. With his tongue.
Okay, I was shocked and more than a little horrified. I yanked my hand away and walked to the back office. Sam and Mike-the-Bellman were in there and I relayed the story to them (while wiping off my hand on anything nearby: a chair, my pants, Mike’s jacket). Frenchie realized I had no immediate plans to return to him and came around to the side door that we use to get behind the desk. Mike met him at the door and escorted him out of the lobby to get him to his room.
Mike had to come back to double-check with me on the room number and apparently Frenchie took advantage of the alone time to relieve his bladder behind a soda machine.
I washed my hands.