Today’s Winner for Oddest Question:
Guest: “Do you have machines where I can get a girl?”
My first thought was, “Like you drop in some quarters and a female falls out?”
He then clarified that he was looking for numbers of, well, certain services. But still, I’ve never heard of that sort of thing available in a vending machine.
I nearly lost it today. I can’t remember the last time I got angry with a guest, but I know for certain that I’ve never gotten as angry as I did this morning.
A guest came to check out and wanted a copy of his room bill. Ordinarily, I’d print one out and send them on their way, but this particular guest booked online, through Expedia, and therefore paid Expedia for his room, not the hotel itself. I explained this to the man, and that he could contact Expedia to receive his receipt. He did not understand this.
Man: “No, but I need my receipt for the room charges.”
Me: “I don’t have a receipt for your room charges. You did not pay the hotel, you paid Expedia.”
Man: “I paid Expedia?”
Me: “Yes. So only they can give you a receipt.”
Man: “But I need some proof that I stayed in the hotel. Can’t you print out my bill?”
Me: “There is no bill. If I try to print something, just a blank sheet will come out.”
[I print his "bill" and show him the blank sheet.]
Me: “If Expedia needs to verify you stayed here, they can call the hotel. It’s not a problem.”
[One to two minutes of him staring at me like I was lying.]
Man: “But how can I get my receipt?”
Me: “Call Expedia. They have your receipt.”
Man: “Can’t you do this and give me the receipt?”
Me: “They won’t talk to me. Your payment with your credit card is confidential, sir.”
[More staring. Teri gets angrier.]
In no way am I exaggerating when I say that we went around and around on this for fifteen minutes. My patience was seriously waning and I tried dismissing him non verbally. I went to answer a phone call. He did not leave. I moved a couple feet over and pretended to organize some hotel key cards. He did not leave.
He instead started the whole torturous debacle anew. I was seething, and using every last ounce of self-control I had to stay polite, instead of screaming at him. Mike-the-Bellman, who had been listening to my plight, called the desk from his station and spoke with The New Guy, who was in the back office. Mike told him to get me and tell me I had a phone call in the back, just to get me away from the guest. New Guy took over and when I got into the back I actually had to cry for a minute in order to calm myself down.
After another five or so minutes, New Guy finally got the guest to leave by writing on the blank hotel sheet: “So-and-So stayed at this hotel from [this date] to [that date]” and signed it.
We had a pretty good laugh about it later, where both Mike and New Guy voiced their concerns.
New Guy: “Teri, you always seem pretty level, but when I walked out there and saw you I thought, ‘Aw shoot, that guy is gonna die’.”
Me: “If you absolutely had to, would you rather sleep with [Gross Male Security Guard #1] or [Gross Male Security Guard #2]?”
Andrea: ”I die. How about you?”
Me: “I don’t like this question.”
Andrea: ”It’s your question.”
Me: “Yeah, so I shouldn’t have to answer it.”
Andrea: ”Okay, new question. Who would you rather sleep with: [Witchy Female Security Guard #1] or [Witchy Female Security Guard #2]?”
[Pause]
Me: “I die?”
So I have the 400-some pictures on my computer that Tim took over our vacation. I’m going through them tomorrow and will post a mammoth vacation entry. Promise.
In much more unsettling news, remember that creepy guy who kept calling and trying to talk dirty to me? Well, he called yet again tonight and started to describe to me what I’m wearing. He also knows what time I get off work. I’ve hung up on him twice now and then stopped answering altogether. He’s called five times in the past twenty minutes. (At least I’m assuming those unanswered calls were him.) I told Security, but other than scanning the lobby for guests staring at the front desk and touching themselves, there’s not much that can be done at the moment. I tried *57 to do a number trace, but it’s not working from the hotel phones.
I’m moving my pepper spray from my shoulder bag to my coat pocket. Bring it on, Creepy McCreepington.
**Update: He’s called three more times since I posted this entry. And his name is Reggie (unless he was lying).
****Update: I am home. Security walked an extra block with me.