A[r]rest

By 12:07 yesterday, every guest was checked out/up to date on their payments.

That never happens. It was wonderful.

At noon I only had on person left to deal with. So I called their room to see if they wanted to stay another night. The phone rang, someone picked it up, and then hung up. A few minutes later they called back.

Me: Front desk.
Guest: Hi, did you just call our room? Sorry about that, Bethany. I'm going to pay for another night.

It was a simple and typical conversation. But something was off. I thought I heard him say my name. I hadn't answered the phone with my name. I went to the computer and looked at his reservation. Apparently he'd never stayed with us before, and he only checked in yesterday.

But I brushed it off, figuring I had probably talked to him somewhere in time.

Guess what.

Through a nice chain of events and because he looked familiar to me when he came to the desk to pay,

And after his girlfriend hid from the cops by weening herself between the bed frame and mattress, because of the guest's use of fraudulent credit cards during his last stay, his use of phony names, and likely fake I.D.s, and later after he disappeared from the front desk after realizing what was going on and running from the cops,

He was arrested.

At gunpoint.

It was fine.

I need a raise and a promotion.

Failed To Mention

He reserved a suite, and I gave him too good of a rate. He checked in by himself and I noticed his ring finger was bare. But I knew he had someone with him.

The next day I met the young girl from the suite. And all of her friends. I didn't see him all day, but I saw her.

Today I noticed that he had checked back in to the suite. And I didn't see him, but I saw her. And all of her friends. And the girl was an entirely different human.

Later tonight, a man, woman, and little girl were waiting to check in. They wanted to see the room first and as I was about to leave the desk to give them the grand tour, the phone rang from an in-house guest.

Me: Front desk.
Guest: Hi, this is [room number].
Me: Hi, how are you.
Guest: I'm good... Is this Bethany?
Me: Yes, it is.
Guest: Hi, Bethany, this is [name]. Do you remember me?
Me: Yes, how are you. [Have we already gone over this.]
Guest: I'm good... Hey, I was wondering if you'd want to have a drink with me.
Me: [Looks at guests waiting for me. Dies] Um, no thank you.
Guest: Why not?
Me: [Looks at guests waiting for me. Dies] Well, I am working right now.
Guest: Well, after you're off.
Me: No thank you; thanks for the offer.
Guest: Aww, that's no fun.
Me: [Face red by now, I'm sure, voice uneasy] Alright, thank you.
Guest: [Attempts to keep me on the phone]
Me: [Hangs up, ignores the questioning looks from the guests on the other side of the the counter]

Too bad I failed to mention to him that I don't drink, that I don't go to work to find one night stands, and that I'm really not interested in men who thrive on one night stands.


But I feel like those are things that I should not have to mention.

Blueprint

Naturally, working out in the yard is only going to lead to one thing:
Planning my wedding reception in all its entirety.
Too bad for my plans, one major piece is missing from the blueprints.

Stay tuned for that one.

Also, today I officially parted my hair. The growing out process has begun. I'm not making any promises or commitments to growing my hair out, but I just want to see how excruciatingly painful it is to get it from a pixie to a fixable length. If it turns out to be fine, I will likely cut it short-short again sometime.


In other news,
My work schedule finally is allotting me two days off. As of this week.

So long, 48+ hour weeks. So long.

109

Of all my experiences working in a hotel,

This one is probably the least strange.

Sometimes we move guests to a different room after they check in. Because they have a complaint. Smoke smell, vending machines outside of their rooms making sound, etcetera. Then the front desk clerk usually leaves a note to the other clerks mentioning the room changes made during their shift.

Last night 109 complained about their room smelling strange.

But let me tell you. It probably wasn't the smell of the room that was strange.

The head housekeeper (one of my favorite people) came to the desk asking me to come take a look at the now vacant room.

The alarm clock was on the floor, singing a rusty, echoey tune. The phone was sitting on top of the lamp. The comforters were strewn across the floor. The luggage rack was upside-down. There were garbage bags full of McDonald's trash (And they questioned the smell of the room.) The toilet paper was taken off the holder and set on top of it, instead. The towels were all unused, but the shampoo sat decapitated by the sink. The list of available television channels collected who knows what while lying on the bathroom floor. A tray from the refrigerator was removed from its rightful home.

There wasn't any damage to the room.

But sometimes I really wonder. What on earth goes through some people's brains.

Morrow

Let me show you how thirteen hours of sleep is done.

This job makes me appreciate more and more the nice people who come in every day.

Next week is hazy, but I may be working another forty-eight hours. Which would be week three out of my last four weeks of doing so. Just let me work two days straight and give me the rest of the week off, please.

At the rate I'm going, The Shins' songs I have had on repeat the last couple days will be on my top twenty-five playlist on iTunes by the end of this evening. And I'm not even listening while I am at work.

Today I ballet-ed in my jeans and old ballet shoes. I can do the splits pretty well for not having tried in multiple years.

I am looking forward to tomorrow morning's self-taught ballet class.

Like

I don't want to sound arrogant.

But I am sometimes led to believe that some people like me.

I mean, sometimes people don't. And I guess that's fine.

But when they do like me, sometimes I wonder why. But I think I may have found a few reasons.

1. I am accommodating to criminals.
2. I don't shoo males away when I'm working (or trying to look like I am working) and tell them I'm really not interested.
3. I'm a human punching bag (figuratively. Unless, of course, we're talking emotionally, mentally, and spiritually) for males who have had too much to drink and are locked out of their hotel rooms.
4. I eat the sushi guests offer me. Half the time.
5. I can fix the internet, the hot tub, and whatever other problems arise at the hotel.

Actually, ignore number five. That's a false statement.

Maybe that's why some people don't like me.

Pretty Sure I'd Made It My Whole Life Without Those Words Directed At Me. Up Until Last Night. And Then Again Today.

Last night's work experience was enough. Insane. Ridiculous. Unnecessary.

Today when I headed to work, I thought I might have a break from yesterday's zoo.
Apparently not. Because today was a lot worse more extreme and equally unnecessary.

If I have to deal with another drunk person at or away from work.

Ever.

Again.

Also,

The cussing was unnecessary. I want to wash my ears.

Oh, and guy,

I unlocked your door. It took a minute. But I figured it out. Call me a locksmith. So you can calm down now.

Inquiration

How do you get a firm grip on now

And a fixed let-go of then?

How does one [two, or three, or four, or more] pull through the most roller coaster week of ever?

What does it mean when instead of using appropriate grammar to tell the postman at work that there aren't any postcards to send today, you say, "We got none"?

There's a new little tyke in the neighborhood.

And I'm serious about the inquiries.
I await and anticipate your answers.

Riddle

In relation to last night's post,

What's one way to make a night's stay at a hotel change from sixty dollars to a whopping three hundred forty dollars?


Hint: It has nothing to do with the songs I linked to, my droopy eyes, Wednesdays and Thursdays, or being paid time and a half.

48

This song comes on [almost] every day at work. It has a weird calming effect.

This song is my latest piece of approval.

My eyes are droopy. Not in a head-bobbing way. But in a my-bed-sounds-really-comfy-right-now sort of way. 

I'm at work. And will be for a while longer. Then back early in the morning. Wednesday/Thursdays are fabulous.

Someone is smoking in their room. I smell it in the lobby. I smelled it a while ago. We're a non-smoking hotel. But it's normal for people to walk in, ignore the "We are a non-smoking hotel" signs on the lobby doors, front desk, & in the rooms, along with the "no smoking" symbol on the room doors. It's a constant battle. But some people can't help it if their eyes go temporarily and sporadically blind every time they are within twenty-five feet of any type of lodging. I'm sure there is a medical name for it.

I will need a medical name to describe my condition by the end of next week. After covering for a coworker and working a lovely forty-eight hours. At least I'll be paid time and a half.

I will be paid time and a half.

Right?

Exchange

Today a package came at work. I verified with my boss that we were expecting the package. Then the mailman told me to sign the electronic signature gadget. I grabbed the pen on the counter and began to sign. The mailman partially panicked and exclaimed that I need to use the electronic signature gadget pen, and not the ballpoint pen that I didn't realize I had picked up. The letters B-E were already penned onto the screen. I felt a little silly.

I got over it after I mopped up the mailman's footprints that were left beautifully scattered over the freshly cleaned floor. Because then we were even.

Sarcasm

Ask me anything.

Just don't ask me if I've ever used a vacuum before.

Because I have.

Charming

It's a glass charm. That older gentleman stopped by the front desk the other day. 

It's small, and I'll probably just put it on my keys. But just the fact that the man decided to fetch a little glass piece for me was a nice thing. Even if he's just trying to advertise for whatever glass business he owns. And maybe he is doing just that.

But sometimes people are just nice, still the same.

A Contrast

"I'm checking out," he states promptly.
I take the man's keys and ask the routine "Did you enjoy your stay?"
He is silent for a brisk moment. He responds with a jeer-draped and drawn out "Sure," eyes on the verge of rolling.




An older gentleman walks through the lobby with the luggage cart. We greet each other. He walks out the doors with the cart, and then returns a few minutes later.
"What's your favorite color?" he asks me.
I pause. "Yellow," I respond, only because I don't want to explain my love of diluted and rather specific color preferences; olive green, mustard yellow, antique pink, even coral.
"Yellow," he repeats. "That's not very common." He continues through the lobby. "I'll get you a piece."
I pause again. "What?"
He stops. "I'm a glass maker. Will you be here tomorrow?"
"Yes," I respond with question in my voice.
"Okay, I will bring you a piece."

Tip

I got a twenty-dollar tip today. From one rockin' Argentine. Sometimes people are so nice. Like the people who read my name tag once, then they address me by Bethany every time they see me. And they don't have to read my name tag again.

Also it's weird when I'm at work and the guy I just checked in walks up to me and asks if I'm interested in earning some extra money. And he gives me his card for his phone business.

I threw it away.

In other news,

I'm so tired I could eat a horse. That doesn't make much sense. Either way, my eyes are drooping. And I have laundry to do. And one whole hour of the night is going to disintegrate into nothing and become forgotten and irrelevant. I am going to miss that little hour.

Also I'd never eat a horse.

Hotel Perks

Benefits of working full time at the hotel:

I don't have the time to eat my normal eleven meals every day.

I just eat four; breakfast, lunch, dinner, and binge session before (and) or after work.

I bring healthy things for my lunches. PB&J, chimichangas, chicken noodle casserole, yogurt, almonds.

And then I buy doughnuts from the vending machine.

I talk on the phone like a professional. I give long-winded greetings. I say, "One moment, please," rather than "Hang on a sec."

Even on my home phone.

I can fold towels like a pro. 

Three gigantic hotel dryers full.

I get to associate with people from all over the place. Denmark, Argentina, England, Sweden.

I get to pretend like I understood everything they just said.

I stay busy.

Even if that means putting nine people on hold, telling the seventeen people in line that I'll be able to help them in one moment, letting the six people who need blankets know that I'll get those to them in twenty just a couple minutes. Just so I can answer this one guest's simple question.

There's money in my bank account.

Even though I don't have much to spend it on, besides random trips to McDonald's for hot chocolate and smoothies, Village Inn for French toast, and soda for a friend who pays me back later that night, anyway.

Get a job at a hotel. It'll make you more suave. Because it's making me suave. And rich enough for McDonald's. 

Those Dimes

Apparently I never graduated from the first grade. Because I can't count money worth anything. I think there has been one time out of the eight days of working this new job that I have correctly counted the till on my first try.

Today, for instance, I counted the dimes two at a time. It went something like this:

"Twenty, forty, sixty, sixty-five."

And then, at the end of my counting, it wouldn't add up correctly. Finally the coworker who worked the graveyard shift watched as I counted, because I couldn't figure out how I was counting wrong.

"How did you get sixty-five out of the dimes...?"

Obviously five hours of sleep between shifts works wonders for me.

After the till didn't balance out after the sixty-first try, my coworker offered to count it for me. Then she gave me a pat on the head, a lollipop, and some money flash cards so I could review what I learned.

The rest of the day went downhill from there.

On My Own

Today was eventful. The blisters on my feet can prove that.

I worked by myself for the first time.
I ran all over the hotel running errands for different guests.
I retrieved towels for the hot-tubbers like eight million times.
I folded towels.
I ate a sandwich.
I jumped over the front desk when the door that only opens from the inside locked me out. I was wearing a skirt, mind you.
I made about six thousand reservations.
I tried my hardest to contain my tears. [Not from exasperation. But from that sweet guest who was in town for a funeral. That was a whole story in and of itself. She was so sincere and apologetic after getting frustrated with a misunderstanding regarding her reservation. The whole thing was a good reminder of why I love people.]
Within the whole time frame, I made five hundred phone calls to a coworker for help.
But I made it. The whole day. On my own.
And then on the way home, I listened to this song three times.
Now I'm finally home. And my eyes are a little droopy.

Good to finally see you, Sunday.

Wake Up

Some of my brain thinks that if I don't go to sleep, I won't have to wake up.
Which is true, if you think about it.

The other part of my brain is thinking that if I don't go to sleep right now, I am probably never going to be able to wake up.


There's also a little bit of my brain thinking that I'd be okay with eating a doughnut right now.

Also, I'm dreading work, a little bit, right now.

Where's that doughnut?

Honestly

I'm terrified of my new job.

The time goes by at a normal rate when I'm there. It's fine.

But when I am not there,

How am I going to remember everything? Checking people in & out correctly. Setting up folios. Which I still don't fully understand. Using the computer program correctly. Not stumbling over my words when I answer the phone. Not answering the phone with my old work's name. Hasn't happened yet. But I'm waiting for that to happen. Closing my shift correctly. Remembering all of the fine details that were relayed to my brain, which subsequently rolled out of my ears and onto the ground and far, far away from my head. Negotiating prices correctly. Giving correct pricing, at all. Pretending like I know what I'm doing.

And everything else I'm forgetting.