A Taste of Normal

 Last night I worked as a valet. 

It was wonderful. 

After four months of being away, I felt like I was in a place I belonged. I knew what I was doing. I was relaxed and confident. I was content.

It's been four months since my heart attack, and I had eleven weeks off from work. I didn't go back to valet right away because the hotel was worried that if I lifted a suitcase I would die. My doctor had actually cleared me to work after seven weeks off, but the hotel didn't quite know what to do with me. Eventually we came to an agreement that I would work the night audit shift at the front desk.

I was not happy about going back to working nights. I had worked the overnight shift for thirteen years at this hotel, and before that, four years at another. When the pandemic began, the valet department had a six month vacation. When we came back, the overnight shift was dispensed with, and I was moved to the early morning shift, and then later, the mid shift during the week, and closing shift on the weekends. I liked the new schedule. I got to spend time with Gaby and with friends and family. I had time and daylight to work on projects. It was nice. 

The fellow they had (have) training me is Matt, and he's one of those people who is just good at everything, which kinda worries me. We had a fellow that was good at everything - EV ER Y THING -  a few years ago.by the name of Justin. I could say that Justin got burned out, but it would be more accurate to say that, because he was reliable and phenomenally skilled, the hotel actively burned him out. Justin had enough going on in his personal life and he didn't need to be treated like that. I liked Justin. A lot. I like Matt. A lot. I don't want to see the same thing happen to Matt.

Matt got a promotion, and is now one of our front office managers, which means he would be moving to daytime, so the race was on to get me trained. Problem is, I have no talent for computer stuff. I mean, if you show me which buttons I need to push, I can get the job done and eventually I will figure out what it all means, but you can't rush me. Matt began my training by teaching me how to do the audit. I took copious step-by-step notes, and referred to them constantly, adding to them as needed. At first the only part I was good at was the valet audit, which, y'know, of course, because I already understood it. Eventually I got to the point where all I needed was the checklist.

The deficiency in my training had to do with guest services. 

Now, I love working with the guests. I can eventually figure out the computer. But working with a guest AND a computer? That's a bad combination. There's a lot of pressure to do the job quickly and correctly. My GM asked me one morning how I was doing, and I expressed these fears. He said that the key was to act confidently like I knew what I was doing. My whole schtick has been to gain the sympathy of the guest by being the nervous new guy. 

They had scheduled me to work a couple of afternoon shifts in order to train me how to check in a guest, etc. Unfortunately, those two shifts happened to be on days when we had, like, twelve arrivals at 3:00 in the afternoon. Me being there was robbing the young ladies who were working that shift of the only thing they had to do all evening, so I got sent home early both times.

During one of those shifts, I was made an offer I couldn't refuse. If you've seen The Godfather, you know what I mean. The AFOM told me that the GM was asking about my intentions. I reiterated that valet was my first love, and that I was expecting to go back to it fully some time in early to mid summer. He didn't put it in so many words, but he basically told me that my return to valet was unlikely, and that if I didn't agree to stay on as night auditor, the hotel might not have a position for me at all. I told him that I was available to do whatever I was needed to do, but that night and the next day, the more I thought about it the more demoralized I became.  Still, as I told one of my other coworkers, it's only three years. I reach my 20 years, with all the lifetime benefits, two days before I reach retirement age. I can hang on till then.

Eventually, Matt left me. I was supposed to start flying solo on the 22nd of March (Friday!?! Are you freakin' serious?!), but Matt stayed that night just to make sure I didn't get overwhelmed. The following Wednesday I really was alone.

Once upon a time, it was normal to have two or three people working the front desk overnight, especially on the weekends. New management has decided that that is unnecessary, which Matt has accurately described as "bullshit." My first week (my permanent schedule is Wednesday through Friday, 10pm to 8am) went okay. I figured out a system for making sure I got everything done, and knew what to talk to the FOM about in the morning after she and the rest of the morning crew arrive an hour late. I might have given away some free rooms, but nobody complained. But this week has been rough, and not just for me. My counterpart, Sheila, had such a bad time Saturday night that Matt, who has been sick the last few days, was worried that she would not come in last night and he'd have to work a double.

And Sheila knows what she's doing. Me? I'm on the phone with a woman I can't hear because a) it's a bad connection, and b) the music in the bar and the crowd in the lobby is too loud, and she's wanting to know if I can get her into two rooms on a particular date that the app has already told her is not available. I don't know how to do that. This while I've got two parties trying to check in, and I need to move a VIP out of a room where someone has been smoking without him being charged extra for the upgrade. Who knew that the audit would be the easy part.

I should have just transferred her to reservations. Hindsight.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...
I've been going to a cardio rehab class for the last couple of months. It's basically a gym class where they monitor your blood pressure and teach you to exercise for your heart health. I graduated last Monday. That made me available for a mid or evening shift in valet, aside from my duties at the front desk. I had been discussing my return with my bell captain, and we decided on Sunday night as a good night for me. It's not terribly busy, so I don't have to exert myself too much right away, and nobody else on staff is going to miss working that night.

Last night I got to visit with guests as they came in. I didn't have to use a computer. I made a little bit of money. And as a bonus, the weather was wonderful. I was very happy.

Sunday nights are going to be my island of sanity in a world of chaos.

Christmas Eve

It's a quiet Sunday night at the grand old hotel. Most of the guests have already arrived and gone to bed. One arrival remains. I finished my paperwork in the first hour I was here, so I'm at the front door waiting on the last arrival and reading a book about John Steinbeck. As often happens, reading about writers makes me want to write.
Much of the quiet is due to the absence of some of the usual people. Keven, the overnight houseman, has Sundays off. Karen, from Loss Prevention (our pretentious designation for our security department) has decided that she doesn't want to work on Sundays either. I haven't asked her yet how she's managing to maintain her 30 hour per week work requirement to keep her health insurance. Her husband, and my best friend, Ted, called in sick earlier tonight, and his absence makes things particularly quiet. So it's just me, and Jay, and Mike: valet, front desk, and LP.
The kids from Paycom are here this week. They are a group of uncommonly attractive twenty-somethings here for some kind of training. We get a different set of kids each time they stay with us, which is about every three weeks or so. One of our bar waiters commented recently that Paycom must have some pretty shallow hiring standards to have every person in every group to be so attractive. The valet staff doesn't care for them. They don't tip, and often they exhibit a rather privileged attitude, which probably is encouraged by the fact that I bring all their cars around early in the morning. I'm sure they think that I do that because there are so many of them and they all come down at once. Some of them might think it's because they're special. The actual reason is because we don't have universal health care in this country.
To elucidate, all of our morning guys have their kids on their health insurance, which means that they don't get a substantial paycheck. All of their spendable income is from their tips. If the guest doesn't tip, they're basically working for free. I don't have that problem, so I bring around the Paycom cars before the morning guys get here. All the morning guys have to do is hand them their keys.

Mike just walked by and asked if there were any homeless people. I haven't seen any. In fact, I haven't seen homeless Joel in a week. Normally he's camped in the third floor of the heated entrance to the parking garage next door. He frequently stops by to buy candy bars and get coffee . Nobody has seen him since last Monday morning. I'm kind of worried about him.

I'm missing Ted tonight too. I have a book to give him, and I wanted to tell him about how I totally trolled one of my FOXhead friends on Facebook. I was able to do it solely because this guy never ever looks anything up, never does any kind of research or fact-checking. He's perfectly happy in an ignorance that suits his prejudices. He posted a meme that said "Kill one terrorist and the world is outraged. Iran shoots down a commercial airliner and kills 179 civilians, crickets!!!!!" I replied, "Haven't heard much about flight 655 either. 290 people killed on that one." He liked that. Now, is he going to do any research and find out that flight 655 was the Iranian airliner that the Americans accidentally shot down in 1988? Not a chance.

Okay, I'm done gloating.

My Dad and I went to the airport to pick up my brother. Tomorrow is Christmas, because that's the way the Savage family does things. We haven't seen each other in years, and I expected the ride back to be full of conversation, but that wasn't the case. It might have been the group dynamics. Our Dad would have been a captive audience had Scott and I engaged in the usual stuff we talk about when we're on the phone. I've often had the fantasy of talking politics with Scott at the dining room table in front of my parents,but somehow in the car it just seemed wrong, and we, all of us, have never been good at small talk. But we have Monday night and all day Tuesday before I have to go back to a normal schedule.

Now it's lunchtime: 2:30am. Still two and a half hours before I have to start bringing Paycom around. I might get a lot of of this book read before then, unless i get sucked into Netflix. We'll see how I feel.

Jerry Lewis

In early July of 2012, 86 year old Jerry Lewis did a concert at FireLake Grand Casino in Shawnee, and that weekend he was also staying at my hotel in downtown Oklahoma City.  His limo delivered him to our front drive around midnight or so - not too late, as the bar was still open and there were a lot of people in the lobby.  He had mobility issues, so I was asked to go get our wheelchair.  I drove him through the lobby into the #3 elevator, and I was soon very glad that we had gotten the larger of our three elevators, because we were joined by his entourage: six tall barrel-chested men with jovial demeanors reminiscent of the rat pack.  I realized that the elevator was going to get very crowded very quickly, so I grabbed the wheels and picked up the chair, and scooted over into the corner.
On the way up, the seven of them were joking with me about whether I was a bell boy or a bell man.  I told them, "You guys are sweet, but I'm going to be fifty next Wednesday."
    "Oh, you're just a baby!" they roared.  I forgot until later that night that he had played a bellman two years before I was born.
    We got to the 12th floor, and I wheeled Jerry to the Presidential Suite.  I got them settled in the room, I told them how to get ahold of me if they needed anything, and bid them goodnight.

And the whole time I was with them, I was thinking, Wow.  That's the first celebrity guest I ever lifted.

The photo was taken just three weeks later.

Martin Landau

I started working at the Skirvin in July of 2007, and in those ten years I have met a number of famous people, some of whom I have a story about, and some that were just momentary encounters.  The first celebrity I met was Martin Landau, who was in town to film a movie up in Guthrie.  His limo driver would bring him back to the hotel at about 11:00, just as my shift was beginning, and after a brief visit to his room on the 5th floor, he would come back down to the front sidewalk for a pre-bedtime cigarette.
    Oklahoma had had a particularly wet spring that year, and by August we were inundated by mosquitoes.  This was the topic of discussion the night I met Mr. Landau on the sidewalk in front of the hotel.  I don't remember what was said exactly, but I do recall a feeling of astonishment about how normal it seemed to be standing in downtown Oklahoma City discussing bugs with an Oscar winning movie star, and how silly it seemed that I was surprised to find out that his voice sounded just like it did in the movies. 
    The next night, he was out again as I was coming back from the garage, and I stopped to talk for a moment.  I told him, "I wanted to tell you last night that I loved you in in The Majestic, you were phenomenal in  Ed Wood, and North By Northwest is one of my favorites of all time."
    "Oh, thank you, thank you," he said in that Martin Landau voice of his.
    I said goodnight, and went back inside to the bellstand to work on my paperwork.  A couple of minutes later, he walked up to the bellstand,  and continued our conversation.  I asked him, "So, was there anybody you just hated working with.?"
    "Oh, I don't do that," he said, waving his hand at me like he was shooing the question away.  His response embarrassed me a bit.  I didn't mean anything by it: I was just making conversation.  But his reaction influenced the way I've talked to celebrities since.  What I should have asked was, "You were only 24 when you made North By Northwest, so your parents got to see you become famous didn't they?"  I think that that would have sparked a much more interesting conversation.
    He asked me if I'd seen Crimes and Misdemeanors. I had not.  He said I would enjoy it, and the way he said that made me feel that this was a movie that he was pretty proud of.  I found out much later that this was a movie for which he got an Oscar nomination.  It's now in my collection, and yes, I did enjoy it.  I wish that I had gotten a chance to meet him again to tell him so.

Rooms In My Head

    Sometimes I write in this blog just to clear my own mind about stuff going on in my life.  Lately, I've been copying and pasting a lot of stuff just because the author reflects my point of view and puts it a cleverer way than I could.  And then there are the Foxworld posts with their mini observations.  It seems rare anymore that I write just to let my readers know what's going on with me.  This is just such a post.

    I've been working at the hotel now for eight years.  Before this one, I worked at another hotel for four.  Both were on the overnight shift.  For personal reasons, I had committed to stay at my current job until the end of next summer.  By that time, I will have been nocturnal for thirteen years.  As much as I love my job and the place I work, I'm tired. I want to do something else.
    So, for the next eleven months, I'm going to be exploring my options.  There's some things I have to consider: my age and my health insurance being two of them, and what type of job.  I really like working with the public and meeting new people all the time.  I got offered two jobs just from giving the tour of the hotel.  One gentleman suggested that with my knowledge of OKC's architectural history, I should work for him as a water taxi driver in Bricktown.  Another, for the same reason, said I should become a public relations guy for the City of Tulsa.  Both offers just came along at the wrong time.  And now, with Gaby's job being more important than mine, moving to another city is not really an option.
    One of the things I'd like to do is to talk to people who are actually doing the things I'm interested in.  I have friends on Facebook that are just such people, and I'd really like to sit down with them and talk about what they do, and see if they can offer any advice.  (This would also be part of a larger plan to get to know some of my Facebook friends who are only acquaintances in real life.)

    If my world were different, I'd really like to spend my days concentrating on my art.  I used to do just that, but real life interfered, and I just don't know how to restart.  I've let things fall apart so much that I think I'd have to take a few months off just to do the prep work.
    That being said, I have started a new adventure in my artwork.  A friend of mine convinced me that the photos that I take, manipulate on the computer, and then set aside for the purpose of eventually maybe possibly in the future getting around to drawing or painting, are, in fact, works of art in themselves, and that I need to just find a good printer and mat, frame and sell what I've got.
    Framemasters, here in Edmond, has a giclée machine.

 

I'm so pleased and excited about the way these look I could just bust.  But I've got to make a big investment this year in framing and printing.  I intend to have at least a dozen of them to show at the Edmond show next spring.

As many of you know, Gaby and I went through immigration last year, and last summer he got his green card.  That gives him the ability to travel, and our intention is to go see his family in Chihuahua ASAP.  The biggest obstacle has been that he has to have a Mexican passport, and that has to be gotten through the Mexican Embassy.  There is a traveling consulate that one can go to when it comes to town, but they aren't very good at keeping their online schedule up to date.  Fortunately, the agency where Gaby works keep track of this stuff, and finally, a year after he got his green card, he's got an appointment this week to get his passport.  That means we'll be able to start making plans within a few weeks.
     Just one hitch:  Chihuahua is one of the cities noted for violence, killings, kidnappings.  And my sisters-in-law live in Ciudad Juarez, which is even worse.  I want to go, but I have to admit I'm more than a bit nervous.  I'm going to be relying on advice from my in-laws about safety on this trip.  But I really want to go.  There are photos that need to be taken.

We went to see a new doctor last week.  We really like him; he listens, and he really seems to know his stuff.  Also, he's not afraid to talk about money and how we can save some on healthcare.  We've both been given referrals to specialists, a sleep specialist for Gaby, and one that that can take movies of my innards.  I could talk more about the state of our health, but I haven't gotten my lab results back yet (because of my schedule, not because they aren't ready.) 
    Gaby was told he needs to lose 35 pounds.  (He's actually 70 pounds overweight, according to the insurance charts, but, you know, baby steps.)  I need to lose about 30 myself.  That will require a plan, and we haven't sat down to make one yet. But as I sit here typing, I'm feeling the achiness that comes with being too sedentary.

They say a man's mind is like a house with a lot of rooms.  These are the rooms in my mind where the lights are on.  I've got a three day weekend this week.  Maybe I'll get something done in one of these rooms.

Happy New Year!!

    The Downtown Edmond Art Show 2014 is over, and I did pretty well.  It helped that the piece that I worked on for the previous four months sold the day before the show started.  But I had some difficulties in time availability and management that prevented me from getting more than the one piece done, and I was also not fully stocked on prints.  When the show was over, there were two pieces that I only had one print left, and one of those was framed.
    During the four month period of time that I'm working on getting ready for the show (which I refer to as my "hibernation" since there is practically no social life,) I always get a lot of ideas for projects to work on during the summer, and usually I am just busting to get started on them, but this year I put them off for a bit.  The first weekend I spent just cleaning the studio.  It took most of two days, and I still feel like there's more to be done.  This weekend is being spent matting and framing, getting ready for next year.  I figure if I do it now, I won't be in a rush next Spring.  Next weekend I have some work to be done for clients.
    This was the 21st year to do the Edmond show, and the weather and turnout couldn't have been better.  My Dad came by to deliver some business cards and he had to park three blocks away.  But I was alone for much of the show.  Gaby is working a new job (yay!), and he wasn't available most of the daytime hours.  It was the first time I'd set up by myself in a decade, though the two of us raised the tent the night before.  Still, everything went very smoothly -- at least, at the show.
    Part of the time availability problem I had during the hibernation was that for a month my weekends were split.  This is not only exhausting for a night shift person, but it robs one of all useful time.  One is given the choice of either sleeping or doing, and one Friday night I came to work on only 40 minutes of sleep.  That's not good when your job is to drive other people's cars.  But fortunately our new bell captain is very sympathetic, and he corrected the problem promptly.  His assistant, on the other hand, created a problem that he wants to blame on me.
    Sunday night, after the last day of the show, I was in the shower preparing to go to bed when my phone rang.  I returned the call to the unfamiliar number, and the Sunday afternoon bellman told me that I was on the schedule for that night.  I told him that that's impossible because I've been at art show all weekend, and I'm not available.  He said, Oh yeah, that's right, and that he'd call the boss and see what was to be done.  The overnight security guy was splitting time between that department and ours, so he wound up covering for me.  (He never said so, but I got the impression that he wasn't happy, and blamed me for the situation.)
    On Monday night, I told this story to several people who all seemed to understand the situation from my point of view, but on Tuesday night I was informed that I had been written up for a no call/no show.  Ridiculous, I thought, and said so in written form on the write-up sheet that I didn't sign.  The next morning, the ABC took me to a private room and explained that MY assessment of the situation was wrong.  He said that I had requested time off, part of that request had been denied, that if I'd checked the schedule I would have seen that I was working.  I thought his argument was very reasonable and well presented, but he was still flat wrong.  I did not request time off.  I informed him of dates that I WOULD NOT BE AVAILABLE.  His failure to use that information when he made the schedule is not my fault.  And although it is true that I should have looked at the schedule, I still would not have been in to work that night because I WAS NOT AVAILABLE. 
    Anyway, this is still ongoing, though in the background.
    Since Gaby started working, he cannot go out to the club with me on Monday night, which is my only night that I can go out.  I've stolen time to go out a couple of times this Spring, but without him, there seems to be a hole in the evening.  Now that the hibernation is over, I can go out on a somewhat regular basis, but in the last four months I've missed out on a lot of what's going on in the lives of our friends, so I really don't know if Monday is going to be much of a habit with them anymore.  I miss seeing everybody.  But I still work with the lynchpin of the gang, and there's always Facebook to keep me somewhat informed.
    Anyway, I'm looking forward to getting started on all these Summer projects I've got bouncing around in my head.  A friend once said that the day after the art show was like New Years Day for me.  I totally agree.  And I resolve to... try not to waste the whole Summer.

Heroic Efforts

Just a day after a tornado in Edmond sent us to my parents' storm shelter, another much bigger and much more violent tornado hit Moore, Oklahoma, 22 miles south of us.  The tornado hit two elementary schools, and seven children died in the basement of one of them. This is the fifth major tornado to hit Moore since 1998. 
    I was asleep while all this was going on.  Gaby was watching the coverage when I got up, and we had two different channels on two different TVs going for several hours.  As my friend Mark said on Facebook, " This is like watching the 9/11/01 coverage. I want to turn it off but feel honor bound to watch it, you know?"
I personally couldn't post anything on Facebook.  The normal politico-economic stuff that usuall interests me just lost its flavor.  Even the project I worked on last night, which I would love to show off normally, because it's turning out really good, just didn't seem approprate.  I 'liked' some others' posts, but I just didn't have words that someone else hadn't already said.
      I particularly related to something my friend Becca said which was that she really wished she could actually be there to dig through the rubble, just to feel she was actually doing something.  It turned out, though, that she did have an outlet.  She's the Chairman of the Blue Energy Commitee at the hotel, and she spent the day compiling a list of volenteers for Feed The Children, and was an integral part in organizing the donations sent from the hotel.  So she got to be a heroine after all.   
    We needed to go to the grocery store today, and I had seen on Facebook a list of items that were needed to be donated, so I decided to pick up some of those as well.  Somehow I got very emotionally involved with this particular trip to the store.  I managed to control myself, but every time I saw someone go by with a cart loaded up with diapers and bottled water, I could have burst out crying right there in the store.  It was a totally unexpected reaction.
    We took our donations to one of the local TV stations, where Becca had told me a Feed The Children truck was located.  Three guys there separated our stuff out to pallettes loaded with like items.  I felt inadequate.  But time and money are not in great supply at our house, and I could have used that as an excuse to sit at home and do nothing.  I guess I should be satisfied that I did not.

Thoughts on the Occupy Movement

My job involves driving the cars of a wide variety of people. Often those people will leave their radios on in the car, and I get a peek at the type of music they like, where they get their news, and their tastes in humor and religious programming. One night I heard Bill O'Reilly on FOX Radio talking about the Occupy movement, and it was pretty obvous that he was completely clueless.

At that time I had just finished reading Bethany McLean and Joe Nocera's book "All the Devils Are Here: The Hidden History of the Financial Crisis", so I had a decent understanding of how the whole financial crisis happened. Also, in the blogs I read, the wonkish economists have a lot to say about the perils of the current income disparity. It's not hard for me to understand why people are out protesting in the parks.

I have a good friend who is a left-of-left liberal. His Facebook page is filled with Occupy messages, some on the mark, some not so much, and I was inspired to write a blog post about my own impressions of the movement. But I never actually started anything until one of my friends from the other side of the spectrum posted a link to a story about Wall Street execs showering the OWS in New York with McDonald's employment applications. In the ensuing discussion he said this:
"I think whatever the Occupy movement tried to represent, it was co-opted long ago by anarchists, union thugs, etc. This movement won't help me pay my student loans. And, frankly, wanting a "free ride" is not what most Americans want. Hand-outs don't work. Never have, not long term. And that seems to be what the Occupy movement's underlying message is: 'You have something, and I want it. I'll have the government take it from you by force and give it to me.'" It was pretty much exactly what Bill O'Reilly had said that night on the radio.

So I started collecting notes from my various reading sources online, and collecting newspaper articles, just to have references to construct a meaningful blog post. But I didn't yet have the core piece that would bring it all together.

Then I found this. It's a comment on a post on the Frum Forum, a Republican blog with a centrist-to-right point of view. To me it summed up the whole thing and made all the rest of what I had collected unnecessary.

"Ray_Harwick // Dec 12, 2011 at 12:56 am
My sister is an RN at a non-union hosital where the Job Creators run the cartel. This year **all** of the staff, with the exception of the doctors and executive staff, were forced to take a pay cut; thereby widening the gap between the highest earners and even college-educated nurses and technical staff. For my sister, it meant she picked the wrong place to live because the amount of her pay cut was equal to the amount of money she spends on gasoline monthly to commute to work. Or it means about half of her mortgage payment for a two bedroom farm house of 1,200 sq. ft. that she had to save money for the downpayment for until so was 40 years old.
I get your point. Somebody has to win, right? And you want to continue the status quo of the top earners not only staying at the top, but holding the power of determining prosperity over everyone else. Win-win for the highest wage earners.
Gannett Publishing, owner of a couple dozen newspapers around the country, boasted about how they’d held down expenses for their stock holder’s benefit. Yes. They did. They layed off some 3,000 workers nationwide, mainly those on the news side, then rewarded their 57 year-old retiring CEO who “met Gannett’s challenges of the 21th century” with $39 MILLION good-bye present. I’m gonna say you’re beaming with pride over that, Mr. Foster, since it meets you ideal of keeping the living wage power in the hands of the Job Creators. Give yourself a pat on the back.
This is why I love to see the other extreme flaunt its power. I proudly point to the NBA Players Association which represent a couple thousand near, or actual millionaires who are the actual BACKBONE of the NBA. You know, the talent? Sort of like what the nurses who do all the work at hospitals are? Anyway, the NBAPA is equal in the argument for their sport. Too bad pro baseball is forbidden by law to do what the NBA players can do. But I suppose that’s why we can have minor leaguers playing for peanuts and holding down jobs at car washes in the off season.
The best question that came from last night’s GOP debate, in my opinion, was the one from a Yahoo commenter who asked “When was the last time you had to cut back on *necessities* in order to survive?” Did you notice that *none* of the candidates gave a direct answer and, of course, when Mitt Romney can bet $10,000.00 (or about 0.0055% of his net worth) on a *trivial* political point, it stands to reason why he’d have to admit that he *never* in his life had to cut back on *anything* in order to survive. He had to reach back into papa’s early days. Bachmann still clips coupons with her net worth in the millions! Poor girl. Rick Perry had to bath in a #3 wash tub, just like I did, and gee, what a great real estate oracle he turned out to be. So this millionaires club running for the nomination couldn’t even answer the question. Makes you feel cozy, don’t it. You’re working for them and as soon as you’re used up, the Job Creator cartel will dump you without so much as a going away party at the Motel 6 Hospitality Room."

The point of the Occupy movement is simply this: The system has been rigged, through a variety of methods, to send the wealth of the nation to a few at the top in such a way that the many at the bottom are deprived of the very opportunity to succeed, to advance, sometimes to even survive. It has nothing to do with a free ride, hand-outs or taking from rich to give to the poor. It has only to do with the removal of the artificial obstacles that keep people of good character and great potential at the bottom of the pile.

Eavesdropping

Okay, I know this is none of my business, but you guys were talking loudly just a few feet from where I was working, and I couldn't help but overhear practically every word, and naturally I developed an opinion on what you were talking about.

First off, judging someone for being judgemental, I think, is the height of hypocrisy. Now that's not a criticism; hypocrisy is human nature. But it is a contradiction that weakens your argument.

Secondly, I'm guessing that you are, what? in your mid-thirties or thereabouts? So your parents would be at least in their mid-fifties, right? That would mean they've already settled into the people they will always be. If you can deal with that, good. If not, get out. If you want a change in the relationship, it's going to have to come from you, because they aren't going to do much changing.

Thirdly, most people aren't going to live their lives to meet your expectations. The only exceptions might be your kids or your employees, but even that's gonna have some huge limitations. If you don't like the people your brothers have become, tough. They're not here to please you; they have their own lives to live, whether you approve or not.

The big question that I see, and that your friends didn't ask, is 'Why do you feel the need to have everyone conform to the image that you think is right for them?' But like I said, this is none of my business.

Survivor

So I'm standing in the lobby working on my inventory when the decorative railing around the second story windows start to rattle as if the wind was blowing through an open window. I realized quickly that it might actually be an earthquake, but I didn't feel anything.

Moments later, someone from the 12th floor calls the front desk to report that their room was shaking. Did we have an earthquake? JS had been talking to MP, and was surprized by the call. He didn't know; we didn't feel anything in the lobby. Then someone called from the 10th floor to report the same thing. Then MP's wife called his cell phone to ask him if he'd felt it.

JS started hunting for news online, and discovered that we had indeed had a 4.7 magnitude quake. Later, on Facebook, my friend Mark reported that he'd felt it very strongly. His research revealed that the epicenter was actually very close by. He provided a map with the epicenter's coördinates, smack on top of his little hometown, 50 miles east of OKC.

Several other friends and my husband were reporting that they had also felt the quake. My buddy Jason, who also lives east of OKC, said he was feeling aftershocks till around 5:30am. So now I'm feeling a bit cheated.

Breaking the Rules

I'm not allowed to blog about work anymore. However...

The Victimization of a Yes Man

Ten bucks.
For an hour upstairs separating sticks from orchids when I could have been down front pulling cars for the departing wedding party at 5 bucks per car.
Now it's not her fault. How could she know that I was expecting at least six times that amount. No, I blame Peanuthead.
Peanuthead is not his real name, of course. It's just that his head is shaped like a peanut. Seriously. The guy should be wearing a monocle and a top hat with his grey valet uniform.
Actually, the real problem is that I'm too acquiescent (everybody sing: ♫ I'm just a guy that caint say no. I'm in a turible fix...♫), which doesn't go unappreciated by my indoor co-workers. I can sometimes wind up with a lot of overtime because someone says "Oh, Ron, before you go..." Somehow, though, it doesn't have the same effect when my fellow valets ask me to do something. Instead, I wind up stressed and broke.
There's a transition period between 2nd and 3rd shift. Most nights it lasts for a minute or two while the afternoon guys tell me about the day and what work is left over. Then they leave, and the night is all mine.
But on those nights that we have events that last into the night, they stick around to help out until such a time that it is determined that I can handle it all by myself without getting totally swamped. Even on the nights when I need them, I still think they are just in the way, and I want them gone. I also feel a bit out of control when they are there, which I resent because this is MY shift, and, unless someone is there who can trump my authority, I should be in charge.
On those busy nights when they are sticking around, somehow I get stuck with all the LAs (Luggage Assistance), which I actually enjoy doing, but often I know it's going cost me more money than I am going to make off of it because lately people are just not tipping well. I wind up with a fiver, which is what I can make pulling around one car, which takes less time, less effort, and a lot less personal interaction. The afternoon guys have already made twice or more what I can hope to make on the night shift, so why don't they do the LAs during the busy times, and let me have a chance at a good night?

It was just getting busy last night when the front desk called the bellstand requesting a bellman and bellcart to the 2nd floor. Peanuthead answered the phone, but he didn't go do it. I had gone to get a car for a couple who just need something out of the trunk, and Peanuthead offered to take the car back to the garage so that I could go up to 2 with a cart. I told him I would take the car back, thinking that that might force him to actually do something about the call that he got. But no, when I got back, he was still at the bellstand. Well, the job needed to be done, so...
When I got upstairs, the wedding planner directed me into the ballroom where there were three tables with about 40 or 50 flower arrangements that she said needed to be taken down to her car. One of the banquets guys and I loaded them all up on two carts and took them out to the foyer, where she told us that the actual flowers were to be trashed. We knew the banquet ladies would want to take the flowers home, so we separated the flowers from the filler and foliage. I got interrupted to help the mother of the bride take some wedding gifts up to the sixth floor, where we discovered that the food that was supposed to be delivered to the new couple had been delivered to the room the bride had been in the night before instead of the suite she was in now, and her sister was eating it.
After getting that all straightened out, I went back down to 2, where the sorting was almost done, and started loading the now empty vases back on the carts. The banquets head and I wheeled the carts to the elevator and out into the lobby, with the wedding planner right behind us. As we got out of the elevator, we passed by Peanuthead, who asked, "Where've you been?" I wanted to slap him, especially since he and the other guy were ready to go, which meant that all the business out front was done. Shit.
The BH and I loaded up her Jeep, then he went inside while I visited with her a bit more. She got out her wallet and pulled out a 20, about a third or less of what I felt I deserved. "Do you have change?"
My job is basically an acting job, so I acted like she hadn't just punched me in the stomach, and resisted the urge to say "Twenty IS change." Instead I said, "I believe so," and pulled out my meager take for the evening, and asked, "How much do you want back?" I gave her the ten dollar bill she asked for, but I had to turn away when she said she hoped that that was enough.

I told the morning guys about what had happened, and they understood exactly why my anger and disgust was centered on Peanuthead. One of them reminded me of Peanuthead's habit of standing with his hips pressed against the bellcart door like he's trying to prevent anyone else from getting to the keys. He pointed to the the hole in the door where the lock used to be before the new one was installed. "That hole is for [Peanuthead]'s penis." The one thing we couldn't decide on, though, was whether he was oblivious or sneaky.
Later, when I complained to someone else, I was told that I just needed to learn to stand up for myself. I know that's true. But I'm not confrontational. I can use my blog for some passive aggression and venting, but I need to take some more positive steps.
I've got the weekend to think about it.

So Apparently I've Stolen a Car

About 4:45am, Ms 804 called the bellstand and asked for her car. Now it only takes two minutes for me to pull around a car, so if she had called and left her room immediately, I would still have it out front before she was out of the elevator. But no, I had to wait in the lobby for her when I had other things to do (deliver newspapers).

Finally the elevator door opens, and asked the woman who stepped out, "Are you Ms 804?" She said yes, so I asked, "May I put your luggage in the car?" She said yes, so I took the suitcase out to the vehicle and put it in the trunk. She had some business with the front desk about her charges, and while that was being handled, she handed me her valet ticket, which I didn't look at, since the car was already outside. When she was done, I escorted her outside, gave her the keys and directions to the airport. She sat down in the Smoking Oasis to have a cigarette before she left. After a few minutes she was gone.

A couple of minutes later, Ms 804 came out of the elevator wanting the car I had pulled around. (Panic!)

Now we've got to figure out who that other woman was, and Vizzini is not panicking fast enough for me, until I remember that I have her valet ticket. Turns out, she was Ms 805, and I still have her car.

(I should mention at this point that I am using their room numbers as euphemisms for their last names, and their names sound nothing alike. The fact that their rooms were across the hall from each other was just an amazing coincidence.)

Since Ms 804 was also headed tot he airport, I asked if she'd be interested in taking Ms 805's car. She said she would rather not take on that responsibility, but she still needed a ride to the airport. I decided to take her myself in our van.

Our chef does a cooking show early in the morning on one of the local TV stations, and uses our van to transport all his supplies. He never cleans the van when he returns it, nor does he fill the gas tank. The van smells like old cooking oil, and it's an embarrassment to have to drive our guests anywhere in it. On this morning, I was spared that embarrassment because there were no seats in the van. I wound up taking Ms 804 and her companion in my car (I was so glad it was relatively clean), which is actually against the rules, but what choice did I have?

In spite of the tension being felt by all, conversation in the van was light. We talked about other snafus we'd been privy to in our lives, and they talked about their dealings with car rental companies. At the airport, there were apologies, thank yous and goodbyes. Then I headed back.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...I mean, hotel, Ms 805 has called to tell us she got the wrong car. When she arrived at Thrifty, they informed her that the car belonged to Hertz. She told Vizzini that she hadn't even noticed that it was a different car. She thought that I had just adjusted the seat. Looking into it later, I found that she had driven in to the hotel three days before, parked the car in valet, and hadn't used it again till it was time to go home. So at $50 a day for rental, plus tax, and $20 per night for valet parking, she spent at least $240 on a car when she could have spent $55 plus tip on two taxis. And since she hadn't seen the car in three days, she didn't notice that I had pulled around a light gray Corolla instead of her blue Optima.
Our Loss Prevention Officer called over to Hertz to make sure that the car had been returned, and the clerk he talked to went to check. While he was gone, LPO could hear Ms 804 in the background getting very upset with the other clerk who was telling her that since I had given the car to someone else, that I had essentially STOLEN the car and the police needed to be called, and that since her name was the one on the contract, that she was responsible for paying for it. Then the first clerk came back and told LPO that the car had indeed been returned.
LPO and Vizzini started making plans about how to return the Thrifty car. They decided that what should be done was to call Dane, the 6:00 bellman, to come in early (which they did), then the overnight houseman and I would drive the car and the van out to he airport. LPO decided he'd better call Thrifty to make sure that that was okay. I had arrived at the hotel by this time, so I got to witness the conversation.
The Thrifty clerk told LPO that since the contracted driver was no longer available, that they would have to send a tow truck out to the hotel to pick up the car, which would be charged to Ms 805. LPO said that couldn't happen, because we, the hotel, were ultimately responsible for what had happened. Can they charge it directly to the hotel? The Thrifty Manager would be in at 8:00; we would have to ask him.
Up to this time, I had thought that fixing the problem would just be a matter of getting the people and the cars where they belonged. I had no idea it would be made more complicated by contracts and liabilities and tow trucks.
Dane arrived "early" at about 5:59, so I went up to deliver the papers. The whole time I had a sick feeling in my gut because I didn't know if my job was in jeopardy-- or if I was going to be arrested. I decided the best course of action was to let HR know what had happened before anyone else. When I finished the papers, I went directly to the HR office, and told the head of HR the whole story. She asked if I had talked to the Director of Loss Prevention. I hadn't (he came in while I was delivering papers), but I was sure that LPO had. She called DoLP and found out that LPO had told him very little, and he suggested I come up and talk to him.
On the way, I ran into AFOM, who said he had talked to our General Manager, who had asked, "Were they similar cars at least?" "I think so, yes." "Well, don't worry about it. I've done that before. Well, not me personally; people who worked for me." That was a relief. At least I knew I could keep my job.
DoLP and I went into the office to talk. Halfway through the story, AFOM came in, so I had to tell the story again. While telling the story to him in his office, FOM came in, and I had to tell the story a fourth time. I was getting pretty good at it.
FOM suggested we call the call the rental agencies and find out where we stood. AFOM called Hertz, who said they had the car in their possession, and everything was taken care of. He called Thrifty, and the manager told him that it was perfectly okay for us to just bring the car out and drop it off. All that worrying for nothing.
By the time AFOM and I got back from the airport, it was almost 10:00. This problem had consumed five hours of my morning, and kept me at work 2½ hours late.
Of course, I've heard of this kind of thing happening. But this is the first time it's happened at our hotel, and it would have been nice if it had happened to someone else. But at least I have a story to tell.

No Newspaper For You!

One of my nightly duties is to deliver the USAToday to all of the rooms that have been rented in the hotel. Each paper is put into a black burlap bag decorated with "SH" in white scripted letters, and hung on the door handle of each room.

Normally, the bags are the biggest problem I have each morning. As the maids clean the rooms, they are supposed to gather the bags and send them downstairs to the housekeeping department in the basement, where they will be gathered in bulk and taken to the bellcloset on the 1st floor. Since they do not have the code for the door lock, either security or one of the bellmen will let them in, where they can put the bags on the large roll-around spindle, thus making it easy for me to gather as many as I need to make my deliveries the next morning. This rarely happens.

Instead, I find them piled on the floor, on the shelves, on the spare bellstand--and that's if they make it to the bellcloset at all. Otherwise, they'll be in the basement piled on the laundry box in housekeeping, or on any other flat surface that's handy, or hanging from various protrusions of the housekeeping carts and machinery that happen to be around. Last week, I found 11 of them in the trash.

If they never made it to the basement, they're frequently in one pile or another on the service elevator landing of each of the guest floors, or hanging on some door handle. If I have time, I'll ask security to loan me the passkey so that I can raid the (23) maids closets,where I will find them still hanging on the maids carts, or just tossed in with the towels and linens.

Guests contribute to the problem, too. Stayover guests leave the Do Not Disturb signs on their doors, so the maids don't clean their rooms, and therefore do not have an opportunity to retrieve the bag. During conventions, this forces me to go down to the dungeoun for more, even when I know there are sufficient quantities in circulation already. Also, a lot of guests think that the bags are souvenirs, and take them home, not realizing that they are actually stealing them. Often the bellman or front desk clerk will catch them on the way out, which is why I also find bags in the office.

But the bags are only one problem I have to solve to do this job. Two days in advance, the night auditor is supposed to order enough newspapers to cover every occupied room. For reasons that have not been sufficiently explained, this doesn't always happen, and I get fewer than I need. In that case, I have to deliver to all Hilton Honors members (a contractual obligation), and the rest of the papers are brought back to the lobby for whoever else wants one. If I'm a few short on the number needed for the HH guests, I can use some of the other papers we carry.

But this morning, there is no paper delivery at all. We have 211 rooms occupied, 151 of which are HH members, and I got 75 newspapers. Being shorted by 76 papers for a minimum delivery, there is no way to deliver them equitably, and therefore all papers will be kept downstairs. Somebody will get yelled at today, and it won't be me.

Okay, here's the real scoop (but don't tell anyone.)

Ever since the Knicks told the press that they'd lost their game to the Thunder because the ghosts in the hotel had kept them awake all night, interest in the ghost stories at our hotel has gone up considerably. I personally get asked about them a lot, and I've decided that it would make a good blog post, so here goes.

The NBA teams usually come in pretty late, and they have a lot of equipment and personal luggage, so on those nights a couple of the daytime guys will come in and help out. On this particular night, the Knicks were arriving right at shift change, right at the beginning of my shift, so Bossman and a couple of other guys were there to take care of them while I took care of the other arriving guests. I actually got very busy.

Since it was still relatively early, a couple of the players decided they wanted to go out to one of the bars in Bricktown. They were waiting out on the front sidewalk for a taxi as I came out running to go get someone's car. I was halfway down the front sidewalk on the way to the parking garage when one of them shouted "Hey!"

I turned around and came back to them. "Yessir?"

"Is this place really haunted?"

I'm to busy at this time to start telling stories, so I just said, "We're not allowed to talk about it." They stiffened up and their eyes got real big. The taxi pulled up just at that moment, and I turned around and continued my run to the garage.

It actually is true that we're not supposed to talk about the ghost stories. AFOM used to keep a journal of things that have happened since the hotel re-opened, but the GM confiscated it, telling him, "This cannot exist." Now AFOM keeps a new journal at home.
The taxi drivers, however, are the worst about telling ghost stories. Not only do they love doing it, but the stories have nothing to do with the things that actually happen here. And now these two basketball players have a taxi taking them to get drinks. This can't be good.

Two nights later, a former co-worker sends me a newspaper article via Facebook about the Knicks blaming their loss on the ghosts in the hotel. Then, minutes later, I saw a promo for the news saying they'd be talking about the same thing. I called my dad. "Hey Dad! Watch channel four tonight. There's going to be a funny story about the hotel."
When I got to work that night, I told the security guys, "We were on channel four tonight."
They said, "We were on every channel tonight."
I walked out front and found Bossman at the counter. I said, "We made the local news tonight."
He said, "We made the national news tonight."
Now this can be good news or bad news. On the one hand, lots of people think its fun and exciting to stay in a haunted hotel, and we could get a lot of business from it. On the other hand, NBA players are very superstitious, and we don't want to lose a lucrative contract.

The reason Bossman was there was because the Spurs were coming in. (You know, the team with the gorgeous redhead.) We weren't busy otherwise, so I actually got to help this time. The Knicks' coach had tripped over the tiny little step at the west entrance, so it was my job to say "Good evening. Welcome. Watch your step" to these towering men who kept asking me, "Is this place really haunted?"
Our VIP liason is a tiny little thing, half as tall as the guys surrounding her. As she was passing out the keys they kept asking her, "Is this place haunted?", to which she emphatically replied, "Don't worry. I don't have any of you on that floor."

There is no "that" floor. Stuff happens on every floor. But only for people who have no clue that there might possibly be ghosts in the hotel.

Over the next few nights I found out more stuff about the Knicks' stay. One of the security guys told me that one of the guys complaining to the press about the ghosts was only on the court for three minutes, the other was on the bench all night. He also said that if the team had gone to bed the night before the game instead of staying up with the women, the beer, and the 4am chicken wings from room service, they might have won.
But the funniest part was that the coach, knowing that he had a nervous player on his team, had hired one of our morning bellmen to go up to that player's room and move his furniture.
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I went down to HR one Thursday morning and told HRBossette that I thought the Thunder would do pretty well against the Lakers that night.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I went up and down the halls with a tape recording of a baby crying last night."

She gave me a look of abject horror.

"I'm just kidding."

She grabbed her chest and started huffing as if she'd just survived a heart attack. Though her concern was real, we did have a good laugh over my little joke. (She and I have always had a good rapport. Fortunately. As evidenced by the fact that I still have my job.)

http//fr-fr.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=10150109154117366

Pride and Groom Goeth Before a Fall

I've coined a new term: EXPECTOREE n. -a person who, by his actions and attitudes, invites the waiter to spit in his food.

I escorted the newlywed couple up to their room, one of the suites on a lower floor. Her dress was beautiful, as was she, and I gave her my usual compliment: "You look lovely. You should wear that all the time." They obliged me with a laughing agreement. I asked how long they would be staying with us, and they said they had to leave at 5:00am (it was already after midnight.) I've never understood the couples that got married one evening, then catch an early morning flight to Aruba, or wherever, going from one stressful day to another with no rest, and I made a comment to that effect. They responded with a yeah, we know. I gave a shortened tour of the room, introduced myself, and offered my availability for the night. The groom asked me if I could have room service send up some champagne, which I did.

Flash forward to 4:00am. Vizzini, our front desk clerk, calls the room for their wakeup call. No answer. So he waits a couple of minutes and calls again. No answer. On the third try, someone picks up and drops the reciever. Often, guests think we have an automated system, so it was reasonable to think that someone in the room was awake now.

At 5:00, Vizzini called the room to let them know their taxi was there. No answer. I suggested they might be on the way down. But after a few minutes, there was still no couple. Vizzini called the room again. No answer. Vizzini called our security officer and asked if she could go up to the room for a phisical wakeup call. When she heard what room it was, she told Vizzini that that was the room that called down for alcohol after the bar had closed, and then griped the room service waiter out for not selling it to him. She asked me to go with her.

On the way up, I told her that I had taken the couple up when they had arrived. She knocked, and then pounded on the door, saying "security" loud enough to be heard through the door. There was no response, so we discussed whether she should enter the room to see if they could be roused. She decided not, since this was the wedding night and doing so could be indiscreet. When we got downstairs, Vizzini tried once again by phone, and still got no answer.

Vizzini told the taxi driver that we weren't getting any response from the room. Taxi Driver said that that was alright because he was pre-paid, and he left. Vizzini continued calling periodically, but by the time he had clocked out and gone home, he still had gotten no answer.

When FOM got to work at about 7:30, he read Vizzini's email about the events of the night, and asked me what had happened with the wakeup calls, and asked why security hadn't gone ahead and entered the room. I explained our discussion. He wasn't sure he agreed with me, but he understood.

A little while later, FOM came to the bellstand and told the four bellman that that room needed luggage assistance. By that time, I had explained the situation to the morning guys, so they knew that the couple probably was upset. I volunteered because the couple already knew me.

Upstairs, the groom answered after the second knock. He was obviously angry, but he was polite to me. I loaded up the bellcart and asked him if he needed us to arrange for another cab. He said his transportation had been taken care of. I took the bellcart downstairs, stowed it, and went back up to see if they might need anymore help. I almost ran into him as he entered the elevator.

The tension in the elevator was thick, so I tried some light conversation (which was also an attempt to let him know that he had not been neglected by the hotel.) I said, "Boy, you guys can sleep through anything. We couldn't even wake you when we were banging on your door." He grunted some kind of acknowledgement, but it was obvious he didn't want to talk.

From the elevator, we walked to the front door and watched out the window for his ride. I asked what type of vehicle we were looking for, and he said that he wasn't sure. It could be any one of three, but he would recognize it when it came in. He leaned against a column for a bit, and then turned and left. I didn't see where he went, but thought he might have gone back upstairs to check on his bride.

FOM had been hanging around in the lobby hoping to find and speak to the young man, but, of course, he had no idea who he was looking for. He asked me if it was the guy that was just with me, and I said yes, but he's gone back upstairs.
"Isn't that him in the bar?"
"No, his wife is still upstairs, and...oh, yeah, it is."

FOM went over to the young man, introduced himself, and asked if he could sit down and talk to him about the situation. The young man said no. So FOM stood. He tried to let the young man know that although we had tried to wake him up many times, he was sorry the situation happened the way it did. FOM is a very conciliatory person. But the young man cut him off and, in rather obscene language, told him to go away. So he did.

But a moment later, The young man came after FOM in a way that made FOM think he was going to be punched in the face. (He told me later that he had to conciously remind himself to keep his hands behind his back.) The young man got right up in his face (with his really bad alcohol breath) and started yelling, "How does it feel to ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒ for a living?!" After that, he went on an icredibly obscene rant in front of all the guests and employees in the lobby. FOM remained outwardly calm, and his only response was to point out to the young man that this was abuse, and the police would be called. FOM went to the front desk and told one of the morning clerks to call the police, which she did. Then he went to the office and started taking notes of all he could remember of the events of the last few minutes.

In the meantime, a car arrived with the parents of one or the other of them. In spite of what just happened, the guy is still my guest, so I was as helpful and cheerful as if nothing was going on. After I got all the luggage loaded, I went and stood at a respectful and attentive distance (that is, close enough to be ready if they need me, yet far enough away so I'm not up in thier business.) The parents went inside to get the bride, leaving the young man and me outside alone. He said, "You go ask that ▒▒▒▒▒ of a boss of yours what it feels like to ▒▒▒▒ a ▒▒▒▒. 'Cause if I ever see him again I'll beat the ▒▒▒▒ out of him. Now you go inside. I'm done with you. And you get no tip." (As if the tip was an issue.) I shrugged my shoulders and went inside.

FOM was just inside the door and asked me how it was. I replied, "Charming." I went over to the elevators so I could be ready to help when the bride came down. I could see the groom in the back seat of the car. He appeared to be crying.

FOM came out to the front desk to ask for the wake-up sheet (important evidence) and check to see when the police would be there. The front desk clerk called them again. I went into the office with him to try to find the wake-up sheet, which seemed to have gone missing, though we found it soon. While we were in the office, the front desk clerk asked what was going on. FOM explained the situation, and by consulting his notes, was able to tell her exactly and verbatim what the young man had said to him in the lobby. I added what the young man had said to me. FOM wrote it down.

I went back to the lobby in time to see the car pull away, taking with it the culpret and his bride. FOM came out and asked about the police again. The front desk clerk told him that she'd already called again and was told that they couldn't get a patrol car to answer. I informed them that the couple had already left, so FOM told her to call back and cancel. Then he went back to his office.

It was way past quittin' time for me, so I said goodbye to the guys out front, and went back to clock out. Before doing so, I went and sat down in FOM's office. He was scribbling notes on paper, and typing them into the computer. "Look at me," he said. "I'm so upset I'm shaking." He told me the story from his point of view ("He's gonna hit me! He's gonna hit me! Keep your hands behind you back! Oh, God, this is it! Keep you hands behind your back! Oh my... god his breath stinks!") and we compared notes. At one point I got up to go clock out, but he said he wanted me on the clock for this. I didn't get out till after 9:00.

Thing is, I really don't understand what his beef with FOM was. FOM wasn't even involved until late in the story. But one thing I can say, if I could give advice to his bride it would be this: When you go out to dinner, make sure the waiter knows which plate is yours.

Historicity

I just got back from a booksigning. A couple of local newspaper guys have written a book about the hotel I work at, and I had to be there to get my autographed copies: one for me, one for my mom for Christmas. It's fun working at a historic hotel. No one ever wrote a book about any of my other places of employment.

Spoiled much?

I don't usually get upset with a guest. I get irritated or exasperated by situations a guest might create, but for me to really be angry takes a lot.

About 4:00 this morning, CW needed a break before the morning exodus began, so she left me in charge of the front desk for a few minutes while she went out to the garage for a cigarette. She hadn't been gone a minute when a young cute drunk couple came to the front desk needing a taxi to go to IHop. I went outside to the spotlight at the flag plaza and used my little mirror to hail the cab down the street, but he didn't respond, so I had to run down the street to get him.
The cab driver was someone I had never seen before and, judging by his lack of urgency, I guessed he was new. By the time we got back to the hotel (I had been gone about three or four minutes) there was a white pickup at the entrance. The young couple thanked me for the taxi (she gave me a hug and a kiss,) and they left.
I went inside, where I found a man standing at the front counter yelling "hello" into the office doorway. I walked up to him wearing my monogrammed jacket and valet uniform, and said, "Good morning."
He looked me up and down and said, "Do you work here?"
"Yessir"
"Do you do both this and that?" he asked, pointing to the office and the drive. His question led me to believe that he needed to check in.
"I'm the valet. Let me go get CW for you." I went out the door, where Security Guy told me that CW was already in the office.
I went back out to find the guest griping at CW because he had pulled in at 4:00am and didn't find anybody outside to help him park his billion dollar pickup. He said he'd gone to the parking garage over there (pointing north--valet parking is on the north side of the building, self-park is on the east,) but the gate wouldn't open for him. He came back around to the front of the building, but didn't find anyone outside, and no one was at the front desk, and the only person around was that idiot in the bar playing chopsticks so loud that no one could hear him calling for help. He owns a multi-million dollar company in Tulsa, and this is a shoddy way to run a business (he repeated this a few times,) when he was paying so much for a room. He asked several questions about our lack of service, and what he needed to do to get what he needed. There was a strong implication that he believed that I should have been standing out in the cold all night waiting for his arrival, regardless of my other duties. He wouldn't shut up long enough to actually let us answer, and it took him a while to say that all he needed was valet service. "So what do I need to do?"
"What's your last name?" I asked. He told me, and I wrote it on a valet ticket and handed him the claim stub.
"What do I do with this?"
"This is how you get your truck back."
"Oh, I guess I need that. What else do I need to do?"
"Just give me your truck keys."
"That's it?" He said the keys were in the truck, and he needed to get some stuff out. I followed him outside while he explained his concerns about security in our garage, and my driving. He apologized for his tirade a couple of times, but not in a way to make me feel better about the things he had said. He got some odds and ends out of the vehicle, and then he and his travelling companion, who had been in the truck the whole time, went inside and up to their room.
I parked the truck in a place where the security camera would see it, locked it up, and went back inside. CW was working on writing a very obsequious letter in a card* apologising for her "inexcusable absence" and informing him that his valet charge was being comped. Although comping the valet was the right thing to do, I felt that her apology was a bit much. After all, none of this was her fault; it was just a case of bad timing. If he'd come in five minutes earlier, or five minutes later, he would have had nothing to complain about. Or, if the taxi driver had answered my little flashy thing, I would have been there when he arrived and would have taken care of him immediately.
I spent the next couple of hours delivering statements and newspapers, so I had some time to be alone with my thoughts, and the more I thought, the angrier I got. Yeah, we regret that he was inconvenienced, but he still didn't need to talk to us that way. He wasn't being neglected; I was just helping someone else when he arrived. That kind of thing happens. We treat all of our guests with warm and gracious service and the young drunks are no less valuable to us than the CEOs, politicians and movie stars that go through here. And the rapid-fire questions/complaints tell us that you don't want answers; you just want to make us feel bad. If you just let us know what you need, we'll take care of you quickly and professionally.
And if I can back a seven passenger van with a U-Haul trailer into a narrow alley, I can sure as hell park an ordinary pickup, and when I do it will be just as secure as the Bentley on its left and the Ford Taurus on its right.
I delivered CW's card. I didn't want to.

*We have blank greeting cards, with a picture of the hotel on the front, for writing personalized notes to guests.

Ugh!!!!

Tip-wise, I did pretty good for a Tuesday last night. Too bad it was a Saturday. We had an entire wedding party of inadequate tippers. Even the bartenders were discussing them. To add insult to injury, one of the drunken guests was telling me how wealthy they all were, and how they'd all hook us up.
I think part of the problem was that the parking was pre-paid, and the guests assumed that the tips were pre-paid as well, or that the valets got a portion of the parking fee, putting them in the same category of people who think that we tip share, so if they tipped the guy last night, that means I get some of that too.
There are times that I wish I could lecture the guests about proper tipping, but we're not actually allowed to discuss that type of thing with the guests. Meanwhile, I'm worried about how I'm going to pay the phone bill.

Management Has No Sense of Humor

One of our afternoon front desk guys, Kevin, is a creative and incorrigible prankster. Example: A couple of months ago he got online and found some official forms from the Department of Human Services, printed them off, and arranged to have Bossman presented with papers explaining that his check was to be garnished to support the two-year-old daughter he didn't know he had. Brilliant!
One time, AFOM wrote a note on the big dry-erase board in the office complaining that he'd had to remove nine used glasses that had been left in the office. (This is a recurring problem, along with plates and silverware and other lunch remnants.) Kevin added, "Nine glasses of pop in the office, Nine glasses of pop, Take one down, Pass it around..."
But he almost got fired over one prank that went too far (in Management's opinion.) One of our HR managers had written a list of the top ten rules that employees must obey, and had hung up copies all over the employee areas. Kevin, having noticed that a chair from the restaurant was downstairs needing to be repaired, used her list as a basis for what was ostensibly an employee rewards perk.
When I got to work, there was a new flyer taped to the locker room door. (Actually, they were all over the place.) I read it, thinking at first that it was one of those lame-yet-kinda-cool things they do for employee morale. But the more I read, the more ridiculous it got. Click on the picture, and you'll see what I mean.
Upstairs, it was pretty obvious that Kevin was proud of his work, but the next morning, our head of security went around and took all the flyers down, muttering about looking through the security tapes to find the culprit. I found out later that upper management wanted Kevin fired, but the FOM refused, so he was given a three day suspension instead. Most of the rest of us thought this was an unnecessary overreaction, and some spoke of rallying to Kevin's defense with a prank of their own, but within a few days the whole thing had blown over, and now it's just one of those stories everyone laughs about. Except for management, of course.