thoughts on being a mean girl (men don't have cankles).

I was skimming through my favorite sections on the HuffPost this morning when I came upon an article about the "mean girls" myth. All snide Lindsay Lohan references aside, I clicked on the link hoping it would provide a decent commentary on working women in the professional world, and perhaps some advice on how to avoid being typecast as the Hillary Clinton of hospitality (don't get me wrong, I love me some HilRod). I'm going to step out on a short limb and argue that the notion of the mean girl is not a myth.

HOWEVER, that's not the point I'm trying to make here. Let me take a few steps back.

I have this coworker: female, student, my age, generally friendly person. The first round we had as coworkers didn't go well and she ultimately quit after a couple of months. I was left with a rather unfavorable impression despite all the nice things our coworkers had to say about her. We are currently in the middle of round two as coworkers; to put it nicely, it's been a roller coaster.

On a personal level, we're chatty 20-somethings struggling to find a balance between books and booze and I can say that I truly like her. On a professional level, she drives me bat-shit crazy. Over the last few weeks I have been very vocal about my displeasure with her work performance to her and to my boss; it is for this reason, I'm sure, that she has taken me for a "mean girl." It is not for personal pleasure or benefit that I concern myself with making her ineptitude public knowledge, I do it purely for the sake of preserving the sense of duty and unity that is SO important working at this particular establishment.

My chiding did not go unnoticed: this morning my boss decided it is time to find a replacement. I must admit, I did experience intense triumph but not because I feel responsible for pushing her out. The final straw was all her own doing... she failed to set up the overnight phones properly, did not take out the trash, did not even attempt her delegated housekeeping duties, wrongly assigned room keys, caused a near-catastrophe for housekeeping, undercharged rates, wrongly upgraded rooms, failed to clock out and left before her shift was scheduled to end, and then she called in "sick." And that was just yesterday. The triumph I was so happy to bask in came from the fact that the "meanness" she attributed to me wasn't without cause. I'm not actually mean, I'm stern. And mostly importantly, I'm not willing to sugar coat the facts of her laziness just to make her feel better about being lazy, or to make myself feel better about telling the truth.

Whether or not I a mean girl, or if she's a mean girl, or if mean girls exist at all, I resent being painted into categories based on my gender that will either render me meek and passive or strong and bitchy. Politics has given us shining examples of this gender bias: either you're a ball buster-with-cankles-Hillary-Clinton type or you're a ding-dong-with-a-nice-rack-Sarah-Palin type (or a pushover-as-influential-as-a-skeleton-Nancy-Pelosi type, but that's a third element that doesn't exactly fit the purpose of my analogy). Either way, I'm fucked.

Ever notice how no one talks about man cankles?... sexism, puh.

End of story: I GOT A RAISE.

thoughts on taking work home.

My lovely boyfriend has said "you're not at work right now, it's not your problem" to me enough times to break me of the habit of inviting my problems from work into our home. I think part of what makes me so good at my job is that I care, and I feel like my reputation is on the line when things go wrong despite the fact that I'm just a hired employee.

That being said, I have become increasingly more aware of how my job takes a toll on my personal life. I can't be an attentive girlfriend or daughter or friend at home if I left my head at work. For the longest time, I felt guilty leaving work knowing that I am more knowledgeable and more skilled at certain things; it felt as if my absence was a sure sign that everything would fall to pieces.

Well, that is not true.

I take a lot of shit from my coworkers for not answering my cell phone on my days off (and even on the days I work, too); this issue comes up at least once a week, so much, in fact, that one of my coworkers is convinced that it is a problem with my cell phone carrier and dropped calls. Truth be told, I have finally gotten myself to a mental state in which I have no guilt for living a life outside of work, and I've found there is little room to test my patience on such things like calling my cell phone on my day off in the middle of dinner.

It is TWO DAYS in a row now that I have received phone calls of the professional nature. Let me clarify: two MISSED calls. I refuse to answer.

Maybe I have a bad attitude, but I feel that as an employee who is paid hourly I am not obligated to provide any services outside of the hours I am scheduled to work. If something has gone wrong, if something needs fixing, if someone needs instruction, and if I am off the clock, I believe that my boss (who conveniently happens to be the manager/owner) should be the one to call.

Perhaps if I was paid more I would feel differently. I appreciate the vote of confidence in my ability to manage the property from afar, but I don't appreciate being asked how to fix a minor computer issue while mid-bite at dinner.

OFF THE CLOCK = NOT MY PROBLEM = FUCK OFF.

back-to-back posts: some of the funnier anecdotes.

Room 500: The room next door is making a lot of noise and we can't sleep, can you get them to be quiet?
Front desk: Of course. *Call to Room 501* I just received a noise complaint about your room, can you please keep it down as a courtesy to your neighbors?
Room 501: Oh sorry, we were having group sex.

-----

On the morning of checkout after the last home football game (which was a particularly heartbreaking loss for the home team), I was short staffed and joined the housekeepers for an hour to help with the insurmountable work we had only a few hours to accomplish.

I have seen condoms and lube, sex toys, all kind of liquor, questionable substances of the white powder variety, just about everything under the sun when emptying rooms post-football checkout, but I reached a new terrifying low when I discovered a styrofoam cup full of poop. It could have been human OR animal... to this day I'll never know.

taxes, sharing personal information, and working nights.

As stated in the Iowa Tax Code: Local hotel/motel tax is impose on the gross receipts from the renting of sleeping rooms for 31 consecutive days or less. Contracts for periods of more than 31 consecutive days are exempt. To qualify, the renter must contract to rent for a single period of more than 31 days and cannot accumulate these days.

Because of the ambiguity of the words "contracted" and "accumulate" I guests in five rooms waiting on my interpretation that will decide the fate of HUNDREDS of dollars in past-paid taxes that they may be eligible to receive in the form of room credits.

I REALLY wish there was an entire class devoted to hotel taxes, I would pay money just to know this stuff better.

-----

There is a guy who stays here frequently and regularly on a company expense contract who just happens to be a close neighbor to my parents. I made a comment about his address once and it sparked a conversation that led to the discovery that his nephew was a classmate of mine in high school. I don't know this guy well, but it's nice to know that I'll have a little touch of home to look forward to every Wednesday. As usual, he stopped in tonight to ask for his morning wake-up call, then he ask how school was going and how my boyfriend is. I don't recall every sharing the fact that I have a boyfriend with him.

I'm sure it was innocent on his part; he knows exactly which house I grew up in and who my parents are so it's not as if I really have much to hide from him, but it got me thinking about the line between sharing friendly information and crossing the comfortable boundaries.

I try to stay pretty mum about my personal life, I don't even like sharing with my guests which classes I'm taking. I realize that there are things they can glean without me even having to say a word (for example, I have a calculus textbook sitting out on the desk which is a pretty good indication that I'm a student), but it bothers me when people notice things like
    - How I wear my hair, makeup, or clothes
    - Jewelry ("Are those real diamonds?" or "Did your boyfriend give that to you?" or "I don't see a ring, can I get your number?")
    - Changes in my work schedule (seriously, it doesn't matter why I wasn't here on Monday, you fucking creeper).

I know I'm prone to bouts or paranoia, but it worries me when people care about certain things, but I'm conflicted knowing that most of my job centers around building personal relationships with guests. I've built my entire business reputation at this place on being the nice, accommodating person, giving the personal touch that sways guests from staying with our cheaper-priced competitors. But I worry that this strategy has made me too much of a public figure about which people feel they are entitled to know everything.

Quelle dilemma.

-----

When I first got this job, I worked any and every day they asked of me. I was in it for the hours, anything to beef up my paycheck. After a while I settled into a regular schedule of strictly nights during the semester and I spent the summers filling in whenever needed, and this is how it stayed until recently. This semester I was in a pickle trying to schedule classes around work so I switched to mornings with one night a week - Wednesday.

So here I am on a Wednesday night, thinking how fking inconvenient it is that I can't just be at home. I've been spoiled by the mornings, getting to spend my day as I please, having dinner at home and being able to enjoy the sunlight instead of wasting it behind a desk.

BUT - I realized these thoughts are not helpful to my situation, and I should just be grateful that I have a job at all. So here I offer a cheers to Wednesdays and the sunnier side of having to be at work tonight.

Working Wednesday nights means:
1. I never have to worry about doing Accounting homework at home, because I always have a few quiet hours and free WiFi to get it done at work.
2. I never have to worry about missing a new episode of SVU, which is conveniently scheduled on Wednesday nights at 9pm and I have a TV at my disposal.
3. Free laundry. It's the only day of the week that I work that it's practical to bring my laundry, so it keeps me on a schedule and helps me maintain my apartment better.
4. I have a better relationship with my boyfriend, because we get to spend the night apart to tend to non-relationship things (I'm currently studying, and I would bet money he's playing Madden right at this moment).
5. My work week is over. Today is my practical Friday, meaning after today I have two days to spend as a please before my work week resets itself (yes, I realize that a REAL Friday is better than a PRACTICAL Friday, but beggars can't be choosers, okay?).

So there, happy Fridnesday.

thoughts on patience.

I'm not at work tonight (thankfully... I just about died of exhaustion -- and mild intoxication, but that's another story -- last night), but I had a thought that I just had to share.

I wanted to thank my job for grooming me into a more patient person. And by this I mean patient in several applications:

*Firstly, with people. People there are far too many people that we encounter that are just plain dumb.
*Secondly, with time. Having to maintain business at a desk for nine hour stretches has made sitting through a 2-hour class seem like a cake walk.
*Lastly, with learning. Working 9 hours is heavily peppered with boredom, and I have embraced the habit of filling my downtime with productive acts, namely reading, writing, and general intellectual thought. It is RARE that I watch television programming at work anymore, which is quite a change from when I first started and I relied on it with desperation.

So thank you, job, for helping me be a better student, especially on the days when I have a 7-hour stretch of classes. Because let's be honest, I really fucking needed it.

thoughts on incompetence

It's bright and early (ok, that's a lie... it IS early, but it's dark and gloomy), and I'm sitting at the desk trying to wolf down my Life cereal because 1) I am fucking starving and 2) if I don't do it now when it's quiet and not busy, I'll never get the chance. A man comes into the lobby for coffee (he's a black drinker, by the way) and I could tell IMMEDIATELY that he's a giant douche. After years of working here, I've developed a talent for being able to tell the tools from the squares, and I knew before this guy even spoke a word that I would not want to hear what he had to say.

"It's just me, I'm taking some coffee."

Problems with this scenario:
1. I hate when people announce themselves, as if I care to know what they do when I'm not looking.
2. I hate when people are so self-absorbed as to believe that
    a) I want to know who they are
    b) I care who they are or
    c) They are important enough for me to remember who they are.

Well, "just you"... good morning and get the fuck out of my lobby. OR, you can stay as long as you stop talking.

But this guy, no, it could not have been that easy. He just HAD to keep talking. Before I knew it he had turned my pretty granite countertop into his personal call center. He was on the phone with a staff member from the hotel he had stayed in the previous night. He kept telling the person "I had reservations are your hotel yesterday" when really he meant to say that he had STAYED at that hotel yesterday. It was driving me nuts because the wording he used was giving the very distinct impression that he was speaking about a future reservation (as in, he hadn't been there yet) but he was calling to ask about his drivers license that he believed to have left there yesterday. As a witness to his end of the conversation and as a hotel professional, I can vouch for the extreme confusion I'm sure the poor front desk person was experiencing while struggling to communicate with this douche.

He kept repeating himself over and over, wrongly using the term "reservation" each time, making less and less sense as the conversation continued. He was absolutely convinced that the only place his drivers license could be was at that hotel's front desk (in my professional opinion, he most likely lost it somewhere else), and when his threats did not produce any results he angrily hung up the phone, but not without first calling his friendly customer service representative an idiot.

It took some severe restraint on my part to keep from giving that man a talking-to. What an asshat.

7:06am is not too early to know already know that this Monday is going to suck.

monster post: thoughts on coffee, answering phones, and priceline.com

I often wonder how many people realize that they don't like coffee? It seems to me there is a strong, thoughtless undercurrent driving a person's daily coffee intake. Of course, I speak of the habitual coffee drinker and not the casual one such as myself. The benefit of working in the mornings (as much as I hate seeing 6am) is that I get to be a silent people-watcher. The daily ebb and flow of zombies stammering through the lobby to grab their morning cup is an observation I never fail to enjoy.

The majority of coffee drinkers fall within certain categories, each of which have distinctive characteristics that separate them from the crowd. First up, there are the thermos carriers: religious about their habit, much more concerned with quantity over quality; they will wipe you clean and then ask for more without shame. On the flip side, there are the mug carriers: the people who are also religious about their habit, but with an intolerable sense of piousness. They travel with their extra-special ceramic mug, god forbid anything happen to it, and they daintily sip taking special care to criticize every whiff. These people care about quality, but they tend to be too cheap or too lazy or too stupid to travel with their own brew and instead help themselves to the free Folgers only to complain at every swallowed drop, making sour faces as if they were being forced to drink or else face Chinese water torture. These snobby people tend to slurp and hold their mugs pinky-finger-out, because they're too good for manners and their little finger is too sacred to be expected to support a mug.

Then there are the world's-best-parent drinkers. I identify them in this manner not based on their parenting skills, but on my imaginary depictions of what their kitchen cupboards must look like: strewn with a menagerie of mismatched coffee mugs collected from local bank giveaways and their kids' summer camp art projects and really bad office party Secret Santas. These people happen to love Folgers; they have no time (and perhaps no money) for Starbucks or gourmet coffees, so they stock up on the trademark red plastic canisters ten-at-a-time whenever they go on sale at Kmart. These people almost always have children so traveling with a special mug is impractical and they're perfectly happy to take their brew in the provided styrofoam cups. I would bet money in Vegas that 9 times out of 10 these people also walk out with as many free cups as they can carry out the door to keep in their car as they travel to their next destination. Travel lids were made for these people.


Next up: the black drinkers. It is possible that the people in the aforementioned categories take their joe plain, but I reserve a special category for a specific black coffee aficionado. Some people prefer the taste of black coffee, some are elitists and believe coffee should not be tarnished by sugar or creamers, but these people are in it for a fix. Most likely their mouths are calloused, they walk to the coffee pot with purpose and imbibe as quickly as possible without much regard for temperature or taste. Their signature is the telltale "Aaaah" after the first gulp, as if they had been experiencing something excruciating that only piping hot arabica could cure. These people are completely incapable of successfully integrating into society without their morning tonic and should be avoided before first brew at all costs.

Regardless of the category, it has been my experience through observation that the majority of coffee drinkers believe that it is impossible to go about their day without at least eight ounces of java coursing through their systems. It's the first step after waking, before hygiene, before social interaction, before dressing, and mostly importantly before having to think. Coffee is the breakfast of champions, if by "champions" you mean the over-worked, under-slept, time-crunched robots grumpily tackling another day for another dollar, couldn't-appreciate-a-good-café-if-it-paid-them-a-million-dollars kind of crowd. Thanks, Folgers.

-----

When I answer the phone "___________, XXX speaking, how can I help you?" it's for YOUR benefit, not mine. I already know who I am and where I work. Also, CLEARLY you dialed the number, which means you HAVE our number, which implies that you know where you're calling, in which case, why is it necessary to ask "Is this ___________?" No it's the fking morgue, can I take your order?

Perhaps, when calling a place of business, it should be considered WHY you are calling before you call. If you don't have a specific reason for calling, I recommend calling when you get a clue. Might I suggest writing your questions on a piece of paper in advance? It would save both of us the trouble of having multiple phone calls that could have been handled in one.

I often dream of taking a sledgehammer to the phone console and all the portable phones. Mostly because I hate the ringing, but also because I hate how much of my time is spent on stupid people who are severely lacking in proper phone skills.

-----

Priceline.com topped the list of a recent survey of American retailers with the worst customer service. In theory, for the hotel industry Priceline is genius from both ends of business. Hotels have the opportunity to sell vacant rooms to an expanded population otherwise unreachable by other methods, and customers have the benefit of staying at hotels that are discounted due to vacancy as opposed to discounted for quality.

The unfortunate reality of this seemingly win-win situation is that the breakdown occurs in the third party, that being Priceline.com. This site in particular is especially guilty of making guarantees that it CANNOT OFFER. When booking hotels on Priceline guests are given the impression that they can request (read: DEMAND) such characteristics as pool-side, without neighbors, completely soundproof, etc., and that these needs will be met as guaranteed by the Priceline Promise. Certain things such as a room being non-smoking, or handicap accessible are completely accommodate-able, but regardless of our best efforts the hotel industry as a whole is completely incapable of guaranteeing things like specific room placement due to practicality. But because a person chooses to book their reservation through Priceline instead of through the hotel's own central reservation system, they are lead to believe that the 100% money back guarantee is the burden of the property at which they stay.

Let me assure you, it is not. Thousand-dollar-a-night five star hotels aside (yes, I'm talking about you, Dubai and Las Vegas), hotels for us regular folk are not equipped with the technology or other resources to give any customer the kind of customized stay that Priceline.com guarantees. If Priceline.com guarantees you a pool-side room when the property had no pool-side rooms to spare, your complaints at the front desk will not go unheard but they will go unresolved, at least by the property's staff. Despite all inclinations to believe so, this is not negligence. This is how Priceline works: you pay them money with your credit card, you stay at the hotel, but the hotel doesn't receive your money until AFTER your checkout, at which point the hotel charges a FRACTION of what you paid to a specified Priceline charge account. So not only does a hotel not get paid immediately, they also receive less money on Priceline rooms, AND have the misfortune of having to be on the receiving end of customer complaints when Priceline cannot deliver.

Ideally: You pay your money to Priceline, your complaints should go to Priceline, Priceline should fix the mess, and your negative opinions should be directed at Priceline.

Reality: You pay your money to Priceline, and the hotel is left to deal with the fallout from the Priceline Guarantee, at a cut of profit. So much for good business.

-----

Prominent Midwest Hotel Firm looking for a Hotel General Manager for a nationally branded site in the XXX area…

Requires a minimum of 2 years experience operating a lodging facility and at least 5 years in the hospitality business. Please send resume via email. <--- Oh if only :(

quick fast and easy. that's how I like it.

Guest: Can you.. uhmmm... uhmmm... can you uhmm get me uhmm like a towel?

I don't fucking know what a "like a towel" is. I tried forgiving this particular individual for his complete lack of thought; in fact I thought I was pretty generous for not making him repeat "May I please have a towel?" But after much thought I have decided I am unusually uncomfortable with the state of communication in this country.

For the record, I believe that Twitter and Facebook are ruining English in America. Between the vanity, rampant vapidness, and overall bad composition, intellectualism and professionalism and the future of this country are going down the drain... in 140 characters or less.

I frequently read articles on the HuffPost for the explicit purpose of seeing the user-posted comments. I can't exactly remember the topic of one article in particular, but I will always remember one of the comments. An older person commented that kids should not be forced into college immediately after high school unless they were prepared for the challenge. S/he suggested that perhaps it would benefit the student and society as a whole if some kids worked for a year before heading to university, to acquire the patience for and appreciation of the value of the college experience. S/he also recommended reading during this year off to keep one's mind sharp and engaged.

Now, having been one of those students who took time off to work between college attempts, I was feeling a bit bashful about not reading (aside from those two forever-lost weeks I spent reading the Twilight series). And then I remembered that not once did I cease my daily HuffPost habit, or my blogging compulsion (because, at the time, it was a compulsion... I felt intellectually isolated so I wrote to myself rather frequently), and I did my best to maintain healthy and thoughtful conversations with my friends and family when I could. I think the point the commenter was trying to make wasn't to read for the sake of being able to say it was done, but to do it with purpose.

What scares me the most about this new wave of social media is the redefining of the concept of "sharing." The button to click on the Twitter site before tweeting reads "Share," but realistically it should be "BRAG" or "ANNOUNCE" or "THRUST UPON UNWILLING AUDIENCES."

Share, as defined by the FreeDictionary.com:
1. To participate in, use, enjoy, or experience jointly or in turns.
2. To relate (a secret or experience, for example) to another or others.

I worry that "relate" and "experience" are slowly becoming archaic terms; this constant flow of ALL information is rendering everything meaningless. At best a topic stays relevant for a day (and by "relevant" I'm not talking about #tags) before being wiped clean from the collective consciousness. I used to think that having the Internet for continual global documentation was a great thing, now I see that it is just a crutch, another excuse not to have to learn or to THINK. From the outside it might seem trivial that I concern myself with a person's inability to properly ask for a towel, but in reality everyone should be worried. If it is so easy to utter "May I have a towel please?" and it's still not getting done, what else have we lost as a society?

-----

The seven hours of sleep I managed to get last night have made a tremendous difference compared to the four hours I normally get on tortured Friday nights. I have already checked in two people (currently 10:06AM) and I have yet to lose my patience on the subject. I'm feeling particularly well and chatty, and as I was checking in one of the early arrivers while going through the process with exceptional efficiency, she noted about her check-in "Wow, that was quick, fast and easy. That's how I like it!"

It's not that I don't enjoy having guests at the desk, for the most part I like being on the receiving end of the little snapshots of strangers' lives. I just never understood the stereotype of front desk clerks silent clicking and randomly typing for what seems like hours in those awkward moments at check-in. I know that clicking and typing serve their purposes, I know first hand how complicated hospitality software can be, but I firmly believe that if you do your job well enough you should know from memory how to navigate menus and input information without wasting your guests' or your own time. Quick, fast, and easy: that's really how it should be.

thoughts on shitting.

It never fails that when I have to relieve myself of stools, something happens. Either the phone rings or someone walks in or the ceiling collapses. Okay, maybe that last one is an exaggeration, but I wouldn't be surprised if the next catastrophe that happens here will be at a time that I am on a toilet.

seeks YOU to join their staff.

Banquet Captain, job description: Communicate service needs to chefs and stewards throughout functions. Total charges for group functions, and prepare and present checks to group contacts for payment. Ensure banquet rooms, restaurants, and coffee breaks are ready for service. Ensure proper centerpieces are displayed on every table.Inspect the cleanliness and presentation of all china, glass, and silver prior to use. Check in with guests to ensure satisfaction. Set tables according to type of event and service standards. Communicate additional meal requirements, allergies, dietary needs, and special requests to the kitchen. Maintain cleanliness of work areas throughout the day. Follow all company and safety and security policies and procedures; report accidents, injuries, and unsafe work conditions to manager; and complete safety training and certifications. Ensure uniform and personal appearance are clean and professional, maintain confidentiality of proprietary information, and protect company assets. Welcome and acknowledge all guests according to company standards. Speak with others using clear and professional language, and answer telephones using appropriate etiquette. Develop and maintain positive working relationships with others, support team to reach common goals, and listen and respond appropriately to the concerns of other employees. Ensure adherence to quality expectations and standards. Move, lift, carry, push, pull, and place objects weighing less than or equal to 25 pounds without assistance. Stand, sit, or walk for an extended period of time. Perform other reasonable job duties as requested by Supervisors.

If I had to find a job right now, this would be the one. It's lower-level management (woo-hoo, minimal responsibility!) and completely right up my alley. Honestly, I wish I could drop out of school, quit my current job and apply for this one. But sadly, I think I'm destined for operational management and I must complete my degree. FUCK BALLS. Speaking of which, if things don't go my way in a year I might have to consider a short stint in the world of restaurants. Fingers crossed the gods of occupations keep me in mind when it's time for me to be grown-up job hunting. Fingers crossed.

-----

I've taken a cue from the current job conditions and the status of the unemployed and the very generous bloggers/experts/writers-that-write-because-they're-desperate-for-attention-ers on the HuffPost on how to prepare myself for the daunting task of finding a job (that is hopefully more in line with being a career, as opposed to just another job).

As a 20-something, I worry about the backlash that recent grads have been facing in their search for employment. I took specific care (and an extra three years of my short life) to pick a college major that would give me a solid foundation of knowledge that I could couple with my practical skills to prepare myself for the post-graduation professional transition. I worry that I might be passed over in an interview in favor for an older individual with many more years of work experience, perhaps someone who has been out of work for an extended time and desperate enough to undercut my desired salary.

As a non-traditional student (yes, I'm still a sprightly 24 years of age, but I feel like I'm removed enough from the typical college experience to be able to classify as "non-traditional"), I worry about my resumé. I am far removed from the days of joining clubs and partaking in random sporadic volunteer events and having summer internships. I never joined a social sorority or a professional fraternity, I'm not part of Big Brothers Big Sisters and I never spent a summer in Boston or New York or LA working for some fancy-pants company.

As an inconsistent scholar, I worry that my up-and-down grades and my frequent changes in study might discourage a prospective employer. I fear that my transcripts might give the impression that I struggle with making commitments, or that I have a short attention span, or worse, that I am inept.

I constantly make observations of myself (believe me, it's harder than it sounds) on how to improve for the future. This week's topic for improvement: cover letters. I have never written one because the few times I have needed to submit a resumé, the "objective" section is typically enough to get my point across. For the purpose of avoiding the cliché efficient-optimizing-eager-hard-worker-team-player-with-multiple-office-related-talents kind of cover letter, I have decided to follow a less traditional method.

Part of the purpose of this blog is to put my job in better perspective for myself, mainly to keep my molehills from turning into mountains. When I lose temper with a guest or a situation and blog about it, I have the grand fortune of being able to read my entries with a clearer mind, and I have to admit that I usually feel pretty stupid and mad at myself for being so petty. In the same fashion, when I write about events I have a record of the situations that I have had to handle.

To address my previously stated concerns regarding my future (search for) employment, I think the cover letter will be my salvation. More specifically, what I choose to include and how I execute it. For now, I plan to keep a bulleted list of the more challenging things I do on a daily basis. One day, I hope to turn this list into salary, but for now I'll just enjoy the nostalgia.

• Maintenance: plumbing, heating, and electrical. Regularly unclogging toilets, small repairs. Water flow issues: have had to replace a water heater, flooded carpet, flooded laundry room, burst pipes in subzero temperatures during winter months. Replaced broken thermostat, arranged for furnace repairs, purchased individual heating/AC units for rooms. Familiar with electrical circuit breakers, replacing electrical outlets. Once responsible for property as a whole during a 18 hour electrical outage, made alternate arrangements for in-house guests, maintained contact with the City and with the electric company regarding reestablishment of services.
• Billing: Negotiated contracts with hospitals, construction companies (PCI, Belfor), American Red Cross, FEMA, various local Churches. Maintained Accounts Receivable, settled past-due balances with companies directly and with collection agencies.
• Inventory purchases: maintained supply of products such as toiletries, linens, breakfast supplies.
• Computers and Electronics: Extensive training in MS Office and mastery of all Microsoft Operating systems, familiar with Apple OS. Familiarity with HTML web design. Managed the front desk during a computer virus that resulted in replacement of the computer and complete loss of all guest records. Proficient in several hotel software suites (details upon request), and well rehearsed keeping manual hotel records (reservations, in-house guest lists, housekeeping lists, phone authorization of travelers' cheques/credit cards including physical carbon copy swipe). Capable of programming televisions and remote controls. Replaced and upgraded the Front Desk phone system. Changed Front Desk printer and implemented a paper recycling program and a cost-cutting program for printer toner usage.
• Special Events: designated peak flow dates, applied specially increased rates, supervised for 16 continuous hours during special events. Implemented one week cancellation policy, advanced pre-authorization policy, email confirmation policy. Particularly skilled in high traffic situations - including athletic events, University events, natural disasters, extreme weather.
• Conflict Resolution: Specially trained to maintain high customer satisfaction while minimizing refunds. Experience in inebriated/uncooperative guests, dealing with local authorities.
• Bookkeeping: Responsible for bi-weekly payroll, and maintaining records on business-related expenses paid by cheque (operational expenses such as utility bills, property taxes, property maintenance, and employee payroll expenses). Educated in financial and managerial accounting.
• Space for more to come.

yankee or rebel: a lesson in logic.

Someone just asked me if there were any free clinics in town. Seriously, what about me gives the impression that I would know about free clinics? Aside from being perturbed at the fact that a significant part of my guest population has yet to catch on to the Google trend (seriously people, Google is 13-year-old technology, it's about time you start using it regularly like the rest of the world does) and I don't appreciate being used as an all encompassing source of knowledge, why would anyone assume that I know everything about everything?

Yes, I understand that I'm a native and I would know more than your standard traveling passerby. It's one thing to ask for directions to a well known place, but I can't really be expected to know the address, location, quickest route and operating hours of every restaurant, gym, doctor's office, retail store and boat rental kiosk in a thirty mile radius. I can Google it for you, but if you cared enough you would have done that for yourself already.

I can print directions, but chances are I won't be able to give you significant land marks. I can give you details to places I've been to, but for the places I haven't the best I have to offer is a web printout. I don't know where the best pizza is, but I can tell you my favorite, or offer you a list of places I've been to that I would visit again.

I'm sorry to say that I am strictly limited to the things I know. I do my best to learn a little more each day, to try something new, to listen to someone else's story for once. But seriously, if you want to discuss whether a person is a yankee or a rebel, you're going to have to take a time machine to 19th century Kentucky, because no one in the present day under the age of 100 knows what the fuck that's supposed to mean.

This is the USA, not the Union. It's best to leave the Confederate flag for crappy Dane Cook movies.

beautiful mess inside.

Caller: Is your tavern still open?
Front desk: No, I'm sorry, the lounge closed in August.
C: Do you know why it closed?
FD: I have no idea.
C: NO. It closed because of that stupid no-smoking law. I used to remember we would go outside with our drinks and have to smoke.

Still not sure what the purpose of that last statement was, other than to waste my time and test my patience.

-----

Random passerby: Do you sell cigarettes here?

No, no we fucking don't.

-----

Room 107: The housekeeper be coming up in here cleaning my stuff.
FD: That's what housekeeping does.

This particular guest called the desk to accuse our 70+ year old housekeeper of stealing a collection of video games. Yes, video games. And supposedly a stack of "brand new, expensive" plain white unmarked towels. Now, let's run this down together:

1. What the fuck does a woman of that age have any use for video games? She doesn't. Even if she were to be stealing these things for her grandkids, THIS FAMILY IS A BUNCH OF MILLIONAIRES. If she wants video games, she can afford to buy them her damn self.

2. This specific room is constantly a mess... dirty-nasty-can't-walk-through-the-door-without-tripping-on-something kind of mess. I highly doubt your shit is getting stolen, I just think you're too lazy to clean up your own filth and now you can't locate things. NOT MY PROLBLEM.

3. Your son is probably a liar. Most likely, he took his games to school and lost them or had them taken away from him. I know you're his parent and you want to think the best of him, but just because he says his video games should be in the room doesn't mean they are beyond-a-doubt in the room.

4. Who the fuck brings plain white unmarked towels to a hotel? MARK YOUR SHIT LADY.

5. This is not your home, so don't expect us to treat it like it is. THIS IS OUR PROPERTY, and if we feel like entering your room, WE WILL. Which is not to say you're not entitled to a certain amount of privacy, but let's be practical here. We HAVE to clean your room every couple of days whether you like it or not, which means we HAVE to be around your personal belongings. And if it means so damn much to you, take better care of it. We will not be held responsible for your carelessness.

stroke week. much like shark week, but surprisingly more deadly.

Don't think you're doing us any favors by declining housekeeping services. And seriously, don't ever bring your dirty linens to the desk you nasty fucks.

Don't ever think your money is more special than everyone else's. Because it's not. Especially when you're a giant pain in my ass throughout the duration of your entire stay. In fact, I probably hate you, and I'd be glad to see you and your money go. BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT SPECIAL, at least not to me.

I'm not terribly interested in solving your domestic disputes, so keep your Ike and Tina shit at home. I also don't care which side of the fist fight you're on, if cops have to be called you're automatically blacklisted. Not negotiable.

I recognize that being a parent is difficult, but I'm not going to be especially tolerant of your blatant disregard of the fact that your children are crawling all over my counter tops. If you don't put them on a leash, I will.

-----

On Monday, January 31, 2011, I had the worst experience of my professional life. Ever. I had always imagined something like this would happen, I just never imagined it would be this soon.

It was around noon time, well past check-out, and there was a particular gentleman who had neglected to check-out or make arrangements for a continued stay. I had seen him a few times before and I knew he sometimes stayed a little late, and usually didn't do a formal check-out at the desk. I instructed my housekeeper to enter the room thinking he was already gone.

She reported back to me that he was asleep on the floor inside the room. Calls to his room went unanswered, so I went upstairs to check on the situation. I knocked loudly on his door for several minutes before I became worried. I announced myself, unlocked the door and walked in.

He wasn't sleeping.

I shook him gently until he gained consciousness; he was struggling to lift his head and his arm and leg movements were jolted and uncoordinated. He was seizing. His eyes were doing strange things and he was drooling from his mouth. I asked him if I should call for help, but his attempt at speech was neither responsive nor informative. I called 911.

Before the cops arrived, I took a moment to survey the situation. I was looking for clues, anything that might give me a better idea of what happened so I could tell dispatch to tell the paramedics.

He was naked except for his shoes, which were firmly tied on his feet. I found a handle of vodka, mostly full, and two 2-liters of Mountain Dew, also mostly full, in the fridge. A giant stack of porn DVDs and magazines, portable DVD player, false teeth, car keys, prepaid cell phone, library card, brand new bottle of aspirin, duffel bag full of clothes, and a printed bed sheet. No evidence of serious substance abuse, no evidence of anyone having been in the room besides him.

While I waited for the paramedics to arrive, a gaggle of cops showed up and took over the situation. I couldn't leave the business unattended so I returned to the front desk as the cops surveyed the room and found nothing explosive. I went back to the room to check on things and the cop with medical training suggested that perhaps the guest was suffering from a diabetic condition. A few minutes passed before paramedics showed up and assessed him as having had a stroke. They took a stretcher up the stairs, and that was the last I saw.

As terrifying and consuming as this matter was, I still had a business to run. Guests were trying to check in and the phone was ringing non-stop; before I knew it, the ambulance and the cops cars were gone without my noticing.

A few hours later I received a phone call from the hospital, a social worker wanted to speak to me about his belongings. She was hoping to find something that might lead to his friends or family. It turns out he had had a stroke and lost the ability to speak. I collected all of this things from the room and personally dropped them off at the hospital. I was able to speak with the social worker in person about his condition and what would happen in terms of his treatment. Last I had heard, it appeared as if this person had no family, his condition was improving, but there was no indication he'd be able to speak any time soon.

In all honesty, I have no idea if I'll ever see him again. Part of me is relieved, the other part of me wonders if I should stop by his room in ICU to say hello at least to let him know that he's not alone.