oh goodie, another schizophrenic.

Some weirdo in a hoodie tried to jack my breakfast, and then he apologized.

Umm... weird? It gets weirder.

He was talking sense at first, until he got to the part about his vagina/pussy/chocha (his words) and his pee hole that had been circumcised and his brothers stretched it out. Oh, also, he was a fighter in WWI where he lost his arm after it got stuck on a tourniquet as he jumped out of a plane. And his finger hurts.

Thankfully this weirdo flashed me his key card from another property where I was able to get information from their manager. She was very kind to share some info with me, and I think we have this matter resolved... once social services arrives.

can I get a 6:30 wakeup call? .... uuh, another one? you've already asked twice.

101 has called three times asking for a wake-up call. For the SAME TIME. On a football weekend, this wouldn't be abnormal, but considering who this person is, I find it endlessly entertaining. Update: four times.

215 failed to mention to me while making his reservation that he's in a wheel chair. He asked for a ground floor room, but not a handicap room. So when his girlfriend came to check in, I got an earful of "that's illegal" and "this is unacceptable" when I explained to her that none of our rooms are accessible to him. If anyone else had taken this guy's reservation, I could understand how the mistake between "ground floor" and "handicap accessible" could be made, but seeing as how I was the person who MADE and CONFIRMED the reservation AND made special considerations to leave a note in his guest file, I can say beyond a doubt that this information was not effectively communicated with the fault being on the guest's end. I don't make it a habit to blame people to their faces, but this time I had to make the point that the mistake was not my own. I explained to the nice lady, as calmly as I could, that I was the manager-on-duty and I would do my best to arrange for alternative arrangements for her and her handi-capable friend, but ultimately I was limited in what I would be able to accomplish given the time frame.

I spent a good hour of my time calling around to various other hotels begging them to match our rate, or at least lower their rate so I could find a place for these two to sleep. It was a fucking nightmare. I thought I found a solution with my friends down at the Super 8, they agreed to match our rate and bill the amount to us (so that I wouldn't have to spend another hour on the phone with this guy's bank begging them to release the pre-authorization) only to find out that their handicap rooms aren't big enough for a chair-bound person to wheel himself around freely.

I called my other friends at the BW (again... 'cause our first attempt at making arrangements didn't work out) and we found an agreeable solution. Tonight, they stay in a standard double queen and tomorrow move into a handicap double queen. BW would match my rate and bill the balance to us, so that I could charge the guest's card without him having double or triple authorizations to send him into overdraft (NOTE TO EVERYONE: please don't use a debit card at a hotel unless you have plenty of funds available. Just don't fucking do it).

In the end, all my frantic efforts paid off. I got the guests in a place they'd be more than comfortable at the rate they were promised, I handled this guy's finances so that he wouldn't suffer any bank overdrafts (while I don't consider worrying about bank issues to be part of my job, I'm proud that I was able to be sensitive to his issues), aaaand I managed to sell a room for two nights for my BW friends, since their weekend business is hurting much more than mine is.

Problem solved, but my heart's still beating loud. Oh mon dieu.

today's daily dose of WTF.

Caller: I'm on 55 South in Memphis right now, can you tell me how long it will take to get to you?
Me: Ummm... are you sure you have the right number? We're in Iowa.
Caller: Yes, that's where I'm headed.

For a moment there, I was certain this bitch was crazy. A quick Google Maps search later, I informed her that her estimated arrival time is slightly less than 9 hours. She didn't seem too pleased.

Umm... you're in Tennessee. WTF were you expecting?

Live blogging FryFest.

So far, all but four of my reservations have checked in, leaving me with fourteen rooms to sell in the next twelve hours. That's deserving of a solid "fuck my life."

Already today I have:
-had someone scream in my face over rates
-had to change a key to compensate for a semi-functioning lock
-had to carry a mattress up two flights of stairs
-had to tell eight guests (and counting) that our lovely lounge is not open for the entire season
-had to change rooming assignments and adjust rates because apparently my coworkers are incapable of using common sense.

And the day has just started! On the plus side, I have only twelve hours left and a room for myself to keep for the night and my boss (unknowingly) paid for my very delicious dinner.

Happy FryFest, and as always... GO HAWKS.