Hotel Business

Some time during my last semester of college I had decided to take a job as a front desk associate for a well known chain hotel.  I had extensive experience working in customer service, and while I was not planning to make it my career, I truly enjoyed the spontaneity that came when dealing with the general public.

I was no stranger to the concept of being on the receiving end of a terrible customer.  Prior to this I worked in retail at a large chain record store and eventually a high end fashion shop.  Hospitality was one category I was yet to work and I became excited at the thought of who I would meet and what I would say.  I imagined meeting many people who traveled on business which would give me the opportunity to spark conversations that would leave them home sick but comforted or completely uncomfortable and validated their hatred for work travel.

People would be delighted to speak with me and it would allow me to learn more about our wonderful country without traveling to every state.  I imagined asking them about their local produce and to compare the ugliness of our citizens to those in their city.  It is important to know how much uglier people are in other states; not just for curiosity’s sake but also to feed egos and have extra leverage in a never ending argument.  “Oh yeah…well…I heard everyone in Tulsa has questionable amounts of space between their eyes and significant overbites.”

Of course I knew there would also be standard moments of frustration and tension.  Meeting all different types of people meant conversations with personalities that clashed with my own.  I also imagined talking myself down from heated discussions about the city’s large gay population or the amount of liberals allowed to protest the streets in heavy traffic with large signs and bold letters telling us to stop eating our pets and start growing our own vegetables.  I prepared myself for more of these moments than anything else.  I guess that is why I appreciated the pleasant bonding experiences with customers so much more.  These type of coin toss extremes was what made up the unpredictability of being responsible for the comfort of complete strangers.  There were times when people would be wonderfully delightful or make me fear for my own life.

The hotel was a hotspot for gatherings such as weddings and meetings due to the spacious halls and second largest convention center in the state.  About every three weeks or so we would sell out and be overbooked for events such as the National NA conference or batmitzvahs for the overly spoiled and obnoxiously needy.  On these days we were quite busy with lines of people to check in, heavy calls for extra towels or damaged air conditioners, and confusion of who booked when and was discounted what.  It was chaotic but fun because it kept me busy and too tired to notice when someone living by the phrase “The Customer Is Always Right” was verbally expressing their dissatisfaction.

When no events were occurring, time slowed down significantly, and I would even wish for conflict to nudge my brain awake, get my heart beating to heat my blood, pulse it through my veins and energize myself to get through the remainder of my 8 hour day.  On these days I would keep myself busy by organizing the front desk.  I would organize the pile of key cards and key card holders so all images were right side up and faced one direction.  I would even stack cards next to the key card maker in adequate amounts in such a way that when an associate pulled one from the pile no others fell after it.  Eventually this only took me about 20 minutes or so and I was set back to boredom.  Watching people roll their luggage in and out of our lobby, ask for the occasional direction to McDonalds’ and eavesdrop on cell phone conversations to home only took up so much of my day.  I would then move onto cleaning the front desk which included dusting behind computer monitors, underneath keyboards, tossing trash, finding all of the pens to fill the pen cups and sometimes vacuuming our crumb ridden navy blue carpet.  Even if things appeared to look immaculate I knew there was no such thing as an overly clean hotel and an overly OCD front desk associate.

During one of my routine cleanings I was neatly stacking the fresh Daily News newspapers when I noticed a customer satisfaction card tucked behind a key card maker.  We would pass out postcard sized surveys to all customers checking in to fill out and share about their experiences.  They were free to rate us on scales of “1″ being  “extremely dissatisfied” to “5″ being  “extremely satisfied” on everything from housekeeping to room comfort.  They were then asked to return such cards to a friendly associate who would place it into our survey bin and all would be reviewed by management at the end of each week.  I slowly moved the key card maker as to not disturb my pile of key cards and key card holders to retrieve this mystery survey.  Upon doing so I noticed all circles were in the “5s” for “extremely satisfied” along with a stapled piece of paper in the upper left corner of the card.  I walked to the back employee area and tore off the paper, placing the survey card in the survey card bin and finding appropriate light to read.  I looked around to ensure no one noticed I was not working and unfolded it.

It contained one sentence: “I Spooged In The Bathtub”

Just like that.  No additional details, no names, no room numbers.  Just these words written in Catholic school script on this withered piece of paper.  I immediately crumpled it in my hands as if reading it to myself had inadvertently also come out of my mouth and into the intercom that connected to all of housekeeping’s’ walkie-talkies.  When I finally realized that no one had heard me read what I had in my hands I began to uncover  it again and slowly read:    “I…Spooged…”

I held it tightly in my palm and slowly opened the connecting door to the front desk and noticed my coworker was reading in the corner.  I refolded the paper, following the natural crevices created by the original author, and slowly slid it in front of her like a deep dark secret from an exclusive club only she and I were members of.

“What is it?” she asked.

I did not say anything and only smiled at her with laughter in my eyes.  She put down her book and unfolded the note, reading it once, then turning it side ways as if it were written in an entirely different language.  Her brows furrowed and she frowned.  I was fixated on her face when she held it upright again and stared back with the type of look a girl has the first time she see a penis in Playgirl magazine.  I nodded my head and held my mouth from laughing.  She did the same and we both just stood there in silence grinning.  After a few seconds the stares we gave one another were a bit awkward because we both knew we were playing out the scenarios of bathtub spooging in our heads.

“Was it an accident?” I thought.  “Perhaps there was a toilet seat jerking moment and the man was standing when he was startled by someone knocking on the door during the finale so he immediately turned and exploded all over the bathtub.”

“Was it on purpose?” I also imagined.  “Perhaps we had a hardcore bathroom BDSM couple that loved the feel of cold porcelain against their skin and being spanked on dangerous surfaces where they teetered on the edge of severe head trauma.”

I had only known my coworker for a few weeks now and had never once had conversations about bodily fluids so I did not know if it were appropriate to discuss the possible details.  Neither of us said anything for the remainder of our shift but I could tell we were both humored and overly suspicious.

Whenever a customer came up to the front desk to check out I would casually smile but over analyze them in my head.  “How was your stay Mr. Paul?” I would ask.  All the while thinking “Was there spooge in your tub Mr. Paul?”

“Did you enjoy your stay with us Ms. Harcum?” I would inquire.  All while thinking “Did you hear anyone ejaculating in the bathroom next yours room Ms. Harcum?”

I even went pretty far as interrogating a customer about their visit.

“Was everything to your liking Mr. Stephens?”

“Oh yes hun.  Thank you for asking.”
“How was the bathtub?  Anything out of the ordinary Mr. Stephens?”
“Oh no dear.  It was quite alright.”
“Oh?  No strange slime of any kind.  Nothing feeling funny?  No extreme stench of chlorine?”
Mr. Stephens stared at me as I searched for his invoice and cleared his payment.
“….No…” he hesitated “Everything was normal.”

Although he claimed everything was normal a spooge filled tub may be Mr. Stephens’ “normal” in all of his bathtubs.  I left him alone and decided to stop investigating through heavy questioning.  Joy juice in the tub may not be abnormal to me but to others it may be the icing on their extreme sexual fantasy cake.  My coworker and I spread the information farther among the other associates and we continued to giggle about it until the day I quit.  We never really uncovered any more details but I told them to immediately call me when someone leaves a note that says “I shat in the closet.”