Sometimes Being A Sucker Paid Off, But Mostly Not!

Okay, I will admit it right up front. I am the poster child for Sucker Anonymous. My name is Mud, and I am a suckcerholic. Having a soft heart and a even softer head places me at the top of the class for being taken. The problem is that I don't ever seem to learn. I especially found myself to be vulnerable in the hotel world. I was a soft touch for a sob story.

My maintenance skill are very minimal. Okay, that is a lie, My skills in repairing things does not even register on any scale. I was even officially told that by Mr. Ben Tyvand, our high school guidance counsellor. Remember those stupid national achievement tests we had to take? Ben went over the scores with each student, and when my time came he informed me that I was practically a genius in reading, English, retention, social sciences, etc. I was glowing from the compliments. Then we got to the mechanical part of the scores. I was informed that I was basically an idiot when it came to those matters. His exact words, and they still echo in my head, "you must not know the difference between a hammer and a screwdriver".

Well, Ben , you are so wrong about that one! In my twenties I did learn the difference. I learned that when I had too many screwdrivers that I go hammered. And sometimes, when I got hammered, I got screwed. So there, Ben, you were wrong. But those stories are for another time and forum.

In the hotel world, there are many repairs to rooms that must be made, and they must be made quickly, or you might have a very angry guest on your hands. The larger hotels that I managed had full time maintenance people on staff, but some of the smaller ones did not. The Emerald Inn in Seattle was a smaller property, and being fairly new, the owner did not feel that the cost of a full time maintenance person was justified. So, what was a mechanically challenged person like me to do? Well, there was only one thing to do, and that was to find a way to get someone to assist me with repair problems without costing the company much money.

Well, like I said in the opening paragraph, I am a sucker for sob stories, and the next few blogs will chronicle some of those times, both bad, and those rare good end results. I need to stop for now and go run some errands, but my next entry will start bonding the sucker and the maintenance stories together. Stay tuned.

Slipping a Mickey

Before I begin, I want to introduce you all to my latest blogging buddy, Rain's blog. She can be found by going to "my blogging buddies" and clicking on her link. Please pay her a visit and let her know you were there. She is kind of special to me. She is my daughter. I am very proud of her. She hold two degrees, one in Social Service from Western Washington University, and one in Natural Healing. She is also licensed as a massage practitioner and has worked at some of the leading spas in California.

The year was 1978, and the place was Salem. Oregon, and I was Front Desk Manager at the hotel I previously introduced you to. Once again it was State Fair time, and we were expecting our usual overflow crowd of tourists and celebrities. Only, this year was a little different becasue the General Manager decided to take his vacation during Fair time, and as second in command, I was left in charge of all operations until his return. I was both excited and a little frightened because this was the first time I was left alone in charge. Oh well, had to get my feet wet sometime.

This years' list of celebrities included someone I had watched on television in the sixties, Fred Mickey Finn. Some of you may remember him, and to some he might not be recognized, but Fred Mickey Finn was a pianist who played honkey-tonk, ragtime, and jazz, and was accompanied bu his wife on the banjo. He also had the longest running show in the history of the Union Plaza Hotel in Las Vegas. His style was unique, and I greatly admired his musical skills.

As with all celebrity bookings, great preparation was used to ensure everything was in perfect order for their arrival. Fred' bookings were for sis rooms, two double beds per room, and a King Suite for Mr. Finn. We did the usual prep work, and I felt very comfortable in dealing with his arrival.

In order to facilitate a smoother operation during that weekend, I opted to stay at the hotel for the weekend, a decision I soon came to realize was a good choice. Yes, I was run ragged, and the demands never stopped between assisting my desk staff, running errands, and doing my own work, but I was excited about making sure my time in charge would be a roaring success. You see, i had my eye on becoming General Manager of that hotel in the future, and sure enough that did happen later, and I wanted to powers that be to know that I was the right man for the job.

It was midnight, Friday, and Mr. Finn and his band had not yet arrived at the hotel to check in. I was absolutely drained after the day's hectic rat race, so I decided to retire for the night to my room on the third floor. Chet was working that night, and I felt a bit uncomfortable leaving him alone. Chet was a good man, around sixty-five years old, and had worked around and in hotels for years and years. As a a matter of fact, I had worked with Chet several years earlier at another property, long before I went into management. Sound good, right? Wrong. Chet was shall we say, logically challenged. Yes, he could do things by the proverbial book, but when it came to judgement call, well, let's just say his reasoning capacity was a brick short of a load.

I told Chet I was going to bed, and if he needed me to ring my room. I turned off the light, and tumbled into bed for a must needed sleep. Then, the phone rang, and Chet's voice informed me that we had a major problem. I looked over at the clock, and it was 2:00 A.M. Chet went on to say that Mr. Finn's band was here, and there were not enough rooms for his reservation.'What?", I shouted into the phone. When I had left at midnight everything was in order, what could possibly have gone wrong? It seems we only had two rooms with two beds in each room to accommodate thirteen people in the band! even Mr. Finn's King Suite was gone!ha
Chet went on to inform me that Mr. Finn was very angry. Well, no kidding, I thought to myself.

I asked Chet what could possibly have happened to the rooms set aside for the band, and is answer reinforced my opinion of Chet's reasoning powers. He had sold them to tourists because he didn't see a guarantee on them. Now, as you are probably aware, hotels require a credit card guarantee to hold rooms, especially during the peak season. Mr. Finn's rooms were guaranteed to his corporate address in Vegas, and was listed on one of the folders, but not on all of then, so Chet had felt that he should sell the rest of the rooms.

I quickly jumped out of bed, dressed and hurried to the lobby. Man oh man, here I was about to meet one of my idols, and he was probably going to ring my neck. Oh well, so this was what being in charged entailed , I thought to myself as I waited for the elevator to arrive to take me to my now diminishing changed to someday be the Big Boss of that hotel. I would be lucky to get a job as a desk clerk at Motel 6 when this was over.

Arriving in the lobby, I was met by Chet and there standing by him was a very red faced Fred Mickey Finn. So much for good first impressions. Mr Finn then proceeded to tear me a new you know what. He and his band had driven from Vegas to Salem in their bus, had broken down along the way, and they were very tired and in no mood to find that their rooms had been sold.
And just what was I going to do about it, he demanded.

Ah yes, my quick thinking mind had learned years ago that there is always a solution to every problem. I asked him to wait there a minute. Ah, the conference rooms on the third floor! Thank you God, I thought to myself. I might just pull this off yet. Quickly, now checking the housekeeping closets for extra roll-aways, and bedding, I did a quick calculation. I could fit three beds in each conference room, and one more in the rooms that Chet had not sold.

I called the front desk and told Chet to ask Mr. Finn to meet me on he third floor, and I would show him my newly hatched idea. Mr. Finn, came up, examined the conference rooms, and agreed, with one final tearing of a new one, to accept the plan with the my new offer that I would not charge them for the conference rooms, and their previously assigned rooms would be there tomorrow with no if ands and buts.. I would personally guarantee it.

I set up the beds, ran towels, and other amenities for about an hour, and finally bid them a good night , and crawled back into bed. I didn't see Mr. Finn the next morning, and I thought that was just fine, thank you very much. I was too chagrined to see him again.

I was scheduled to work the 4-midnight shift on Saturday at the desk. Settling into my work, the night passed quickly, and before I knew it was about eleven PM. About that time, the lobby doors opened, and Mr. Finn was walking to the desk. He was dressed up in his sparkly suit from his show that night. Wanting to hide, but knowing there was no place to run, I braced for another verbal assault. Instead, a smiling Mr. Finn stood before me with a record in his hands, which he signed his name to, wrote a personal message, and said it was for me. He then apologized for over reacting the night before, and complimented me for taking care of a bad situation. Shaking hands, he again smiled and said to have a good night. Wow, did I ever fell better.

Fast forward to August, 1979, and it was Fair time again. One thing had really changed this past year, I had reached my goal, and I was now the General Manager of this fine hotel. I was excited because Fred Mickey Finn was once again coming to town, and staying at my hotel. I would personally take charge of his arrangement this time, and I would make sure I was there to check them in myself. Mr Finn arrived early that day, and to astonishment came in smiling, walked up the front desk, shook hands, and said" how are you doing, and called me by name. Was I ever impressed. He remembered my name!

I never saw Mr. Finn again, and over the years wondered what happened to him. Recently, I came across his web site, and left a personal message for him, reminding him of Salem, and who I was. I never heard back, but that is okay. After all is has been thirty years since that happened. I was just glad to see he was still performing all over the country. Maybe someday, we will meet again.

Spy Versus Spy

Vladimir was one of the most delightful employees that I had in my hotel career, and he served as my Front Desk Manager at my last hotel in Seattle. What made Vladimir unique was that he escaped from the Soviet Army in 1978, found his way to America, and later became a citizen of the USA. I loved talking to him because he had a different perspective about the Cold War than what we were taught and programmed with in school. However, one thing that he talked about on more than one occasion was the danger of talking to anyone, friends, neighbours, and family included, because anything you said could and would be reported to the police, KJB, and your life and freedom became jeopardized. This was a very real thing, and he lived in constant fear, for you see, Vladimir was one who was a free thinker, and this was a dangerous thing in Soviet Russia.

Why am I talking about Vladimir now? Because I think that our country has been progressing towards the same type of spy versus spy mentality, and I am very concerned about this pattern. I want to open up this topic for quality analysis between us. I will throw out some of my reasoning, and I welcome your responses and open dialogue.

Does citizens policing other citizens make a society a progressive, clean society, and is it our responsibility as citizens to control the actions of our fellow citizens if we feel like that have stepped over the line of proper conduct? Hm, not as easy an answer as it might appear to be. After all, who makes up society? It is the conglomeration of millions of individuals, each with their own belief system , religion, philosophy, and thought patterns. So is it the responsibility of individuals to police the actions of others?

Here are a couple of things that I find alarming. Go Figure referred to littering in his last post in a humorous way. One of the ads on television that I am greatly offended by is the one out out by the Washington State Patrol. The advertisement shows a man loading his truck up with junk, and he fails to secure all of it, allowing the possibility of it falling off of the truck and littering the streets. His neighbour, the postman, and a girl jogging by all stop and start staring at him in an extremely hostile manner. The jogger goes as far as to pull out her cell phone to call the police. The man, looking around and seeing the hostility, secures his load, and his neighbour, the postman, and the jogger than go about their business with smug looks on their faces.
I find this commercial disgusting, and in very poor taste. Big Brother is watching you, and he is using your family and friends to do his spying.

The next thing that really got me was the incident in CDA over the Fourth Holiday. I know this one is going to be a very sensitive subject, and I tread with respect for all thought on this subject.
In brief, a young mother watching the parade was seen by people across the street, swatting her young daughter on the behind, and allegedly abusing her in a manner found unacceptable by those watching. Apparently, the toddler had tried to break away from her mother and run out into the parade in front of a float. Her mother reacted quickly and unable to control her, apparently gave her a light sat on her rear. Some in the crowd acted quickly and called the police. The policeman gave the woman a ticket, and she must now appear in court, facing possible jail time for spanking her daughter. The names of the parents has been blasted all over the media, and even if the mother is found innocent, the stigma will live on and others will always look at her as an abuser.

Now, I know that child abuses is a tremendous problem in our society, and the horror stories are growing each day. My daughter deals with it as her profession, and the things that she has shared with me about some of her cases are heartbreaking need to be sensitive and alert, but where is the line drawn, We are taught to report suspected abuse, and we should, but when does it cross over into just petty spying and reporting with out really knowing the facts?
I am trying to not judge the case in CDA becasue I do not know all of the facts, but it does raise the issue of where are we going with all of this. Do the citizens of this country have a right to tell others how to raise their children? The ramifications reach far and wide when we start imposing standard beliefs on all members of a society.

The list goes on and on with Block Watches, commercials asking us to report suspicious things, and on and on. Where does it end? Big Brother is watching, and he is using our eyes to do so.