Sunday, the Christian world's day of rest. A holy day for many, and a day just to kick back from a hard week of work for others. At lest, that is the way it should be. In the hotel world, Sunday is a kick back day after a weekend of frenzied activity. Sunday mornings are a whirlwind of check outs as the hotel empties out from full Friday and Saturday nights, and by noon, a certain calm descends, and the day clerk is able to catch up work, or just read the paper.
However, as you may remember from the story of the Bird Man, Sunday afternoons could bring out the sanely challenged folks on Aurora Avenue. This hot summer Sunday afternoon would not be an exception. I will warn you now that this story is not a happy story. It is really kind of a sad story, and yet, it is a little bit funny. I, of course, have a weird sense of humor, and I had become quite jaded after dealing with so much insanity in the hotel world.
I was trying to catch a few winks of sleep back in my living room, and once again, Linda, my assistant manager was on duty. The August heat and humidity had us all tired, and we were looking forward to the return of the soft Seattle rains. Linda was relaxed and reading at the front desk when she began to hire sirens off in the distance. Unlike here in laid back Idaho, when you hear sirens in Seattle, especially on Aurora, you pay absolutely no attention.
The sound of sirens became louder and more frenzied, and by now they had Linda's attention as they seemed to be drawing closer and closer to the hotel. There were multiple sounds, and she could tell there were police and fire engine sirens. The flashing red and blue were suddenly right in front of her as about five patrol cars, two fire engines, and two paramedic trucks came screeching into the parking lot and stopped right in front of room 105, just feet aways from the lobby where Linda was. She walked to the window and looked out just in time to see five policemen, guns drawn and pointing towards room 105.
My phone rang, and Linda;s panicked voice was saying that I had better get out there quickly.
I joined Linda in the lobby and together we watched in fascination as the police opened the door to the room, and cautiously approached the interior of the room with guns pointed ahead. Suddenly, three of the male cops backed out of the room into the parking lot, holding their mouths, their eyes cast down in horror. Two female officers entered the room and then they, backed out of the room, only they were laughing hysterically. What on earth was going on, I wondered aloud to Linda. Why were the male officers gagging, and the female officers laughing? Was this a tragedy or a comedy?
A team of paramedics quickly entered the room, and soon a prone figure on a stretcher was placed in a waiting ambulance. One of the officers motioned me over, and I slowly made my way over to him, dreading the news, and at the same time, curiosity was getting the best of me.
Then the most bizarre story came pouring out of the lips of the very pale faced young officer. Apparently, the guest in the room had decided to perform do it yourself surgery on himself with a newly purchased table saw from Fred Meyer. The tag was still on the saw . The receipt was laying next to the saw. What surgery, you may be asking, did this young man without a medical diploma try? Well, use your imagination for a moment. --------Time is up. And your answer please.--If you guessed a sex change operation, you guessed correctly. Here s what we have for you, an all expense paid trip to Orofino. Yep, he was trying to make part of him into a woman. Apparently, he changed his mind half way through his procedure, and suffering from what must have been unbelievable pain, he called 911.
The police found a bloodied note in the room saying that he had been turned down by the doctors to have a sex change operation, so he decided to take matters into his own hands, so to speak, and perform his own surgery. The room was a mess to say the least, There was blood all over the ceiling and floor. The bathroom walls and toilet were drenched with crimson.
Fortunately, the housekeepers had already left for the day. There was no way that I wanted them exposed to the grisly scene in the bathroom. I locked the door to the room with a special manager's key so that they could not enter the next day. Waves of anger rolled over me as I pondered why some sick mind chose my hotel for such a deed. What if my girls had gone into that room the next morning and had seen the carnage left behind?
So, you guessed it. The next morning I donned hospital gloves to clean it up. Someone, had to to it. I was fine until I stared cleaning the toilet, and then my eyes spotted the half-sawed off body part. I did what anyone would do, right? I flushed it down the toilet.
For days and days afterwards, even after the room was again spotless, I dreaded renting that room. Linda and I coined a new phrase for our former guest. Dick-less in Seattle.
By the way, the man lived, but I have wondered many times in my mind if he wished that he had died.
Oh well, just another day on Aurora.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Waking Up Ray
I was excited. After all, Wallace kids were not exactly used to meeting celebrities. Not only was I going to get to meet some big stars, I was going to going to meet one of my idols, Ray Charles. It wasn't his singing I liked so much, but it was his piano playing that I loved. I started out as a music major in college, and piano was my thing. I had even wanted to be a concert pianist at one time, and although classical was one of my big loves, nothing thrilled me as much as jazz and blues. When I was very young, I had informed my mother that when I grew up I wanted to be blind and black. When she asked me why I would say such a thing, I replied that I would then be able to be a great blues and jazz pianist!
OK, I never reached either goal of being blind and black, but I tried my best to copy on the piano those that I admired. So, meeting Ray Charles would be an experience that I would savor for the rest of my life. I was excited.
The place that I would get to meet Ray was back to the hotel in Salem, Oregon. Salem hosted the Oregon State Fair every year, and the menu was delightfully peppered with some really big name stars. As the premier hotel in Salem, they were all slated to be guests at the hotel that I worked in. All of the preparations were done with the greatest of care as befitting stars of the calibre. Suites were deep cleaned, carpets shampooed, and the staff properly trained in how to handle the demands that were given in hosting the rich and famous. I was ready.
The day arrived for the opening of the Fair. I was in my second month of employment at this hotel, and I was the head night auditor, which meant that I worked from midnight until eight A.M. I wouldn't get to see the stars check in, but I would get to see them in the morning as they got up and checked out. And, I would make the personal wake-up calls to the rooms. Ah, the good old days before we took the personal service touch out of the hospitality industry. Sometimes I would have up to 150 calls to make each morning, and so a special clock was used that could be set precisely to the minute that the guest wanted up. The alarm would go off, and I would then proceed to make the calls. There were so many that one had to start about five minutes early to get them all in.
The first star that we had that year was to be Ray Charles. Jack pot! Per his manager's precise instructions, he was to out on the first floor only, and he was to be in suite 113/115. I was surprised to find out that he would be staying alone in the room. I need to explain something about the arrangement of the suite to fully convey what was about to happen. In the suites on the first floor, there were three rooms. There was a master bedroom with a king bed, there was a very tastefully decorated bathroom, and there was a very large living room with antique furniture. 113 was the living room and 115 was the bedroom. Both 113 and 115 had telephones, but they were a long ways apart as the suites were very large.
Ray had left instructions to be awakened at exactly five in the morning after his show. I was excited because I would be able to actually hear his voice and say good morning to him. The alarm went off, and it was now five in the morning. I eagerly dialed the room number and let the phone ring. Hm, no answer. I let it ring some more. Still no answer. OK, I let it ring and ring and ring. Still no answer. I knew that he had a plane to catch and that he had to get up, so I rang again, and again, and again. It was know well past five and still no answer. I tried again at five-thirty, and again at six. Still no answer. It was then I realized to my utter horror that I had been ringing the extension in the living room and not the bedroom.
I had this horrific image of this poor blind man trying desperately to locate the phone and stop that annoying ringing. I then rang the proper extension, but there was no answer. I could just picture what Ray must have thought of the idiotic clerk who was ringing the wrong room. Maybe he thought I was some sort of sadist. Maybe the thought that I was getting some kind of kick out of a blind man stumbling all over an unfamiliar room grasping and grabbing for a phone. I ran down to the suite and knocked. No answer, so I inserted the key and with great trepidation entered the suite. No one in the living room, no one in the bedroom, and no one in the bathroom. He was gone, and the room was completely empty of all personal belongings.
I can only assume that his ride to the airport had come by, and that he had made his flight on time. For several months I had this fear that someone from his staff would call my boss and demand that I be fired. Fortunately, that never happened.
For years after whenever I saw or heard Ray Charles perform, I had this image in my my head of what he must have thought of me. Ray Charles, a brave man, and a marvelous musician. May he rest in peace.
OK, I never reached either goal of being blind and black, but I tried my best to copy on the piano those that I admired. So, meeting Ray Charles would be an experience that I would savor for the rest of my life. I was excited.
The place that I would get to meet Ray was back to the hotel in Salem, Oregon. Salem hosted the Oregon State Fair every year, and the menu was delightfully peppered with some really big name stars. As the premier hotel in Salem, they were all slated to be guests at the hotel that I worked in. All of the preparations were done with the greatest of care as befitting stars of the calibre. Suites were deep cleaned, carpets shampooed, and the staff properly trained in how to handle the demands that were given in hosting the rich and famous. I was ready.
The day arrived for the opening of the Fair. I was in my second month of employment at this hotel, and I was the head night auditor, which meant that I worked from midnight until eight A.M. I wouldn't get to see the stars check in, but I would get to see them in the morning as they got up and checked out. And, I would make the personal wake-up calls to the rooms. Ah, the good old days before we took the personal service touch out of the hospitality industry. Sometimes I would have up to 150 calls to make each morning, and so a special clock was used that could be set precisely to the minute that the guest wanted up. The alarm would go off, and I would then proceed to make the calls. There were so many that one had to start about five minutes early to get them all in.
The first star that we had that year was to be Ray Charles. Jack pot! Per his manager's precise instructions, he was to out on the first floor only, and he was to be in suite 113/115. I was surprised to find out that he would be staying alone in the room. I need to explain something about the arrangement of the suite to fully convey what was about to happen. In the suites on the first floor, there were three rooms. There was a master bedroom with a king bed, there was a very tastefully decorated bathroom, and there was a very large living room with antique furniture. 113 was the living room and 115 was the bedroom. Both 113 and 115 had telephones, but they were a long ways apart as the suites were very large.
Ray had left instructions to be awakened at exactly five in the morning after his show. I was excited because I would be able to actually hear his voice and say good morning to him. The alarm went off, and it was now five in the morning. I eagerly dialed the room number and let the phone ring. Hm, no answer. I let it ring some more. Still no answer. OK, I let it ring and ring and ring. Still no answer. I knew that he had a plane to catch and that he had to get up, so I rang again, and again, and again. It was know well past five and still no answer. I tried again at five-thirty, and again at six. Still no answer. It was then I realized to my utter horror that I had been ringing the extension in the living room and not the bedroom.
I had this horrific image of this poor blind man trying desperately to locate the phone and stop that annoying ringing. I then rang the proper extension, but there was no answer. I could just picture what Ray must have thought of the idiotic clerk who was ringing the wrong room. Maybe he thought I was some sort of sadist. Maybe the thought that I was getting some kind of kick out of a blind man stumbling all over an unfamiliar room grasping and grabbing for a phone. I ran down to the suite and knocked. No answer, so I inserted the key and with great trepidation entered the suite. No one in the living room, no one in the bedroom, and no one in the bathroom. He was gone, and the room was completely empty of all personal belongings.
I can only assume that his ride to the airport had come by, and that he had made his flight on time. For several months I had this fear that someone from his staff would call my boss and demand that I be fired. Fortunately, that never happened.
For years after whenever I saw or heard Ray Charles perform, I had this image in my my head of what he must have thought of me. Ray Charles, a brave man, and a marvelous musician. May he rest in peace.
Friday, May 9, 2008
A Hotel Love Story
My hotel days were filled with some of the weirdest characters on the face
of the earth, and I cherish those memories. However, I met some of the greatest
people I have ever known in the hotels, too. I met US Senators, sports stars,
Las Vegas show people, Jose Felciano, Ray Charles,(I have a story about the
late, great Ray Charles that I will share later) Mickey Finn, Rickey Nelson,
The Lawrence Welk orchestra, and many, many others that I have stories about. But,
today I am going to take a break from the seedy and the glamor to tell you a
true love story that happened at my last General Manager's job before I
retired.
Love comes as a surprise when it does come, and it often sends its sweet arrows when you are not even looking. I had been divorced from my first wife for twenty-three years, and quite frankly, I did not know if I would ever tie the knot again. The older I got, the more set in my bachelor ways I became, and I didn't even know if I wanted to leave the comfort zone, Yes, I was lonely at times, but my job allowed me to go from place to place, and added a degree of excitement to my life. My two children were grown and doing very well, and I had the very special love in my life, my grandson in Seattle. I was content, although sometimes I longed for that special someone again.
I was always looking for good employees, especially housekeepers. At the time I was seeking a housekeeping manager to shape up my ragged staff. Believe me, they are very, very hard to find. Then one day in late March of 2006, a lady came in to apply for the job in housekeeping. She was also looking for a place to live as she had just moved here from back East. We did weekly rentals of a few rooms for construction workers, and folks looking for housing as they moved into the city, so I not only hired here for the housekeeping position, I also rented her a room by the week. I was pleased because I had found an excellent housekeeper whose resume was loaded with excellent experience. I just did not just how well I had really done, yet.
Lifetimes and events are defined by moments that we might not even be cognizant of. They transpire like the rapid wing flutter of a hummingbird, and yet they change our lives forever. Such was the afternoon of April 20, 2006, and I was not even aware that it was happening. I was at the Front Desk dealing with a very disgruntled female guest. I cannot even tell you the details of the confrontation because quite frankly, it was just another day for me. Candy, my new housekeeping manager had come down to the front desk, and from what I was later told, I looked over at her in a way that “melted her heart" I didn't even know I had done that! Apparently, from what she later told me, she went back to her room and wrote in her journal"Oh my God" I swear I have no idea what kind of look that I gave her, but, that look changed both of our lives forever.
It was now late July and the heat was getting unbearable. Tourists were
flooding the hotel, tempers were getting short, and my staff was way over
worked. It was about two in the afternoon when I got a call from Candy asking
me to come up to the third floor because she needed to talk to me. I assumed
she wanted to talk about a problem with a guest. I went up there and she asked
me if I was serious about my relationship with this lady from L.A. I told her I
probably was, and then she dropped the bomb. She wanted me to know that if it
didn't work out that I would never be alone. It took a few minutes for what she
was saying to sink in through my thick brain, and then it hit me. I told her I
needed to go, and I went down to my living quarter and lay down on my bed.
Wow, this was an interesting turn of events. What did I really feel for her? Several times in my life I had passed on possible relationships, but this time I decided to check this one out. About seven P.M. I called Candy and asked her if she wanted to go for a ride. I found out later that she was really scared that I was going to fire her. We drove into Spokane, and walked down the streets. It was then that I made a small gesture that would change everything. I reached over and took her hand. When we drove back to the hotel, we stopped at the city park, and I asked her if she was serious about her feeling. I then put my arms around her, and we shared that magical first kiss.
That was July of 2006, and on Feb, 12, 2007, we became husband and wife. Marrying Candy is the best thing that I have done in my life, and not only are we married, we are best friends, lovers, and buddies. I have never looked back, and every day I thank God for whatever look I gave her back on that spring day in April.
Love comes as a surprise when it does come, and it often sends its sweet arrows when you are not even looking. I had been divorced from my first wife for twenty-three years, and quite frankly, I did not know if I would ever tie the knot again. The older I got, the more set in my bachelor ways I became, and I didn't even know if I wanted to leave the comfort zone, Yes, I was lonely at times, but my job allowed me to go from place to place, and added a degree of excitement to my life. My two children were grown and doing very well, and I had the very special love in my life, my grandson in Seattle. I was content, although sometimes I longed for that special someone again.
I was always looking for good employees, especially housekeepers. At the time I was seeking a housekeeping manager to shape up my ragged staff. Believe me, they are very, very hard to find. Then one day in late March of 2006, a lady came in to apply for the job in housekeeping. She was also looking for a place to live as she had just moved here from back East. We did weekly rentals of a few rooms for construction workers, and folks looking for housing as they moved into the city, so I not only hired here for the housekeeping position, I also rented her a room by the week. I was pleased because I had found an excellent housekeeper whose resume was loaded with excellent experience. I just did not just how well I had really done, yet.
Lifetimes and events are defined by moments that we might not even be cognizant of. They transpire like the rapid wing flutter of a hummingbird, and yet they change our lives forever. Such was the afternoon of April 20, 2006, and I was not even aware that it was happening. I was at the Front Desk dealing with a very disgruntled female guest. I cannot even tell you the details of the confrontation because quite frankly, it was just another day for me. Candy, my new housekeeping manager had come down to the front desk, and from what I was later told, I looked over at her in a way that “melted her heart" I didn't even know I had done that! Apparently, from what she later told me, she went back to her room and wrote in her journal"Oh my God" I swear I have no idea what kind of look that I gave her, but, that look changed both of our lives forever.
Candy kept her new found feelings
for me to herself for months. After all, I was her manager,, and she thought
that I had relationship in Los Angeles that I was serious about. Through a
hotel guest problem that involved Candy and I , we began to talk, and even
though I felt no romantic interest on the surface, I found myself seeking her
out, making excuses to go up to the floor that she was working just to chat. I
even asked her out for a casual dinner and we went for a drive, but I still
didn't know where this was all going. We were, though, rapidly becoming good
friends. I was blind to her real feelings, and to mine, typical male that I am.
Wow, this was an interesting turn of events. What did I really feel for her? Several times in my life I had passed on possible relationships, but this time I decided to check this one out. About seven P.M. I called Candy and asked her if she wanted to go for a ride. I found out later that she was really scared that I was going to fire her. We drove into Spokane, and walked down the streets. It was then that I made a small gesture that would change everything. I reached over and took her hand. When we drove back to the hotel, we stopped at the city park, and I asked her if she was serious about her feeling. I then put my arms around her, and we shared that magical first kiss.
That was July of 2006, and on Feb, 12, 2007, we became husband and wife. Marrying Candy is the best thing that I have done in my life, and not only are we married, we are best friends, lovers, and buddies. I have never looked back, and every day I thank God for whatever look I gave her back on that spring day in April.
Sunday, May 4, 2008
The Third Floor Crapper
As I wrote earlier, when people are in hotels some kind of mystical transformation takes place. All inhibitions go out the window, and they perform acts that they would never do at home. At least I truly hope that they don't do these things at home!
The stories you are about to hear are true. These stories are also full of crap, and are not for the faint of heart or for those who have just finished a nice dinner or breakfast. Two different hotels, two different states, but the same old crap. I will just issue one warning. Please don't try this at home.
Salem,Oregon, a beautiful city centrally located in the heart of the Willamette Valley, and of course, the capital of the enchanting state of Oregon. As I posted earlier, this was my first real hotel. Real meaning I didn't count the skid-road hotel that I worked in while gong to college in Seattle, nor did I count the small residence hotel I had previously worked in in Salem several years earlier.
This was a nice hotel, and this was where I got my first general manger position. Back in those days one didn't just start out in management, even with a college education. You had to learn the ropes from the ground up, and the shortest route to management was to become the auditor. This is how I started, and then worked up to Front Desk Manager, and then the big time, General Manager. But, when this story happened, I was the night auditor.
I loved working nights. The lounge was open until 2 AM, and I could sit at the desk and listen to the live bands. Remember when they actually had live music? Ah, for the good old days. However, after the lounge closed for the night and the waitstaff and bartender had gone home, it could get real boring. You almost looked forward to the unexpected. Well, I wasn't let down in that aspect, for Salem was not only the home of the lawmakers of Oregon, it was also home to the State Mental Hospital. Do you remember "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's' Nest", it was filmed at that same fine institution. As a matter of fact, the crew from that movie stayed at my hotel, and one of Hollywood's leading men, I won't name names, was kicked out of our lounge. But I digress from my story.
About four in the morning I got a call from one of the rooms and a highly irritated voice informed me that on the third floor right in front of Suite 313/315 was what appeared to be to be a pile of poop. I, of course, figured that somehow a dog had gotten in the building, this was a no pet's allowed hotel, and that it had done it's business on the third floor. "Thank you, I will be right up to clean it up," I informed the guest.
Oh boy, just what I wanted to do in the middle of the night, clean up dog poop. So, I gathered up some supplies and headed for the third floor. Might as well get this over with. I arrived on the third floor and headed down the hallway. As I got near the suite I caught the aroma of my conquest. Then, I saw it, and there was something wrong about this whole thing. Now, I was right on top of it, and I knew something was wrong. No, it couldn't be what I thought ! But, wait a minute, was it? There on the carpet right in front of the suite was a pile of poop all right, but this was no ordinary dog poop. Nope, this was a pile of human poop! Yes, you heard me right, human poop!
Now, I ask you, what kind of person poops in the middle of the hallway of a classy hotel? Disgusting! Trying not to throw up, I dutifully did my best to clean up this mess. The only thing that I could think of was that some street person had wondered up to the third floor and decided that this was as good a place as any to do his or her big business. I figured that this was a one time thing, and it was almost kind of funny.
Another week went by, and I had forgotten about this little episode, when I received a call from another third floor guest that there was a some dog poop in the hallway. Well, I knew better, and with grim determination I ascended once again to the third floor. Sure enough, right in front of Suite 313/315 was another pile of human poop. I told my manager about it the next day, and we decided that we would try to catch this guy. The story soon got around the hotel, and the perpetrator was soon labeled "The third floor crapper". Yes, we set up a watch to see if we could trap him, but to no avail. Somehow, we always missed him, and every so often there would be a "fresh" pile of poop, always in the exact same spot. I decided that it must be an inside job. By the way, did I mention that Suite 313/315 was where the General Manager resided? You don't suppose?????
Next-"The Holy Crapper"
The stories you are about to hear are true. These stories are also full of crap, and are not for the faint of heart or for those who have just finished a nice dinner or breakfast. Two different hotels, two different states, but the same old crap. I will just issue one warning. Please don't try this at home.
Salem,Oregon, a beautiful city centrally located in the heart of the Willamette Valley, and of course, the capital of the enchanting state of Oregon. As I posted earlier, this was my first real hotel. Real meaning I didn't count the skid-road hotel that I worked in while gong to college in Seattle, nor did I count the small residence hotel I had previously worked in in Salem several years earlier.
This was a nice hotel, and this was where I got my first general manger position. Back in those days one didn't just start out in management, even with a college education. You had to learn the ropes from the ground up, and the shortest route to management was to become the auditor. This is how I started, and then worked up to Front Desk Manager, and then the big time, General Manager. But, when this story happened, I was the night auditor.
I loved working nights. The lounge was open until 2 AM, and I could sit at the desk and listen to the live bands. Remember when they actually had live music? Ah, for the good old days. However, after the lounge closed for the night and the waitstaff and bartender had gone home, it could get real boring. You almost looked forward to the unexpected. Well, I wasn't let down in that aspect, for Salem was not only the home of the lawmakers of Oregon, it was also home to the State Mental Hospital. Do you remember "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's' Nest", it was filmed at that same fine institution. As a matter of fact, the crew from that movie stayed at my hotel, and one of Hollywood's leading men, I won't name names, was kicked out of our lounge. But I digress from my story.
About four in the morning I got a call from one of the rooms and a highly irritated voice informed me that on the third floor right in front of Suite 313/315 was what appeared to be to be a pile of poop. I, of course, figured that somehow a dog had gotten in the building, this was a no pet's allowed hotel, and that it had done it's business on the third floor. "Thank you, I will be right up to clean it up," I informed the guest.
Oh boy, just what I wanted to do in the middle of the night, clean up dog poop. So, I gathered up some supplies and headed for the third floor. Might as well get this over with. I arrived on the third floor and headed down the hallway. As I got near the suite I caught the aroma of my conquest. Then, I saw it, and there was something wrong about this whole thing. Now, I was right on top of it, and I knew something was wrong. No, it couldn't be what I thought ! But, wait a minute, was it? There on the carpet right in front of the suite was a pile of poop all right, but this was no ordinary dog poop. Nope, this was a pile of human poop! Yes, you heard me right, human poop!
Now, I ask you, what kind of person poops in the middle of the hallway of a classy hotel? Disgusting! Trying not to throw up, I dutifully did my best to clean up this mess. The only thing that I could think of was that some street person had wondered up to the third floor and decided that this was as good a place as any to do his or her big business. I figured that this was a one time thing, and it was almost kind of funny.
Another week went by, and I had forgotten about this little episode, when I received a call from another third floor guest that there was a some dog poop in the hallway. Well, I knew better, and with grim determination I ascended once again to the third floor. Sure enough, right in front of Suite 313/315 was another pile of human poop. I told my manager about it the next day, and we decided that we would try to catch this guy. The story soon got around the hotel, and the perpetrator was soon labeled "The third floor crapper". Yes, we set up a watch to see if we could trap him, but to no avail. Somehow, we always missed him, and every so often there would be a "fresh" pile of poop, always in the exact same spot. I decided that it must be an inside job. By the way, did I mention that Suite 313/315 was where the General Manager resided? You don't suppose?????
Next-"The Holy Crapper"
Thursday, May 1, 2008
I Didn't Do It -I know You-Part 2
I didn't do it! Honestly! I have been accused of many things in my life, but what the man standing in front of me was accusing me of I did not do, I swear I didn't. It was all because of that ring. The ring, yes it was what gave me away. I will tell you a little about that ring before I get too far ahead of my myself.
Several months earlier I had a female guest staying for about a weak at the Emerald Inn in Seattle. She was going through some rough times and was in the process of moving to California.
She needed someone to talk to, and hotel people are a little like bartenders and priests. We hear it all. We listen, cluck words of sympathy, and absolve them of any guilt that they may be feeling. Yep, we do it all.
This lady needed a few extra days to pay her bill, and being one of the softest touches in the world, I agreed to work with her. Now, I have been ripped off before, so I always wonder if I will have to end up paying some deadbeat's bill. I didn't have to worry this time because she paid her bill in full. The came the big surprise. Sherry invited me to lunch the day before she left for California. At lunch, she pulled out a beautiful men's ring. I could tell that it was an antique. Sherry told me that the ring had belonged to her grandfather in Boston, and she had inherited it when he passed. As there were no males in the family to pass it on she wanted to give it to me for being so nice to her. I was stunned. I at first declined such a gift, but she insisted, so I took it and told her that I would proudly wear it in memory of her grandfather.
Sherry moved on to California, and I wore the ring everyday. One afternoon, a strange looking man walked in off the street. I could tell at once that something was not quite right about this guy. Then the words I feared most came out of his mouth. "I know you." No, not again, I thought. I looked at him carefully, remembering that I had had this experience before with Rob. Just in case I did know him from some past life, I carefully studied his face. No, I concluded, I did not know him.
He advanced closer to me and repeated"I know you." "No", I told him, "you don't know me."
His eyes were now just tiny specks in his face. Breathing hard, staring a whole through me, he repeated the third time that he knew me. I was getting a little nervous by now. He looked like he wanted to kill me. You never knew on Aurora who was carrying a gun, so I was getting ready to fight or flee, whichever would work best.
Then the strangest thing I had ever heard came out of his mouth."You are the one who killed Christ." OK, now I was dealing with a real loony tune here. He then looked right at me and said "I know you are the one who killed Christ because of that ring on your finger.' Yes, it was "that" ring Sherry had given me months before. The man standing before me was becoming more and more agitated, and I was now sure I was gong to die.
Now, like I said before, I have done some bad things in my life, but I swear, I was not the one wh0 killed Christ. I quietly tried to assure him that he had the wrong guy. I mean, I don't think that I look 2000 years old. Maybe this was retribution for thinking that Rob looked old? He yelled some obscenities at me, and went running out into the street. I watched him as he then ran back through my parking lot yelling damnation and judgement on the hotel and everyone in general.
I was curious now, because in my theology studies I did not remember seeing a ring mentioned in the Bible concerning the crucifixion of Christ I reread the account in the Bible. Nope, I was right. No ring! Now you know to beware when someone walks up to you and says,"I know you"
Run for your life!!
Several months earlier I had a female guest staying for about a weak at the Emerald Inn in Seattle. She was going through some rough times and was in the process of moving to California.
She needed someone to talk to, and hotel people are a little like bartenders and priests. We hear it all. We listen, cluck words of sympathy, and absolve them of any guilt that they may be feeling. Yep, we do it all.
This lady needed a few extra days to pay her bill, and being one of the softest touches in the world, I agreed to work with her. Now, I have been ripped off before, so I always wonder if I will have to end up paying some deadbeat's bill. I didn't have to worry this time because she paid her bill in full. The came the big surprise. Sherry invited me to lunch the day before she left for California. At lunch, she pulled out a beautiful men's ring. I could tell that it was an antique. Sherry told me that the ring had belonged to her grandfather in Boston, and she had inherited it when he passed. As there were no males in the family to pass it on she wanted to give it to me for being so nice to her. I was stunned. I at first declined such a gift, but she insisted, so I took it and told her that I would proudly wear it in memory of her grandfather.
Sherry moved on to California, and I wore the ring everyday. One afternoon, a strange looking man walked in off the street. I could tell at once that something was not quite right about this guy. Then the words I feared most came out of his mouth. "I know you." No, not again, I thought. I looked at him carefully, remembering that I had had this experience before with Rob. Just in case I did know him from some past life, I carefully studied his face. No, I concluded, I did not know him.
He advanced closer to me and repeated"I know you." "No", I told him, "you don't know me."
His eyes were now just tiny specks in his face. Breathing hard, staring a whole through me, he repeated the third time that he knew me. I was getting a little nervous by now. He looked like he wanted to kill me. You never knew on Aurora who was carrying a gun, so I was getting ready to fight or flee, whichever would work best.
Then the strangest thing I had ever heard came out of his mouth."You are the one who killed Christ." OK, now I was dealing with a real loony tune here. He then looked right at me and said "I know you are the one who killed Christ because of that ring on your finger.' Yes, it was "that" ring Sherry had given me months before. The man standing before me was becoming more and more agitated, and I was now sure I was gong to die.
Now, like I said before, I have done some bad things in my life, but I swear, I was not the one wh0 killed Christ. I quietly tried to assure him that he had the wrong guy. I mean, I don't think that I look 2000 years old. Maybe this was retribution for thinking that Rob looked old? He yelled some obscenities at me, and went running out into the street. I watched him as he then ran back through my parking lot yelling damnation and judgement on the hotel and everyone in general.
I was curious now, because in my theology studies I did not remember seeing a ring mentioned in the Bible concerning the crucifixion of Christ I reread the account in the Bible. Nope, I was right. No ring! Now you know to beware when someone walks up to you and says,"I know you"
Run for your life!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
I had always thought that there was some type of Divine order to this chaos. I always wanted to believe that everything happened for a purpo...
