Growing Up Wallace,Memories of the way we were- and anything else that crosses my mind.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

The Right Wrong Number

Ah yes, back to, hotel land. One of the cardinal rules in the hotel business is to never, never, never, give out the room number of a guest. I know that many hotel clerks do it, but it can lead to all kinds of problems if you do. Of course, it can lead to all kinds of problems if you don't. Kind of a bad deal for the poor innocent desk clerk. The next few blogs I will recount some stories that worked both ways.

Spokane-1982. One of the things that I learned to dread the most was when a guest would check in with and say to me,"don't let anyone know I am here". OK, my suspicions would immediately go on the alert, I would assure the guest that I never gave out room numbers, although one time I did, and well, I will tell that story some other time. Anyway, usually, when a guest made it a point to lean over the desk and in a sinister way say that, I knew trouble was just around the corner. Now, usually, it was either a man or a woman checking in with somebody that was ,well, let's say, they should not have been checking in with.

It was a cold night in March, and I was working the graveyard shift. I was use to all kinds of things on this shift, as you know from some of my previous stories. I had learned over the years to be very respectful of guest's privacy request. After all, they were the guests, Whatever they wanted, we tried to do. Shortly after midnight, a tall man walked through the door and requested a room for two. I did not pay much attention to him until he leaned over the desk and in a low, but menacing voice , said to me "don"t let anyone know that I am here." OK, I thought, another cheating husband. Oh well, whatever they did was not my concern. I did, however, hate being made a party to their infidelity, but it was my job to do honor their request.

About one hour later I received a call asking me what room Mr. Smith was in. I told her that we had no Mr. Smith's registered. End of story? Nope. About fifteen minutes later a very angry looking lady came in the office and asked again what room Mr. Smith was in. I told her again, sorry, no Mr. Smith. She then said"well, that is funny, that is our car parked in the lot. Now, you have better tell me what room he is in, or else I will knock on every door until I find him."

I then , in my stern authoritative voice that I saved for jerk people told her that if she does that I would call the police and have her arrested for trespassing. She left in a huff after shooting me a look that said" you will be sorry, you SOB."

Oh well, none of my business. OK, you guessed it, the phone rang from in-house and a guest told me that someone crazy lady was in the parking lot and bashing out the windshield to a car with a baseball bat. Great! I called the police, and within minutes they arrived and accosted the woman ion the lot. Of course, I had already figured out who the lunatic in with the baseball bat was.
A few minutes later an officer came in to talk to me. He then said something that blew me away.
"Washington is a community property state, and the car is registered to her and her husband, and if she wants to bash the windshield out, that is her business, and there is nothing that we can do. However, I could ask the them to escort her off of the property for trespassing". I said, please do so, and so they did.

I went out to the parking lot, and Mr. Smith was looking at his car, and shaking his head in dismay. I often wondered what Mrs, Smith did to Mr. Smith when he got home. I mean, anyone who would do that with a bat to a car, just think about what she could do to him. Hm, on second thought I don't want to know.


Go Figure said...

Cedar: Sounds like a fun time!

MarmiteToasty said...

Oh I would LOVE to take a cricket bat to someones windscreen LOL


Cedar Street Kid said...

GF, it was actually pretty darn funny.

MT, hm, I guess someone better tow the line with you.

inlandempiregirl said...

Wow... never a dull moment on graveyard shift. Of course... his name was Mr. Smith.