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There was a time long ago, before I began working at a hotel, when I looked forward to holidays. Since starting work here however, I have learned that I was mistaken throughout my life in believing that holidays are days set aside to celebrate something special. In reality, I now know, holidays are days set aside for people to act like bastards, and to give in to their inner entitlement whore.
As I write this, the Hendersonville part of Asheville-Hendersonville is celebrating the tourist industry with the Apple Festival. The festival began as a way to honor and delight in the area's extensive apple-growing industry, but has since become more of a way for developers to more effectively sell the subdivisions they're building on land formerly used for apple orchards. It's treacly, annoying, and locals have nothing to do with it. Which is okay, because hundreds of thousands of tourists pour in anually to enjoy the delights of funnel cakes, kindergarten-quality "art", and flashy brochures advertising Oceane Oake Harboure Villa Courte Townes at Mispelled Pointe (another fine gated community by Puketech Builders -- your hometown builders!).
But I digress. Point is, the tourists are here and they're staying in hotels, and if they keep behaving the way they've been behaving all day, I'm going to commit acts of violence (not against anyone in particular, mind you, just go out and commit them against whatever happens to be nearby -- I might savagely abuse a drainage ditch or the dumpster for example).
It began early, by the fact that my boss, as much as I consider her a friend, is doing her usual holiday skip out. I understand she has a family that she wants to spend time with, but tough noogies. We need you here too. We do not need you to call here and spend upwards of forty five minutes (forty six minutes and fifteen seconds actually) on the phone reminding me how to do my job, asking irritating questions, and repeating yourself every three seconds when the people shrieking in the background are making you forget everything that ever happened to you in your entire life roughly every two seconds.
In the midst of dealing with my boss in one of her goldfish memory episodes, a guest checked in, and for some reason got a bug up his ass about his credit card being double billed. I explained that we wouldn't do that, showed him his rate -- to which he said, "You whipped that around a little too quickly, didn't you? Show me again,." and then he looked at me with those piggy, beady little eyes and said, "You're not enjoying your job today, are you?"
Yes I was cool to him. I admit it. But I do not appreciate being treated as though I'm hoarding credit card numbers for sale on the internet or something.
Next in the hit parade, a guest complained that his keys had become inactive with that same suspicious, yet whiny, tone that suggested he thought we were up to no good.
A guest complained that her rate was not the same as her friend's across the hall. To equalize them, we'd have to drop her rate by about thirty dollars.
The cable is out as I write this, and at the moment, 11 rooms have called to complain about it. And speaking of 11, one room wanted 11 extra towels and 11 extra washcloths -- what the hell do you need that many extra towels for?
I have vouchers and discounts I can't process because I've never seen them before in my life, my boss is still trying to weasel out of coming in tonight, and one room is upset because the boss' husband (our last line of defense before actually calling the handyman) couldn't fix their clogged sink and thought the guests would have no trouble waiting until tomorrow for him to try again. They do have trouble, and they've told me twice. The boss' husband suggests providing them with a flat-edged screwdriver.
At this point I desperately want to put my fist through something.
As I write this, the Hendersonville part of Asheville-Hendersonville is celebrating the tourist industry with the Apple Festival. The festival began as a way to honor and delight in the area's extensive apple-growing industry, but has since become more of a way for developers to more effectively sell the subdivisions they're building on land formerly used for apple orchards. It's treacly, annoying, and locals have nothing to do with it. Which is okay, because hundreds of thousands of tourists pour in anually to enjoy the delights of funnel cakes, kindergarten-quality "art", and flashy brochures advertising Oceane Oake Harboure Villa Courte Townes at Mispelled Pointe (another fine gated community by Puketech Builders -- your hometown builders!).
But I digress. Point is, the tourists are here and they're staying in hotels, and if they keep behaving the way they've been behaving all day, I'm going to commit acts of violence (not against anyone in particular, mind you, just go out and commit them against whatever happens to be nearby -- I might savagely abuse a drainage ditch or the dumpster for example).
It began early, by the fact that my boss, as much as I consider her a friend, is doing her usual holiday skip out. I understand she has a family that she wants to spend time with, but tough noogies. We need you here too. We do not need you to call here and spend upwards of forty five minutes (forty six minutes and fifteen seconds actually) on the phone reminding me how to do my job, asking irritating questions, and repeating yourself every three seconds when the people shrieking in the background are making you forget everything that ever happened to you in your entire life roughly every two seconds.
In the midst of dealing with my boss in one of her goldfish memory episodes, a guest checked in, and for some reason got a bug up his ass about his credit card being double billed. I explained that we wouldn't do that, showed him his rate -- to which he said, "You whipped that around a little too quickly, didn't you? Show me again,." and then he looked at me with those piggy, beady little eyes and said, "You're not enjoying your job today, are you?"
Yes I was cool to him. I admit it. But I do not appreciate being treated as though I'm hoarding credit card numbers for sale on the internet or something.
Next in the hit parade, a guest complained that his keys had become inactive with that same suspicious, yet whiny, tone that suggested he thought we were up to no good.
A guest complained that her rate was not the same as her friend's across the hall. To equalize them, we'd have to drop her rate by about thirty dollars.
The cable is out as I write this, and at the moment, 11 rooms have called to complain about it. And speaking of 11, one room wanted 11 extra towels and 11 extra washcloths -- what the hell do you need that many extra towels for?
I have vouchers and discounts I can't process because I've never seen them before in my life, my boss is still trying to weasel out of coming in tonight, and one room is upset because the boss' husband (our last line of defense before actually calling the handyman) couldn't fix their clogged sink and thought the guests would have no trouble waiting until tomorrow for him to try again. They do have trouble, and they've told me twice. The boss' husband suggests providing them with a flat-edged screwdriver.
At this point I desperately want to put my fist through something.
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