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Another week down...and my soul weeps for itself. As usual, here's the rundown:
Nice way to ask for help
So, here’s the background on this one: no one at our hotel seems to coordinate things with one another. This has been a repeated problem; despite all sorts of complaints (from us and from guests) since the people who update our website often do so without sending reservations any info. Otherwise, they do website updates or PR releases about packages before making sure we’re ready to sell them. This makes us all look like idiots when someone calls up asking for a random package, and no one in our office (management included) knows what the hell they are talking about. Joy.
So, most recently, we had a double-whammy: our summer packages ended, but they never got taken off the website. We’ve spent the last 3 weeks telling people “that package is over”, because that’s what was told to us.
For the last 3 weeks, no one decided it would be good for us to know that they were mailing out advertisements for one of the packages they just ended. We just found this out this week, so we have to scramble and actually build the packages in our computer system so they…you know…EXISTED!!! This led to more complaints, and finally, this epic douchebag.
SC: Yeah, I called earlier today and talked to a young woman, she said she would be checking to see when the (package we haven’t finished building yet) rates are available.
Me: Alright, I know they are still working on getting all the rates set up, can I put you on hold to check on them?
SC: Sure!
Up to this point, this guy is fine. No problems, not even giving me a bad vibe, so I’m only my usual marginally bitter self. Anyway, I check on the rates and get told that they’ve been programmed into the website, but we won’t have them in our computers for several hours. Ok then. I go back to the caller.
Me: (repeating everything I just typed)
SC: *sigh* Look…I just want to know when the (specific rate) will exist on what dates. I’m very flexible.
Me: I apologize sir; they just put the information on the website a bit early, so not everything was fully arranged yet. We do have the rates on our website now, but they won’t have the rest of the information here in my computer for a few hours, so I can’t reserve anything yet.
SC: Look, I just want to be able to speak with someone intelligent enough to answer my question.
I…wait…what!? Mother fucker! Let’s go over some quick notes here; every guy has a douchebag test. For some guys, it’s simple…I am one of those guys. My test is rather direct: if you call me to ask for help, then insult me? Douchebag! So congratulations, you’ve proven yourself with flying colors you skeevy rat bastard. I guess that means I don’t have to try and help you any more, now does it? I mean, since clearly my cowering intellect cannot possibly wrap itself around your incredibly complicated request. I must have no way of possibly understanding what you’re talking about?
I mean, it’s not like I just answered your question with all of the information the hotel has to offer at this time. It’s not like I also gave a perfectly valid explanation for why the information was not readily available either. So clearly, your request must be so mind-bogglingly incredible that it cannot possibly be examined by someone so lowly as me.
So, since I’m so low-brow, here’s my incredibly simple reply: Go fuck yourself right up a hill, and back down the other side. Oh, and go look at our website, feel free to help yourself, because I sure as hell don’t care enough to do it any more.
Yin, meet Yang
Dammit…such a good opportunity to randomly include “Wang” in a title, but it just wouldn’t be appropriate for this one. This is a story that came to a head, thankfully, right after the above douchebag called. It’s one of the few good stories that I have gotten in the last year, so it was nice to have it right after a dickhead called me.
Rewind about 3 months ago, I got an email from a woman about setting up a nice homecoming stay for her husband upon his return from Iraq. She wanted to go all out: full weekend stay, nice room, restaurants around the town, massages for both of them…basically an all star “welcome back”, and I was happy (I know…me!?) to oblige. Not only did I help her set up stuff at the hotel, I even went online and set up reservations around town; helped them get tickets for a concert, reservations for restaurants, everything. They were set.
Then, things got turned upside down. Not realizing he was turning all her plans upside down, the husband told her that his leave was postponed, so she had to call and start cancelling things at the last second. She was nice, so I helped her do all of that, and she said she’d call back the next day.
Next day comes, and we’re setting up things for when he’s supposed to be coming back She was in the middle of this when suddenly, the woman started screaming, and for a second I thought someone had just busted into her house.
Apparently, her husband was standing right behind her. Whoops. Guess he was trying to surprise her. Surprise!!
Oh crap. We just cancelled everything for the weekend…uh…
Instead of giving her bad news, I realized that I actually liked this person…she’d been nice, complimentary, and I genuinely enjoyed talking to her, having done it off and on for two months. I told her I’d call her back when I had everything figured out.
In short, I got her room back, got her spa reservations made again, got her back into 3 restaurants, and thankfully we hadn’t done anything with the concert tickets; everything, somehow, fell right back into place. After I called her, they stayed the entire weekend, and it went off without a hitch. Awesome. I moved on, since I rarely get a “thank you” for anything I do, and I’m jaded enough never to expect one.
This is why it was a real kick in the ass to get a letter (an actual hand-written one) from each of them today to give me that thank you. Apparently, I kind of made their day. This really ruins my reputation as a bitter, hateful person.
But I’ll be damned if it didn’t still feel good…you glorious bastards!
It won’t last, I’m sure.
It didn’t.
SC: Do you have any rooms on (dates)
Me *checking* I do apologize, it looks like we’ve sold the last of our rooms for those dates, we are fully committed.
SC: …
Me: …
SC: You don’t have ANY rooms left?
Me: (And here we go) Unfortunately not, we are fully committed at this time. If you’d like, I could add you on to the wait list for those nights.
SC: How many are on the wait list?
Me: It looks like there are 3 people on (first day) and 3 additional on the list for (2nd day)
SC: Well, I’m sorry to hear about that…I am a repeat guest…
Me: (Muting my phone) Oh don’t start this horse shit…
SC: …and I come there a lot…
Me: (Looking up his profile while he runs his mouth)
SC: …and I know for a fact that you hold rooms to not sell them.
Me: (Bullshit, we don’t. Sometimes we get cancellations, if you’re lucky, but we don’t hold rooms that aren’t contracted)
SC: I’ve talked to many a manager about this.
Me: (No, you haven’t)
SC: So what do you have held?
Me: Sir, the only rooms we would be holding would be rooms contracted to other companies, if anything. Right now, however, we are showing that every room has been reserved already; thus, we are waitlist only.
SC: Well then I’ll talk to the manager who will tell you what you really have.
I pulled up his profile…this “repeat guest” who “comes here a lot” has stayed a total of…wait for it…one time. And not in the last 3 years. So, by him saying he comes here a lot, what he really means is “I stayed there once years ago and I want to come back.” He never even came into the restaurants…I should know, I checked too.
What is so hard for people to understand about the fact that they are not special and unique snowflakes? More than that, that they are but one of the many voices I encounter every. Single. Day. The mere fact that he expects compassion from ME of all people (HAHAHA!!!) is bad enough, but the fact that he expects it on the basis of “Durr, I was there once give me things” is enough to drive me to levels of homicidal rage. Add to that the fact that my rages generally involve things not found in the rages of most others (ie, beating you to death with a fossilized cucumber), and you’ve made a fairly notable misstep. You’re also wasting my god damn time.
So, let me sum things up for you: not only do we not have a room, but your insistence that we do has done nothing but annoy me. If you continue, the Producinator is going to cucumber your ass into the afterlife over the course of a week long beat down. You have been warned. Now go away.
You were warned
I couldn’t have planned this better myself…
SC: Yeah, I called earlier and they told me you were sold out on (dates), and the only thing you had was a wait list.
Me: Yes, that’s correct.
SC: Well I know you hold rooms aside, isn’t that right?
Me: No sir, at this time we have no rooms held aside that day. It is waitlist only. (PRODUCINATOR MODE HAS BEEN ACTIVATED!!!)
SC: Well I…hold on someone’s knocking on my door…
Me: ……
SC: *click*
Apparently, I Producinated him by proxy! A PBP!! I can only hope that he is, at this very moment, shrieking in a very childlike and unmanly way as he is accosted by a masked assailant. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Pineappletron joined in the fun, because that is definitely the fruit-toting sidekick I would choose.
Ah, cucumber and pineapple, is there anything we couldn’t do together? Aside from not beating people to death? I think not.
Gee, I wonder
Me: I’m sorry ma’am, we are sold out on that day.
SC: You don’t have ANYTHING left?
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I wish I could hate you to death. Seriously, right in half. Starting with your eyes.
And slowly…
You have to give a little to get a little…
SC: I want to make a reservation for your (wildly popular event) in the (restaurant).
Me: Alright, I can check for openings…how large a party will you have?
SC: Uh…well, you tell me. We can have more or less.
Me: (/facepalm…this is gonna suck) Well, our availability will depend on how many people you are trying to bring. I might have a 12:00, but if you have too many people, it won’t work.
SC: …
Me: …
SC: …
Me: …….. (I hate you) …so would you like to give me an estimate???
SC: Uh…..
Me: ….
SC: I guess maybe 10?
Me: (Finally) Ok, for a party of 10, the only things I would have are at 1:00 and 2:00
SC: Ok. What if I only had 2?
Me: (Fuck) That would open up 11:00, 12:00, and 12:30, but 1:00 wouldn’t be available since it’s a larger party only.
SC: Oh…well what about 3 people?
It went on and on like this for 15 minutes. Then I had to explain 4 times why we needed a credit card. Then I had to explain that, yes, I did need to have her damn name to actually MAKE a reservation. I was getting ready to rip off my socks, put them over my hands, and sew faces into them so that I would have somebody intelligent to talk to!
Captain Douchebag Wants a Handout
I can’t write the dialogue from this one; not because of any real solid reason, but simply because doing so will only serve to infuriate me beyond reason once more, which is generally when I start reaching for my cucumber. That said, here’s the summary.
Captain Douchebag stays at the hotel every now and then. Captain Douchebag managed, a couple times early in the year, to talk his way into a lower rate. Captain Douchebag, naturally, now assumes that the lowered rate is 100% guaranteed every time he stays at the hotel, and any higher rate we have is always wrong in regards to him.
Captain Douchebag, as you may have noted, is a complete and total fuckwit. He had to be told that he does not have a guaranteed rate, that he was only given the discount as a limited offer, and that he was completely in the wrong. So what does he do? What every giant, festering pile of human waste does: he starts name throwing managers around the hotel. Of course, he doesn’t even have the shred of intellect necessary to get the names right, so he succeeded only in making himself look even dumber than he was to begin with.
This, naturally, created a catastrophic chain of events wherein all things intelligent were drawn into the black hole he had created in his mentality. In short, Captain Douchebag has a Suckhole. Yes, that’s as dirty as it sounds.
Of course, we did some checking…all of the manager names that he got wrong were at least somewhat close to their actual names. Their responses when told about this guy? “Who is he?” So yeah, we caught him in his BS. He’s been revealed as exactly what he is: A militant douche with a suckhole.
The Email Troll
This one still just dumbfounds me…I got this email sent to me. I’m paraphrasing it a bit, but this is more or less what it said. I’ll note that any bad punctuation and spacing is intentional, the email I got was typed much the same way.:
Obviously, the people running your hotel are typical Denverites, who think the world revolves
around Denver....well it doesn't.
You have no idea how difficult it is to get the address of the hotel.
When someone isn't familiar with Denver, even if they live here, or just moved here.....
a street address, with city and zip code is a requirement!
One should be able to go to your website homepage and see the address and phone number,
clearly.
To find your street address you have to scroll many different pages, and then, if you haven't given up, you'll find a street address buried in small print.
Get with it ....even the Plaza Hotel gives it's address on its website.
Ok…so, I curtailed my initial email reply (it was short and sweet, “go fuck yourself”) since I didn’t really feel like getting fired over an email. That said, I sent back a carefully worded email that I meant to be condescending, but just reading it would not come across unless you knew my tone. In the email, I mentioned that the hotel’s address is located at the bottom of the page on every part of our website, and in the clearly marked “CONTACT US” link visible from every page at the top as well. I get this response back…again, paraphrased a bit, but I kept his shitty grammar and weird-ass spacing:
Well, I beg to differ with you.
You see, my business is advertising, marketing and pr.
Your address should be right at the top or near the top of your home page....or right under the
picture of the hotel.....people should not have to scroll down to find your address.
Secondly, your address is written in the smallest of type at the very bottom of the home page....
in a place where people don't look, because the information at the bottom of most home pages is basically "junk" information that the average person never uses.
I'm sorry, but if you were my client, that's what my advice would be.
But, then, it's only my opinion. I'm just sorry you make people scroll and scroll and then
try and find your address....and when they find it, they have to use a magnifying glass to
read it.
Ok, first…what the hell do you mean “I beg to differ with you”? You can’t do that, based on what I wrote! I know this, as what I wrote to him was nothing but factual stuff: “our address is here, here, and here, and we welcome any feedback you may have to offer” (yes, that 2nd part was a lie). You can’t “beg to differ” with me, jackass…you can only prove yourself to be a massive tool.
OH WAIT! You did! If your business is in advertising, marketing, and PR, then I would be concerned as all hell if I had you working for me, and suddenly found that you were unable to construct a full fucking paragraph with good grammar. You’re also upset that we make people “scroll and scroll” and “use a magnifying glass” to see the 10-point font at the bottom of the page? And on half of the pages, you don’t even have to scroll down, since it is present on every damn page!?
Why don’t we sum up your response for what it really is? Here, I’ll rewrite the damn thing for you, just to help. Here is what you clearly meant to say:
“OK, I’m sorry, I’m a complete idiot/jackass/mental wasteland. Throughout my life, everyone I encountered told me things like ‘Jim, you are a waste of fucking space, and anyone who spends five minutes with you wants to carve a toothbrush into a shiv and end your blight upon this Earth.’ Well, for a time, I tried to prove them wrong, but as the years passed, I realized that this was just something I couldn’t do. I realize now that I was clearly incapable of actually looking for the information about your address, and my utter lack of competency led me to send my email before I had even put in the amount of effort that a snail puts towards a musical career.
I’m sorry that I wasted your time, much as I do for everyone else, and I apologize to the world at large for the very fact that I exist. I need to be battered about the head and face with a large metal object and some surgical tubing, and God will never have mercy on my soul. I assume I’m going to go now, and do the same thing I do every week: I’m going to sit outside in a Wendy’s parking lot, and play with a pile of my own shit. This, for me, is going to be a feat of dazzling genius, since it will prove that I somehow had the mental processing skill to understand how to take a shit.”
There, I’ve re-written your email for you. It sounds about 1000x more accurate now than it ever did before. I won’t charge this time, since I’ve clearly done you such a favor. Do not expect me to be so nice in the future.
Poor Planning? Oh Boo. Farking. Hoo.
SC: I’m staying there over Thanksgiving, and I need to get a reservation in the (restaurant)
Me: Alright…we are very busy already for the Thanksgiving meal, it-
SC: 3:30.
Me: (glare) Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like there are any tables left then. The only times left would be one table at 11:00, and we have some times open from 8pm to 11pm that night, but everything else is committed.
SC: …..
Me: …..
SC: So what are we going to do then?
Me: If one of those times won’t work, we do have a time open at (other restaurant) at 2:30, but that’s unfortunately the closest we would have.
SC: Even though I’m a guest in the hotel?
Me: Unfortunately, yes. We have had people calling for the tables starting around July, so many of the peak times during midday have been full for some time.
SC: ……
Me: ….. (Am I really so damn confusing? Why can no one ever seem to formulate a response!?)
SC: Well I’ll just call (person in the exec office) and get them to do it.
Me: Ok!
SC: …..
Me: …..
SC: …..
Me: …..
SC: *click*
What did you expect? I would suddenly grow a new table out of my ass? The restaurant isn’t exactly a big place, they can’t just “squeeze you in”. We can however “keep you the fuck out because you’re a raving douchebag.” Which, by the way, we did: he talked to the exec office person, and they shut him down too. Gee, maybe you should plan your Thanksgiving dining reservation more than 2 weeks in advance? Some restaurants sold out back in July, so you should be happy that we had any spots at all. Well, you should if you weren’t a complete ass, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. Ass.
Just know that, if and when you call back, I will remember you. And somewhere, out there, on Thanksgiving when you’re not eating here with us? I’ll be laughing.
Justifiable Homicide
No dialogue this time, just a quick note. If you call up a hotel for reservations, and you spend the entire conversation loudly belching directly into the phone every 20-30 seconds, I have bad news for you: I really do hope someone beats you to death with a beanbag chair. I hope this, because it will take a long time, and I presume will continue knocking the gas out of your disgusting, slobby mass of putrificated jackassery. Here’s a thought: did you ever think of putting the damn drink down? Or, maybe, burping somewhere else? Of course you didn’t. I made the mistake of assuming you could think to begin with.
I swear, if I didn’t have Minecraft to absorb some of my epic hatred, I would have cut a swath through the masses of idiots long ago…
Nice Double Standard…
Another rant here…so I got pulled aside by the manager since I had to run something to the front desk. It left one person in the office for five damn minutes, and they had a couple calls. I get pulled aside to listen to a tirade about how I left my CW alone, and they had to take calls by themselves.
I, being a smartass, naturally noted that we talked for about 10 minutes, leaving CW alone for even longer – and she had quite a long call queue while this happened. While doing this, I asked what planning she had put in place, since obviously it was more important to have the discussion about leaving someone by themselves than it was to…you know…not leave someone by themselves.
So, as part of this conversation, it’s mentioned that the managers are there to hop on the phones to make sure there’s not one person alone. I rolled my eyes, and flat out mentioned that I had a guarantee: when the other person left at the end of their shift, I guaranteed that I would be flying solo on the phones for the rest of the night, no matter how busy I was. Shitty Manager’s response? “That won’t happen, we hop on the phones.”
Over the course of the night, I received 132 more calls, each of which had an average wait time of 23 minutes overall (some waited longer, some didn’t). Why? Because no one else answered a single call. For four and a half hours. So, what does this tell me now? Since actions speak louder than words, I assume the message is “we’re all fucking idiots, who can’t give consistent direction to save our lives.” Or maybe it is “I am a worthless manager who doesn’t know shit about how to operate an office.” Quite possibly, instead, the message is “just fucking quit already.”
I am just waiting to hear back about an interview, and then Uncle Khiras is done. Finito. Bye bye. C-ya. Or maybe I’ll just kill myself. Who knows.
I’m not trying to say anything, I’m actually saying it
(This is exactly how the conversation went, no paraphrasing. This was a younger woman, so her awkward pauses and confusion can’t be explained as advanced age issues.)
Me: Thank you for calling (hotel) dining reservations, this is Khiras-
SC: Yeah, for two at 10:00.
Me: Alright, for (Restaurant 1)?
SC: Uh…is that your restaurant that’s open?
Me: (No, I just asked because it is closed…) Yes, they are serving their Sunday brunch tomorrow.
SC: Oh…it’s a Brunch?
Me: Yes, it’s a brunch.
SC: Oh…OK! For 10am?
Me: *checking* Unfortunately, it looks like the 10am spot is filled. The earliest time we have open is 12:30pm.
SC: 12…………………………
Me: …
SC: 30?
Me: Yes ma’am.
SC: So if we came in at 11:30, could we just sit?
Me: If they had someone not show up for a table, it’s possible, but if everyone arrived as they usually do, you would still have to wait until 12:30 for the first available table.
SC: Oh 12:30!?!? (as if she’s just now hearing the time for the first time)
Me: Yes, that is the first open time.
SC: Oh…what about (Restaurant 2)? Is that serving at 10am?
Me: They would not be open at 10am, they start serving at 12pm…although they are full for the entire day, every table already, it seems.
SC: But nothing at 10am?
Me: No, (restaurant 2) is full for the whole day, they would not be open at 10am in any case.
SC: It’s my mother’s 70th birthday, can’t you squeeze her in at either place?
Me: We don’t have any remaining tables, unfortunately; there would be nowhere to put you.
SC: So we can’t just sit down in (restaurant 2’s area) at 10am and get served?
Me: They would not be open at that time, they open at 12pm, but every table for tomorrow is already reserved, so there would be no way to accommodate another party.
SC: So there is no restaurant even open at 10am?
Me: …(Restaurant 1) is open, that is when they begin serving Brunch, but again, they are full until 12:30.
SC: So we can just go in there and sit?
Me: There would be nowhere to actually sit, they are fully reserved until 12:30.
SC: So what are you trying to say?
Me: (I’m not TRYING to say anything, I’m downright SAYING it!) I am saying, again, that every table is reserved at 10am. We are fully reserved for every table until 12:30pm. In the afternoon.
SC: But it’s her 70th birthday!
Me: I understand, and I do apologize, but generally the early brunch times will fill weeks in advance. Once every table is filled, there is little we can do unless someone decides not to show up for their table.
SC: ………
Me: ………
SC: I’ll take the 12:30 then I GUESS (with lots of attitude)
Me: Ok…
WOW! Holy shit storm, lady! Let me ask you a question, did you actually finish school past the first grade? I mean, when I was in the first grade, I knew exactly how to tell the time on a clock or watch, so I definitely could have understood the difference between “10” and “12:30”. Of course, I also could have understood the word “full” and realized that my “serious lack in planning” had made it so that my plans for my mother’s birthday were “royally fucked”. But seriously, after I told you 8 times that neither restaurant would serve you at 10am, how did you not pick up on the trend?
I’m going to start a reservations movement called Serious Help In Timing. We will organize into bands and spread out across the nation, and then the world. Our dedicated teams of SHIT workers will move about, trying to educate the unwashed masses about the fact that, if they think a place might even remotely be popular over, say, a weekend just before a holiday, then maybe they ought to plan ahead for that! How thankful we all will be for the fact that, at my behest, we were able to fling SHIT across the entire world to educate people with, smearing the SHIT-truth across their blank faces, pounding it into their heads through their gaping, drooling maws.
SHIT-fo’-life, suckas!!!
Nice way to ask for help
So, here’s the background on this one: no one at our hotel seems to coordinate things with one another. This has been a repeated problem; despite all sorts of complaints (from us and from guests) since the people who update our website often do so without sending reservations any info. Otherwise, they do website updates or PR releases about packages before making sure we’re ready to sell them. This makes us all look like idiots when someone calls up asking for a random package, and no one in our office (management included) knows what the hell they are talking about. Joy.
So, most recently, we had a double-whammy: our summer packages ended, but they never got taken off the website. We’ve spent the last 3 weeks telling people “that package is over”, because that’s what was told to us.
For the last 3 weeks, no one decided it would be good for us to know that they were mailing out advertisements for one of the packages they just ended. We just found this out this week, so we have to scramble and actually build the packages in our computer system so they…you know…EXISTED!!! This led to more complaints, and finally, this epic douchebag.
SC: Yeah, I called earlier today and talked to a young woman, she said she would be checking to see when the (package we haven’t finished building yet) rates are available.
Me: Alright, I know they are still working on getting all the rates set up, can I put you on hold to check on them?
SC: Sure!
Up to this point, this guy is fine. No problems, not even giving me a bad vibe, so I’m only my usual marginally bitter self. Anyway, I check on the rates and get told that they’ve been programmed into the website, but we won’t have them in our computers for several hours. Ok then. I go back to the caller.
Me: (repeating everything I just typed)
SC: *sigh* Look…I just want to know when the (specific rate) will exist on what dates. I’m very flexible.
Me: I apologize sir; they just put the information on the website a bit early, so not everything was fully arranged yet. We do have the rates on our website now, but they won’t have the rest of the information here in my computer for a few hours, so I can’t reserve anything yet.
SC: Look, I just want to be able to speak with someone intelligent enough to answer my question.
I…wait…what!? Mother fucker! Let’s go over some quick notes here; every guy has a douchebag test. For some guys, it’s simple…I am one of those guys. My test is rather direct: if you call me to ask for help, then insult me? Douchebag! So congratulations, you’ve proven yourself with flying colors you skeevy rat bastard. I guess that means I don’t have to try and help you any more, now does it? I mean, since clearly my cowering intellect cannot possibly wrap itself around your incredibly complicated request. I must have no way of possibly understanding what you’re talking about?
I mean, it’s not like I just answered your question with all of the information the hotel has to offer at this time. It’s not like I also gave a perfectly valid explanation for why the information was not readily available either. So clearly, your request must be so mind-bogglingly incredible that it cannot possibly be examined by someone so lowly as me.
So, since I’m so low-brow, here’s my incredibly simple reply: Go fuck yourself right up a hill, and back down the other side. Oh, and go look at our website, feel free to help yourself, because I sure as hell don’t care enough to do it any more.
Yin, meet Yang
Dammit…such a good opportunity to randomly include “Wang” in a title, but it just wouldn’t be appropriate for this one. This is a story that came to a head, thankfully, right after the above douchebag called. It’s one of the few good stories that I have gotten in the last year, so it was nice to have it right after a dickhead called me.
Rewind about 3 months ago, I got an email from a woman about setting up a nice homecoming stay for her husband upon his return from Iraq. She wanted to go all out: full weekend stay, nice room, restaurants around the town, massages for both of them…basically an all star “welcome back”, and I was happy (I know…me!?) to oblige. Not only did I help her set up stuff at the hotel, I even went online and set up reservations around town; helped them get tickets for a concert, reservations for restaurants, everything. They were set.
Then, things got turned upside down. Not realizing he was turning all her plans upside down, the husband told her that his leave was postponed, so she had to call and start cancelling things at the last second. She was nice, so I helped her do all of that, and she said she’d call back the next day.
Next day comes, and we’re setting up things for when he’s supposed to be coming back She was in the middle of this when suddenly, the woman started screaming, and for a second I thought someone had just busted into her house.
Apparently, her husband was standing right behind her. Whoops. Guess he was trying to surprise her. Surprise!!
Oh crap. We just cancelled everything for the weekend…uh…
Instead of giving her bad news, I realized that I actually liked this person…she’d been nice, complimentary, and I genuinely enjoyed talking to her, having done it off and on for two months. I told her I’d call her back when I had everything figured out.
In short, I got her room back, got her spa reservations made again, got her back into 3 restaurants, and thankfully we hadn’t done anything with the concert tickets; everything, somehow, fell right back into place. After I called her, they stayed the entire weekend, and it went off without a hitch. Awesome. I moved on, since I rarely get a “thank you” for anything I do, and I’m jaded enough never to expect one.
This is why it was a real kick in the ass to get a letter (an actual hand-written one) from each of them today to give me that thank you. Apparently, I kind of made their day. This really ruins my reputation as a bitter, hateful person.
But I’ll be damned if it didn’t still feel good…you glorious bastards!
It won’t last, I’m sure.
It didn’t.
SC: Do you have any rooms on (dates)
Me *checking* I do apologize, it looks like we’ve sold the last of our rooms for those dates, we are fully committed.
SC: …
Me: …
SC: You don’t have ANY rooms left?
Me: (And here we go) Unfortunately not, we are fully committed at this time. If you’d like, I could add you on to the wait list for those nights.
SC: How many are on the wait list?
Me: It looks like there are 3 people on (first day) and 3 additional on the list for (2nd day)
SC: Well, I’m sorry to hear about that…I am a repeat guest…
Me: (Muting my phone) Oh don’t start this horse shit…
SC: …and I come there a lot…
Me: (Looking up his profile while he runs his mouth)
SC: …and I know for a fact that you hold rooms to not sell them.
Me: (Bullshit, we don’t. Sometimes we get cancellations, if you’re lucky, but we don’t hold rooms that aren’t contracted)
SC: I’ve talked to many a manager about this.
Me: (No, you haven’t)
SC: So what do you have held?
Me: Sir, the only rooms we would be holding would be rooms contracted to other companies, if anything. Right now, however, we are showing that every room has been reserved already; thus, we are waitlist only.
SC: Well then I’ll talk to the manager who will tell you what you really have.
I pulled up his profile…this “repeat guest” who “comes here a lot” has stayed a total of…wait for it…one time. And not in the last 3 years. So, by him saying he comes here a lot, what he really means is “I stayed there once years ago and I want to come back.” He never even came into the restaurants…I should know, I checked too.
What is so hard for people to understand about the fact that they are not special and unique snowflakes? More than that, that they are but one of the many voices I encounter every. Single. Day. The mere fact that he expects compassion from ME of all people (HAHAHA!!!) is bad enough, but the fact that he expects it on the basis of “Durr, I was there once give me things” is enough to drive me to levels of homicidal rage. Add to that the fact that my rages generally involve things not found in the rages of most others (ie, beating you to death with a fossilized cucumber), and you’ve made a fairly notable misstep. You’re also wasting my god damn time.
So, let me sum things up for you: not only do we not have a room, but your insistence that we do has done nothing but annoy me. If you continue, the Producinator is going to cucumber your ass into the afterlife over the course of a week long beat down. You have been warned. Now go away.
You were warned
I couldn’t have planned this better myself…
SC: Yeah, I called earlier and they told me you were sold out on (dates), and the only thing you had was a wait list.
Me: Yes, that’s correct.
SC: Well I know you hold rooms aside, isn’t that right?
Me: No sir, at this time we have no rooms held aside that day. It is waitlist only. (PRODUCINATOR MODE HAS BEEN ACTIVATED!!!)
SC: Well I…hold on someone’s knocking on my door…
Me: ……
SC: *click*
Apparently, I Producinated him by proxy! A PBP!! I can only hope that he is, at this very moment, shrieking in a very childlike and unmanly way as he is accosted by a masked assailant. Maybe I’ll get lucky and Pineappletron joined in the fun, because that is definitely the fruit-toting sidekick I would choose.
Ah, cucumber and pineapple, is there anything we couldn’t do together? Aside from not beating people to death? I think not.
Gee, I wonder
Me: I’m sorry ma’am, we are sold out on that day.
SC: You don’t have ANYTHING left?
I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again: I wish I could hate you to death. Seriously, right in half. Starting with your eyes.
And slowly…
You have to give a little to get a little…
SC: I want to make a reservation for your (wildly popular event) in the (restaurant).
Me: Alright, I can check for openings…how large a party will you have?
SC: Uh…well, you tell me. We can have more or less.
Me: (/facepalm…this is gonna suck) Well, our availability will depend on how many people you are trying to bring. I might have a 12:00, but if you have too many people, it won’t work.
SC: …
Me: …
SC: …
Me: …….. (I hate you) …so would you like to give me an estimate???
SC: Uh…..
Me: ….
SC: I guess maybe 10?
Me: (Finally) Ok, for a party of 10, the only things I would have are at 1:00 and 2:00
SC: Ok. What if I only had 2?
Me: (Fuck) That would open up 11:00, 12:00, and 12:30, but 1:00 wouldn’t be available since it’s a larger party only.
SC: Oh…well what about 3 people?
It went on and on like this for 15 minutes. Then I had to explain 4 times why we needed a credit card. Then I had to explain that, yes, I did need to have her damn name to actually MAKE a reservation. I was getting ready to rip off my socks, put them over my hands, and sew faces into them so that I would have somebody intelligent to talk to!
Captain Douchebag Wants a Handout
I can’t write the dialogue from this one; not because of any real solid reason, but simply because doing so will only serve to infuriate me beyond reason once more, which is generally when I start reaching for my cucumber. That said, here’s the summary.
Captain Douchebag stays at the hotel every now and then. Captain Douchebag managed, a couple times early in the year, to talk his way into a lower rate. Captain Douchebag, naturally, now assumes that the lowered rate is 100% guaranteed every time he stays at the hotel, and any higher rate we have is always wrong in regards to him.
Captain Douchebag, as you may have noted, is a complete and total fuckwit. He had to be told that he does not have a guaranteed rate, that he was only given the discount as a limited offer, and that he was completely in the wrong. So what does he do? What every giant, festering pile of human waste does: he starts name throwing managers around the hotel. Of course, he doesn’t even have the shred of intellect necessary to get the names right, so he succeeded only in making himself look even dumber than he was to begin with.
This, naturally, created a catastrophic chain of events wherein all things intelligent were drawn into the black hole he had created in his mentality. In short, Captain Douchebag has a Suckhole. Yes, that’s as dirty as it sounds.
Of course, we did some checking…all of the manager names that he got wrong were at least somewhat close to their actual names. Their responses when told about this guy? “Who is he?” So yeah, we caught him in his BS. He’s been revealed as exactly what he is: A militant douche with a suckhole.
The Email Troll
This one still just dumbfounds me…I got this email sent to me. I’m paraphrasing it a bit, but this is more or less what it said. I’ll note that any bad punctuation and spacing is intentional, the email I got was typed much the same way.:
Obviously, the people running your hotel are typical Denverites, who think the world revolves
around Denver....well it doesn't.
You have no idea how difficult it is to get the address of the hotel.
When someone isn't familiar with Denver, even if they live here, or just moved here.....
a street address, with city and zip code is a requirement!
One should be able to go to your website homepage and see the address and phone number,
clearly.
To find your street address you have to scroll many different pages, and then, if you haven't given up, you'll find a street address buried in small print.
Get with it ....even the Plaza Hotel gives it's address on its website.
Ok…so, I curtailed my initial email reply (it was short and sweet, “go fuck yourself”) since I didn’t really feel like getting fired over an email. That said, I sent back a carefully worded email that I meant to be condescending, but just reading it would not come across unless you knew my tone. In the email, I mentioned that the hotel’s address is located at the bottom of the page on every part of our website, and in the clearly marked “CONTACT US” link visible from every page at the top as well. I get this response back…again, paraphrased a bit, but I kept his shitty grammar and weird-ass spacing:
Well, I beg to differ with you.
You see, my business is advertising, marketing and pr.
Your address should be right at the top or near the top of your home page....or right under the
picture of the hotel.....people should not have to scroll down to find your address.
Secondly, your address is written in the smallest of type at the very bottom of the home page....
in a place where people don't look, because the information at the bottom of most home pages is basically "junk" information that the average person never uses.
I'm sorry, but if you were my client, that's what my advice would be.
But, then, it's only my opinion. I'm just sorry you make people scroll and scroll and then
try and find your address....and when they find it, they have to use a magnifying glass to
read it.
Ok, first…what the hell do you mean “I beg to differ with you”? You can’t do that, based on what I wrote! I know this, as what I wrote to him was nothing but factual stuff: “our address is here, here, and here, and we welcome any feedback you may have to offer” (yes, that 2nd part was a lie). You can’t “beg to differ” with me, jackass…you can only prove yourself to be a massive tool.
OH WAIT! You did! If your business is in advertising, marketing, and PR, then I would be concerned as all hell if I had you working for me, and suddenly found that you were unable to construct a full fucking paragraph with good grammar. You’re also upset that we make people “scroll and scroll” and “use a magnifying glass” to see the 10-point font at the bottom of the page? And on half of the pages, you don’t even have to scroll down, since it is present on every damn page!?
Why don’t we sum up your response for what it really is? Here, I’ll rewrite the damn thing for you, just to help. Here is what you clearly meant to say:
“OK, I’m sorry, I’m a complete idiot/jackass/mental wasteland. Throughout my life, everyone I encountered told me things like ‘Jim, you are a waste of fucking space, and anyone who spends five minutes with you wants to carve a toothbrush into a shiv and end your blight upon this Earth.’ Well, for a time, I tried to prove them wrong, but as the years passed, I realized that this was just something I couldn’t do. I realize now that I was clearly incapable of actually looking for the information about your address, and my utter lack of competency led me to send my email before I had even put in the amount of effort that a snail puts towards a musical career.
I’m sorry that I wasted your time, much as I do for everyone else, and I apologize to the world at large for the very fact that I exist. I need to be battered about the head and face with a large metal object and some surgical tubing, and God will never have mercy on my soul. I assume I’m going to go now, and do the same thing I do every week: I’m going to sit outside in a Wendy’s parking lot, and play with a pile of my own shit. This, for me, is going to be a feat of dazzling genius, since it will prove that I somehow had the mental processing skill to understand how to take a shit.”
There, I’ve re-written your email for you. It sounds about 1000x more accurate now than it ever did before. I won’t charge this time, since I’ve clearly done you such a favor. Do not expect me to be so nice in the future.
Poor Planning? Oh Boo. Farking. Hoo.
SC: I’m staying there over Thanksgiving, and I need to get a reservation in the (restaurant)
Me: Alright…we are very busy already for the Thanksgiving meal, it-
SC: 3:30.
Me: (glare) Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like there are any tables left then. The only times left would be one table at 11:00, and we have some times open from 8pm to 11pm that night, but everything else is committed.
SC: …..
Me: …..
SC: So what are we going to do then?
Me: If one of those times won’t work, we do have a time open at (other restaurant) at 2:30, but that’s unfortunately the closest we would have.
SC: Even though I’m a guest in the hotel?
Me: Unfortunately, yes. We have had people calling for the tables starting around July, so many of the peak times during midday have been full for some time.
SC: ……
Me: ….. (Am I really so damn confusing? Why can no one ever seem to formulate a response!?)
SC: Well I’ll just call (person in the exec office) and get them to do it.
Me: Ok!
SC: …..
Me: …..
SC: …..
Me: …..
SC: *click*
What did you expect? I would suddenly grow a new table out of my ass? The restaurant isn’t exactly a big place, they can’t just “squeeze you in”. We can however “keep you the fuck out because you’re a raving douchebag.” Which, by the way, we did: he talked to the exec office person, and they shut him down too. Gee, maybe you should plan your Thanksgiving dining reservation more than 2 weeks in advance? Some restaurants sold out back in July, so you should be happy that we had any spots at all. Well, you should if you weren’t a complete ass, but I don’t see that happening any time soon. Ass.
Just know that, if and when you call back, I will remember you. And somewhere, out there, on Thanksgiving when you’re not eating here with us? I’ll be laughing.
Justifiable Homicide
No dialogue this time, just a quick note. If you call up a hotel for reservations, and you spend the entire conversation loudly belching directly into the phone every 20-30 seconds, I have bad news for you: I really do hope someone beats you to death with a beanbag chair. I hope this, because it will take a long time, and I presume will continue knocking the gas out of your disgusting, slobby mass of putrificated jackassery. Here’s a thought: did you ever think of putting the damn drink down? Or, maybe, burping somewhere else? Of course you didn’t. I made the mistake of assuming you could think to begin with.
I swear, if I didn’t have Minecraft to absorb some of my epic hatred, I would have cut a swath through the masses of idiots long ago…
Nice Double Standard…
Another rant here…so I got pulled aside by the manager since I had to run something to the front desk. It left one person in the office for five damn minutes, and they had a couple calls. I get pulled aside to listen to a tirade about how I left my CW alone, and they had to take calls by themselves.
I, being a smartass, naturally noted that we talked for about 10 minutes, leaving CW alone for even longer – and she had quite a long call queue while this happened. While doing this, I asked what planning she had put in place, since obviously it was more important to have the discussion about leaving someone by themselves than it was to…you know…not leave someone by themselves.
So, as part of this conversation, it’s mentioned that the managers are there to hop on the phones to make sure there’s not one person alone. I rolled my eyes, and flat out mentioned that I had a guarantee: when the other person left at the end of their shift, I guaranteed that I would be flying solo on the phones for the rest of the night, no matter how busy I was. Shitty Manager’s response? “That won’t happen, we hop on the phones.”
Over the course of the night, I received 132 more calls, each of which had an average wait time of 23 minutes overall (some waited longer, some didn’t). Why? Because no one else answered a single call. For four and a half hours. So, what does this tell me now? Since actions speak louder than words, I assume the message is “we’re all fucking idiots, who can’t give consistent direction to save our lives.” Or maybe it is “I am a worthless manager who doesn’t know shit about how to operate an office.” Quite possibly, instead, the message is “just fucking quit already.”
I am just waiting to hear back about an interview, and then Uncle Khiras is done. Finito. Bye bye. C-ya. Or maybe I’ll just kill myself. Who knows.
I’m not trying to say anything, I’m actually saying it
(This is exactly how the conversation went, no paraphrasing. This was a younger woman, so her awkward pauses and confusion can’t be explained as advanced age issues.)
Me: Thank you for calling (hotel) dining reservations, this is Khiras-
SC: Yeah, for two at 10:00.
Me: Alright, for (Restaurant 1)?
SC: Uh…is that your restaurant that’s open?
Me: (No, I just asked because it is closed…) Yes, they are serving their Sunday brunch tomorrow.
SC: Oh…it’s a Brunch?
Me: Yes, it’s a brunch.
SC: Oh…OK! For 10am?
Me: *checking* Unfortunately, it looks like the 10am spot is filled. The earliest time we have open is 12:30pm.
SC: 12…………………………
Me: …
SC: 30?
Me: Yes ma’am.
SC: So if we came in at 11:30, could we just sit?
Me: If they had someone not show up for a table, it’s possible, but if everyone arrived as they usually do, you would still have to wait until 12:30 for the first available table.
SC: Oh 12:30!?!? (as if she’s just now hearing the time for the first time)
Me: Yes, that is the first open time.
SC: Oh…what about (Restaurant 2)? Is that serving at 10am?
Me: They would not be open at 10am, they start serving at 12pm…although they are full for the entire day, every table already, it seems.
SC: But nothing at 10am?
Me: No, (restaurant 2) is full for the whole day, they would not be open at 10am in any case.
SC: It’s my mother’s 70th birthday, can’t you squeeze her in at either place?
Me: We don’t have any remaining tables, unfortunately; there would be nowhere to put you.
SC: So we can’t just sit down in (restaurant 2’s area) at 10am and get served?
Me: They would not be open at that time, they open at 12pm, but every table for tomorrow is already reserved, so there would be no way to accommodate another party.
SC: So there is no restaurant even open at 10am?
Me: …(Restaurant 1) is open, that is when they begin serving Brunch, but again, they are full until 12:30.
SC: So we can just go in there and sit?
Me: There would be nowhere to actually sit, they are fully reserved until 12:30.
SC: So what are you trying to say?
Me: (I’m not TRYING to say anything, I’m downright SAYING it!) I am saying, again, that every table is reserved at 10am. We are fully reserved for every table until 12:30pm. In the afternoon.
SC: But it’s her 70th birthday!
Me: I understand, and I do apologize, but generally the early brunch times will fill weeks in advance. Once every table is filled, there is little we can do unless someone decides not to show up for their table.
SC: ………
Me: ………
SC: I’ll take the 12:30 then I GUESS (with lots of attitude)
Me: Ok…
WOW! Holy shit storm, lady! Let me ask you a question, did you actually finish school past the first grade? I mean, when I was in the first grade, I knew exactly how to tell the time on a clock or watch, so I definitely could have understood the difference between “10” and “12:30”. Of course, I also could have understood the word “full” and realized that my “serious lack in planning” had made it so that my plans for my mother’s birthday were “royally fucked”. But seriously, after I told you 8 times that neither restaurant would serve you at 10am, how did you not pick up on the trend?
I’m going to start a reservations movement called Serious Help In Timing. We will organize into bands and spread out across the nation, and then the world. Our dedicated teams of SHIT workers will move about, trying to educate the unwashed masses about the fact that, if they think a place might even remotely be popular over, say, a weekend just before a holiday, then maybe they ought to plan ahead for that! How thankful we all will be for the fact that, at my behest, we were able to fling SHIT across the entire world to educate people with, smearing the SHIT-truth across their blank faces, pounding it into their heads through their gaping, drooling maws.
SHIT-fo’-life, suckas!!!
you.
in the corner at this guy, especially since designing websites is design, not advertising, marketing OR PR.
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