Awkward Moments Number 1: Sure I Have Kids...So What?

An attractive woman walks into our lobby daily. Make that plural. Attractive women post up at our hotel on a constant basis. That happens at a beach-side hotel. A whole slew of bars are just a few miles away for the younger gaggle of girls and our low-prices are prime for a mom's getaway.

None of this affects me of course because I look like Paul Giamatti uglier cousin. Bikini clad women with solid tans tend to look elsewhere.

Yet, every once in a while I do get a stray look of intrigue from a middle aged woman that let her weight go a little astray. But even then that occurrence remains a rarity. I am here to check chicks in, not fulfill spring break dreams.

Now, with that being said, Ms. Cleary had other ideas this past weekend. She parked her blue family style Chevy Tahoe, got out slowly, revealing a beach ready physique while wearing a black two-piece bikini. Her kids, a 6-year-old girl, 9-year-old son and two teen girl somewhere between 15 and 16, exited the car as well and they all walked casually to my front office. Ms. Cleary's appearance did not match-up with her motherly status. Which in essence made her that much more attractive.

Ms. Cleary: Here to check-in for Cleary. One room, three beds, I think.

Me: Yep. Got you right here. Let's get you guys check-in shall we.

Ms. Cleary: Sure.

She was nice. Her kids were nice. Everything was generally normal. Sure, her, eh-hem, juggos were joggling out of her bathing-suit top, but again, that happens at our type of hotel.

At the end of checking her in, I wrapped up a little info session about our area with my usual last question.

Me: Do have any other questions?

Ms. Cleary: No.

Me: OK. Well, if you need anything else, let me know.

Ms. Cleary: I do actually. Where can you and I hang out later?

Her voice paralyzed me. Her smirk curled my toes. Her eyes peered over with no sign of joking. In that very moment, ten long seconds elapsed with no noise. No response. No answer to this simple question. BUT, what the hell is there to say to that question!? Her kids were standing there! Her juggos were joggling. I was at work. Shit, I was shocked!

Then, her 9-year-old son giggled and looked at me like, "your blowing it dude!"

So, I finally stumbled a response but immediately regretted it.

Me: Uhhh, yea, uhh sure. Whatever works.

She let out a fake chuckle and ushered the whole family out of the office.

Even as I write this I am still confused as to how I should have handled that utterly awkward situation.

-Topher

Rule Number 91: True Emergencies Always Get A Pass

It was 11:30 p.m. on a muggy summer Wednesday night and the 'ol shift change was in effect. Topher comes on and I leave. Naturally, I love this part of the night. Especially when the day flew by lazily like that Wednesday so perfectly did. I had limited calls, sold some rooms and I even got hit on by a creepy middle-aged Lithuanian woman (I'll take what I can get).

But just as I began to punch out my worn time card, shit came raining down from the starless sky.

A girl burst through the door… mascara rubbed and smeared everywhere on her twenty-something face, tears in her eyes, scratches on her neck, and a big fat lip. She stood staring at Topher and myself out of breath and panicked. One look and I knew immediately.

“He hit me…” she whimpered to Topher and I.

If you have ever seen an episode of “COPS,” or experienced any type of domestic violence, you know the rest.

After calming her down, it became decision time for Topher and me. Our lobby was technically closed (6:30 a.m. to 11:30 p.m.) and with all of our rooms were occupied, she had nowhere else to go. For this merry band of self-serving assholes, it was finally judgment day and we decided to do what any decent person would do. We took her in.

After calming her down with some water, she rattled off her story to us.

“I was drinking at a party at my boyfriend’s brother’s house and we got into it,” she quickly spouted.

“You see, my boyfriend is actually in town for a lifted truck/small dick convention,”(Okay I made that part up-but very possibly true).

“We were watching a UFC fight and he just flipped. He took me outside, started yelling, and...and, punched me in face and threw me to the curb,” she nervously explained.

At this point I saw an opening for a little gallows humor to lighten the mood. I took it.

“Well, uh, maybe for future reference, it’s not a good idea to watch cage fighting with this dude,” I awkwardly interjected. She smiled her way into a slight chuckle and her nerves drained from her body.

She then went on to mention that this was “only” the fourth time that this had happened. Again, for anyone familiar with DV, this is nothing new. For those of you who have been living in a cave since adolescence, this uniquely human phenomenon of physically harming the ones we supposedly care about is not restricted to three-wheeled trailer owners in the Smokey Mountains. Yes, as the sun sets in each dark pocket of the continent, thousands of “men” come home and exert their fucked-up will on their supposedly significant other. Rich men, poor men, old men, young men. You are naive to think otherwise. And that night, the raw consequences came wandering in by way of our lobby doors.

It's wrong. Do I even need to say it? Yet somehow, shithead dudes like “Ike Turner” over here, manage to keep women around through a nasty concoction of control, low self esteem, and pure unfiltered fear. I can't stand seeing this.

She wanted to leave him, I could definitely see it in her jittery blue eyes. But it was readily apparent that this Schmohawk knew what strings to pull.

After a long conversation about her future, which concluded with her promising to leave the guy, we were able to get a hold of her sister to come pick her up and whisk her away to safety. I don’t pray, so the best I could do was hope for the best for her. She deserved better. I hope she gets it.

-Burt

Rule Number 12: No...Your Stupid Mini-Dog Can't Stay

After a call I often think, "What possesses a human being to express such ridiculous details about themselves?" I keep getting the feeling that people don't realize how stupid they sound.

Example:

(Ring...Ring....Ring)

Me: Good morning. Sketch Hotel, this is Tohper. How can I help you?

Girlie Man: Hi. Do you guys have a rooms for this weekend?

Me: Absolutely. For how many people?

Girlie Man: Just me and my dog.

Me: Oh, I'm sorry sir. We don't allow any pets.

Girlie Man: Don't worry, it's just a four pound Yorkie.

(Haha. Of course is it. )

Me (giggling): Is...is it yours, sir?

Girlie Man: Yep.

Me (chuckling now): Do you have a carrying case for it sir?

Girlie Man: Sure do. So it's OK right?

Me: Nope. Unfortunately, it's still a no sir. Even your Yorkie is not allowed. I asked those questions out of pure curiosity.

You idiot.


-Topher

Rule Number 82: Don't Call Me Anymore

The time has finally come. I am forced to admit that Topher does not stand-alone at the Sketch Hotel as the one who harbors prejudices (see the cabbie post). That’s right, I (a balding, alienated, overweight 43-year-old single white male) hold some bitter discontent towards others too.

However, unlike Topher's cabbies, my targeted group of pre-judgement is not occupationally based. Did I say group? I meant sub-group. You see, most people reserve rooms over the phone because they feel more comfortable with human interaction over internet confirmation numbers. Then, there are those who reserve rooms over the phone because they are completely oblivious to the existence of the internet and its many uses, besides porn.

12:15 a.m., the phone rings.

Cletus:“Well, howdy! How far are you from the fairgrounds?”

Me: “Uh... Well, we are...”

Cletus: “Cause I needa' room with a prime view, I mean we’re talkin’ right out over the skyline.”

Me: “Well sir, we-uh-only have two stories, but....”

Cletus: “Well then I want the best room you have. It’s me and my woman’s 3-year-anniversary and we we’re lookin' to get away from all the little idiot kids running around here y’know.”

Me: “OK, sure, not a problem. I....”

Cletus: “OK, now can I drink on the pier and shit?”

Me: “Hmm, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, so…”

Cletus: “Yeah but the cops won’t bother me right? I just came from Miami and ain’t nobody said nothin' down there.”

Me: “Like I said, I strongly advise you against it.”

Cletus: “So what’s your shark attack situation there?”

Me: “Huh?”

Cletus: “You know, are there sharks in the water?”

Me: “Right. Well, based off of my Discovery Channel shark week knowledge, the water is a little too salty up here for there to be a problem…” (I have no idea if that’s true.)

Cletus: “Hmmm. Sounds kinda' crazy to go swimmin'. How many buffets do you have nearby? I’m lookin' to do some good eatin! Oh yeah, and what else is there to do in your state? You got huntin? Racin'? I heard the border problums are expandin' up to San Fran!”

I'm stopping it here. I can't write anymore. If you had to endure the entire conversation, you would never read this blog again.

For another 45 minutes, ol’ Cletus peppered me with questions left and right. No number of Cash Cab episodes could prepare me for this level of trivia. I am simply not an information desk for random questions about geography, marine animal sciences, thinking for grown-ups and other things that your public school system failed to teach you.

The worst part of this early morning menace? He ended up not making a reservation. It’s OK though. I figure if he calls back I’ll just tell him it’s the start of prime shark feeding season the day he needs a room.

-Burt

Rule number 72: "Military Discount" Means More than 10% Off

At times, the Sketch Hotel's most wild guests can be our best guests.

Guests that fight each other constantly but quickly embrace in a swaying hug. They will crush beers over their heads and puke in the street only to attempt a clean up with their last surviving sock or shirt off their back. They constantly ask questions like, "Wheer can I git sum pussy?" Then, after I explain that I don't know of any real whore houses, they explain how that simply means a bar.

These glorious guests are, of course, members of our United States military.

And at not no point has one of these guests given me a hard time. Sure, they can get surly, but its only with each other and it's obviously a release mechanism. If another guest complains about their debauchery and I am forced reprimand them, they apologize, offer me a beer and quiet down from then on.

They are respectful and more than likely so excited to be out of a desert, that nothing bums them out.

It's endearing really. To see young men that truly know how to enjoy the simple things in life. Even when those things are beer, cigarettes, buddies and gittin' pussy.

-Topher

Rule number 37: I'm not Zuez

(9:16 a.m. -Typical morning with overcast skies above the Sketch Hotel)

Guest: So, the sun is coming out right?

Me: Well, we sure hope so. It may come out in the early afternoon around one.

Guest: Well, what time exactly? That way we can plan our day.

Me: Hm, like I said, maybe around one. But you never really can be to sure now can ya'.

My response explodes with an tight smile and an extra emphasis on niceness. I do this when I am concealing my absolute hatred for the person standing across my front desk.

How, you common-sense-troubled person, am I supposed to know the exact moment the skies will clear? Do I pull a magical sky cord that lifts the clouds like a stage curtain. Or maybe I check that magical website that explains minute to minute overcast cloud movement right over our hotel. No wait, I got it, you must think my magical front desk abilities of running credit cards and giving directions also extend to controlling the weather.

What a stupid question. My elementary school teachers were wrong; dumb questions exist and are seemingly magnetically zeroed in on my life.

...

But, now that I think about it, I would like that sky chord. Hymph...Oh well, I'll just stay pissed at people until then.

-Topher

Rule Number 59: Do Not Crash Into Hotels and Yell At Us!

At checkout time (11 a.m.), I always feel one of two emotions. The first emotion being that of relief as every checkout has departed happily and ready to recommend us. The second emotion and most common is that of despair as everything that could go wrong has. Those moments feel like a migraine and stroke have tag-teamed and done a pile driver on your pulsating ulcer.

Well, on this particular morning I felt great relief. Only one checkout remaining and everyone else left the hotel pleased. These moments need to be cherished in the biz.

However, as the last checkout strolled up to the office, I began to feel the compression of the migraine begin its tear. He looked pissed. His backwards baseball hat, ratty white shirt and prickly five-o’clock shadow only enhanced my impending anguish after I saw the glare in his eyes.

He walked in.

Dude: “Bro, you got insurance or what!” he snapped at me.

Me: “Sure we do, but I'm not really sure what you mean,” I replied. I really didn't and the befuddled look on my face revealed as much. Upon seeing his mouth reopen to complain about something, I felt the migraine begin looking for the stroke and the ulcer begin pounding in angst of being tag teamed.

Dude: “Well bro, last night my chick was driving my truck and your blue pole came out and caught my truck!” He pointed out of the front lobby windows from his white “truck-a-saurus” to a blue retaining pole that protected the building from cars that cut around the corner to quickly.

Me: “Hmm, that is an interesting way to phrase an insurance claim. Why don’t I come out and see which pole you mean? I’ll meet you outside.” As I walked outside my migraine, stroke and ulcer combo deflated. This jerk-off was about to show me if and how he had caused damage to my hotel in hopes that I would pay for his truck. Ha. Priceless.

Dude: “That blue one, right there! You got insurance for that or what?,” he demanded.

Me: “Well, that pole is actually put in place specifically to block a car from hitting our building if they cut the corner,” I calmly, but with a growing smirk, told the guy.

Dude: “So I’m just pissin’ and moanin’ right?” he yelled in an attempt to get some sort of response out of me. I said nothing and turned around. But if I had responded to his ridiculous question I would have said yes, you are just pissing and moaning. And, I have another grand revelation for you…You’re an idiot.

-Topher