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June 05, 2005
The 250 pound puppy named Bob…..
There are many occasions in the hotel and restaurant business when you want to question your sanity for being in it. Sure there’s food, wine, women and song. But then there’s the ugly side. The side where you sit there and feel the need to fill holes in the forest floor with the bodies of your most cherished acquaintances….your customers.
Forget the obvious, the assholes that pollute any other business with their presence alone. Every business gets a few of those whiny complaining sacks of self propelled social excrement that just have to find something wrong with whatever, wherever it is that you are. They always know more about your business than you do and are quick to demonstrate that knowledge by way of the complete lack thereof.
What I’m talking about is the dirty work. The ‘clean up’ functions that could gag a maggot. And they usually involve substances that were recently on the inside of their human hosts. Yeah….ugh! When this happens, it is the puke and poop patrol to the rescue.
But as grotesque as it may be, it is these very same circumstances that provide us with the stress relief we need to calm down and not dismember the buggers that provide the circumstances. In fact, we can even turn them into opportunities for the ritual humiliation of the guests and have a good chuckle while doing so. It is how we cope. Morticians and doctors deal with death all the time. They too have learned to cope in their own special ways. Last night was a good example.
A plugged toilet in a guest room. Great. I was just on my way out. Now gentle reader, there are not a lot of reasons why a toilet gets plugged. If you have a 3 year old in the house, well, it could be anything from a golf ball to a kitten. You never know. But in a hotel room with adults, you know damn well what it is going in. So there you are with bucket, rags and plunger in hand to do the dirty work. You knock on the door.
“Who is it?” (Like who else is he expecting? Peter Pan?)
“Maintenance. Here to take care of the, um, problem.”
When the door opens one of two things happens. One, the aggressive moron who blames you indirectly. “There’s something wrong with your toilet.”
Yeah, you think, the Battle of Leyte Gulf is being reenacted in this dumb bastard’s toilet because he has no control over his eating habits. You want to shout out, “No kidding there’s something wrong sir. The battleship Musashi has been hit but just won’t sink. She’s gonna need some help. And there’s the Yamato and a fleet of destroyer escorts making a run for the open sea. Must be a Japanese submarine down there clogging the whole mess. Jesus Christ sir, how did you manage to eat an entire submarine?”
But what you do instead is more subtle, though no less effective. You walk into the bathroom and do that visible pause, where you look down and give the impression that you need to run away. But being the brave soldier that you are, you press on anyway. Make some comment about being glad you brought all the extra rags. Look nervous and hesitate before going to work. Wipe your brow and slowly get going. Then, no matter how easy it is, make it look like you are really, really working the plunger. Check the handle to make sure it isn’t going to break. And if you have a cell phone, call the front desk and tell them you’re going to be a little longer than expected. Strain at the task, and then finally, when you have saved the day and the customer is convinced that you have somehow magically forced his Volkswagen sized turd on its journey to the sea, you make a show of rolling your aching shoulders. Then when you go to leave tell him that really, “It was no problem at all.” And if you’re a really sick bastard like me, offer to shake hands on your way out the door.
See, it doesn’t matter how aggressive the bugger is before you arrive, making them watch you solve the ‘problem’ they created is a very humbling experience. They know what they did and now you own them.
The second thing that can happen, is dealing with the meek and humbled. In a way they are the worst because they are down right ashamed of what they have done and nobody, myself included, wants other people to deal with ‘that stuff’ that we all do but never feel the need to talk about or share. You see, they have always tried to solve the problem themselves by flushing the toilet several more times than necessary and as such, have created a wet and unpleasant mess on the floor.
At least when the door opens these people are apologetic and they all tend to avert their eyes from yours. And when you walk in and look at the bathroom floor and then back at them, they are like Bob, a 250 pound puppy that knows it was bad but just couldn’t help it. Anyone who has raised a puppy knows this scene; As you stand over the fetid mess on the floor you point at it and then talk to the dog in a deep, solemn voice and say, “Did you do this? Did you?”
The dog of course is cowering, looking away, knowing it has nowhere to go and is utterly deserving of the scorn of its master and god.
So it was with Bob. He may have been a captain of industry a few days ago when he was at work. But right then, he had the status of a puppy who had shit on the floor. When this happens you have to do something. You can’t let them get away with it. You have to strain a little. Make quiet but audible comments like, “Dear God I can’t believe this one…” Then when you leave the room, try not to look them right in the eye. Just slump your shoulders and tell them every thing will be ok and quietly walk away while gently shaking your head from side to side. At this point they could find a horses’ head in their bed and they wouldn’t say a god damned thing. You own them.
As I said, it’s a coping mechanism.
People can get pretty weird about stuff like this. I got a call one evening from a room full of teenage girls who were in town for a basketball tournament. They were all around 15 or 16 years old. Everything was fine until the ‘mean girl’ in the room pointed to the quiet one on the corner and said, “She did it. I think she like, ate a football or something.”
There was a moment of quiet as the girls all thought about how to deal with this suddenly volatile situation. And then, as one, they turned on the weak one and devoured her with comments like, “God, like what did she do in there?” or “She really likes quarter pounders, can you tell?” Anyway, the tears started and she hid under the blankets of a bed. I made as quick an exit as I could and actually blamed the toilet on the way out telling them that I would have the maintenance man check it in the morning. So as you can see I’m not a complete jerk. Of course I was pretending to gag and choke for the theatrical benefit of the other’s, so maybe I am.
So remember, if life serves you lemons, make lemonade. And if you’re going to stay in my hotel, maybe have some oatmeal for breakfast. It’ll do a body good.
~AP
Posted by Anonymous Pundit at June 5, 2005 02:34 PM