It’s a good thing I rested up this weekend.
Because I was put to the test early on.
I started the morning by handing a towel to a guest. Not to one of the color runners, as I had been expecting to…
but to a drunk lady, lost and unsure of where she was and who she was with. She had no possessions other than her car keys and the now empty coffee cup. She had spilled the coffee down her shirt and onto the counter. For three hours, my co-worker and I tried to squeeze accurate information out of her in order to direct her to the right room. We called all the phone numbers she gave us, and looked up all the names she gave us, and even called other hotels to see if she might be registered there.
In between, we were taking care of our other guests, who couldn’t help but be aware of her situation. Hard to miss, I suppose, what with her being asleep in the middle of the lobby, hands resting gently in biscuits and gravy. We did our best to keep an eye on her, as she wandered aimlessly around the lobby, but at one point, one of the guests came to the desk… “She made her way up the elevators!” (Normally key access only… unless you can sneak up.)
We immediately put an all-call over the radio for all employees to be on the lookout for a highly inebriated woman wandering the halls. She was found on the third floor trying to use her car keys to get in the doors.
It was obvious we needed backup. The police were quick to arrive. They talked to her for a while and asked her the same questions we had. I muffled a laugh when I overheard her slur “I. am. NOT……..drunk….”
She must have finally given the police a valid phone number, because they succeeded in getting a hold of someone who knew her.
Turns out, the guy they called was her ex-husband. He explained that they were divorced, and in a custody battle, and she’s probably with this guy. Our manager went to the room of this guy and confirmed that they were together. We escorted her up to the room, happy to be relieved of the burden.
I’m guessin’ she blew her chance at custody of her kids. A drunk mother who has to call her ex to find out the name of the guy she came to St. Louis with might leave a less than credible impression with the judge.
As for the color-runners. Their return could not have gone smoother. We were worried about them getting paint powder all over the furniture and bedding, but they returned with big smiles and colorful skin, grabbed the towels that we put out in the lobby, and carefully went to their rooms, leaving behind no trace of paint.
I suppose we should be happy it wasn’t a Mud Run.