I have always strongly believed that as you go through life, you will without doubt encounter one particular person with whom you will share a unique relationship. A person who will have a profound impact on you in one way or another and a person who will put a permanent mark on your memory that will never be erased
For me , that person, is the one I call my boss, the miester, the great and powerful Oz. The man who I am almost certain either used to, currently does, or some day hopes to work for either MI5, NASA or another one of those top secret organisations you read about in Dan Brown novels.
This man has the ability to do incredible things. Things I’ve never seen before, things I never thought possible. I’ve known him to work a 14 hour shift without once using the bathroom, he once spent 4 hours driving a guest round in his BMW in order to obtain the cash for a £300 unpaid room bill, I remember that day well because it coincidently happened on his birthday, I remember being surprised because I never actually imagined him being born as such, but rather created in some kind of test tube and/or pod.
This man is without doubt one of the most unique human beings on the face of the planet with super heightened senses, the memory of an elephant and a secret radar which enables him to know the whereabouts and actions of his staff even when they‘re not in his presence. He once managed to track me down on a Sunday afternoon in a grotty council estate pub where the shorts were £1.90 a double, to ask if I could work the early shift the following day. I still don’t know what was more incredible, the fact that he found me, or the fact that he persuaded me to do it!
He often begins sentences with things like “Em.. I was just going through the bin..” and he handwrites letters that we already have as standard templates on the computer. He didn’t have his first mobile phone until 2004 and when he did get one he started ringing us from the car park pretending that he was at home.
Now having known this man for 6 wonderful years, I like to think that I’ve got him pretty much sussed, I know what he’s about. And even though there is still the odd occasion when he manages to shock me, there is always one thing that I can guarantee will happen whenever and if ever, he should choose to have a day or night off.
You see the thing about working for someone who runs their own business is that they find it very difficult to switch off from what could potentially be happening in their absence. And so, on the rare occasion where we do manage to get rid of him usually by means of aggravating him to the point where he can’t stand to be around us any more. There is absolutely no question that we will at some point receive a phone call, which goes word for word, as follows….
“Hi Em it’s me You ok?”
Hellooo, yes I’m ok thanks. You?
Yes I’m fine thank you Emma. Erm…any Calls?”
“No, no calls.”
“Any emails”
“No, no emails”
“Anyone in the restaurant?”
“No, nobody in the restaurant”
“Any more rooms?”
“No we haven’t sold any more rooms”
“Right. Ok. Is Simon there?”
Just for your information, Simon is the bosses trusted protégée, who works on the desk in the office right beside me. Once the call is passed through I can then only hear Simons side of the conversation. Which goes something like this…
“Hiya. Yep.
No, there haven’t been any calls
No, No emails
No there’s nobody in the restaurant”
“No we haven’t sold any rooms”
This is what happens every single time the boss has a day off! Every time! But do I judge him for it??? NO! Cos he’s the meister! He’s the dude! I’m on his team, I’ve got his back. I’ve known the guy for 6 years and if he wants to know what’s going on! He can bloody well ring and ask! So what if he asks the same question 3 times although he already knows the answer. It doesn’t matter! He is the man!
So over the course of the past 6 years there have been many a time when we have received this phone call, and there have also been times where it has been tempting to cut him off from the normal routine and ask him things that we actually need to know. Like what is the code to the fire alarm system? Where do we keep the first aid kit and are we allowed to drink whilst on duty? But we don’t, and the reason for that is… I’m actually not sure!
Anyway… as we are a hotel, and it is in our nature to be accommodating and flexible, there are certain times when we have no choice but to break those unspoken rules, something that Simon and I discovered when the following incident happened several weeks ago, on the bosses well deserved, once in a blue moon day off.
We were having a quiet morning together , sipping coffee and getting reacquainted with our face book accounts, when the phone rang, disturbing me from an online conversation with my best friend who at the time was on a layover in Washington DC. Bloody cabin crew don’t know they’re born! Anyway, phone rings…
“Hello there it’s Kath here from Gillfield Engineering”
“Hello Kath”
“Hi, you ok?”
“Yes thanks, you?”
“Yeah I’m fine thanks, er…Is your boss there”
“No I’m afraid he’s not in today Kath Can I take a message or can I help you at all?”
Awkward silence on the line
“Kath are you there?”
“Yes I’m here. Sorry, erm… can you give him a message for me?”
“Is it about Christmas Kath?” (I don’t know what made me ask that)
“No it’s not about Christmas”
“Oh.. Ok…what’s the message?”
“Alright.. Can you just tell him..”
“Yep”
That Gary”
“Yeah”
“The boss”
“Yeah”
“At Gillfield engineering”
“Yeah”
“Is dead”
Another awkward silence
“I’m sorry… did you just say that Gary..”
“Is dead yes”
“Oh no”
“Yeah”
“That’s awful”
“I know”
“What a shame”
“Terrible shame”
“Yeah.. wow”
There was then another awkward silence on the line and at that point Simon was hovering behind me with an intrigued look on his face with body language saying “Whats going on??? Give me some of that Juice” and so I ended the conversation with Kath before turning round and putting him out of his misery.
“Who was that” he asked the second I put the phone down “What’s happened”
“It was Kath from Gillfield engineering” I replied “She say’s that Gary’s dead”
“Really?”
“Yeah”
“Gary”
“Yeah”
“Bloody hell”
“I know”
We then spent a few moments in respectful silence before Simon went on to ask his next question
“Who’s Gary”
“I don’t know mate. Not a clue”
“Right”
So once we had established that neither one of us knew who Gary was, or what his connection was to the great almighty, we were then faced with dilemma of what to do with the information we were holding. Did we do the unthinkable and call the boss at home on his day off, something which would only normally be done if the hotel was
A) Infested with rodents and/or asbestos
B) Under 12 feet of water
C) Being held at Gun fire
Did we wait until he came into the office the next day and break what, for all we knew could be devastating news, face to face, OR did we leave him a note on one of the special message pads we’re supposed to use and leave it in his tray for him to find when we weren’t there? Our decision…
“Simon get me a pen”
So we deliberated for a while over the best and most diplomatic way to put something like that in writing, and after some careful thought and planning, we came up with…
TO: The Boss
FROM: Emma & Simon
REGARDING: Gary - Gillford engineering
MESSAGE: He is dead
We read the note back and spent what we considered adequate time to discuss the pro’s and cons of it‘s content, In the end we concluded that the original draft was the best we were able to come with. And so…
“Hiya boss it’s Simon you alright?
Yeah I’m ok thank you
No, phones have been quiet
No we haven’t had any emails
No there’s nobody on the restaurant.
No we haven’t sold any rooms LISTEN sorry for calling you on your day off…. But do you know any one called Gary from a company called Gillfield Engineering?
You do?
Yeah?
Right.
Ok.
Ok Yeah well the things is Boss, is that we’ve just had a phonecall from someone called Kath who works for Gillford engineering, Now… brace yourself, are you braced? You are? Ok. Now I‘m sorry to have to tell you this but I‘m afraid, the thing is, that Gary…. is dead”
If it weren’t for my 30 a day habit then I probably would have held my breath as I stood anxiously by Simons side as he made that dreaded phone call. It was difficult for me to gage the bosses reaction from what Simon was saying, however I was soon to be put out of my misery, as he pulled the handset away from his ear, looked at me and said…
“He wants to talk to you”
I made my way back to the desk, and picked up the phone as Simon put the call through
“Hello?”
“Hi Em it’s me You ok?”
“Helooo yes I’m ok thanks, you?”
“Yes I’m fine thank you Emma. Erm…any Calls?”
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Sunday, 20 September 2009
I am a good Hotel Receptionist
“Em…. You know how sometimes your work can be a bit slap dash?”
“Yeah”
“Well do you remember Monday?”
“Yeah”
“Do you remember a Mrs Bateman Calling?”
“Oh yeah! Mrs Bateman, she wanted a Christmas brochure sending out because she’s looking to have one of the yuletide lunches in the restaurant on 23rd December for 12 people”
“Yes that’s her. Did you send the brochure out”
Pause for thought
“Is she saying she hasn‘t had it”
“Yeah”
“Then no probably not”
It was the above conversation that took place between my boss and I on Wednesday of last week that lead me to think that maybe, just maybe, I am a bad hotel receptionist.
I mean in a way I kind of always knew I wasn’t great. Despite having always commended myself on the fact that I always have the courtesy to minimize the face book screen on the computer when a customer comes to the desk. And that I have never once succumbed to the temptation to belt out the meatloaf song “life is a lemon and I want my money back” when a guest has asked for a refund.
So it was from that day, the day when Mrs Bateman ratted me out over the Christmas brochure, that I made the conscious decision that from then on, I would be a good hotel receptionist.
Thursday morning. The daily mail remained unopened and my facebook account, unchecked whilst I made use of myself by photocopying all of the standard forms we use on the desk , when the phone rang. Mrs Miller.
“Hi it’s Mrs Miller here”
“Hello”
“I spoke to your manager a few days ago and I asked him to send me a brochure for a birthday party I’m thinking of having for my husband”
“Ok”
“Well……. He sent it out but I realised afterwards that I’d given him the wrong house number and so he’s actually sent it out to my neighbours house and we don’t speak to the neighbours because….. Well… we don’t speak to them. Anyway so I phoned your manager back and asked him if he could send it out again but that was 2 days ago and it still hasn’t arrived so I’m thinking that maybe he’s sent it out to the wrong address again so what I was thinking is that I give you the right address now you could send it out to me and then I know that I’ll definitely get it”
“Ok Mrs Miller. What’s your address?”
“Its 22”
“yeah”
“Woodstock Drive”
“yep”
“Newcastle”
“yep”
“Under Lyme”
“Ok”
“Staffordshire”
“yep”
“ST5”
“Yep”
“2LZ”
“Ok Mrs Miler that’s fine, I’ll pass that on to My manager and get him to…….
“Wait, wait wait wait WAIT”
“OK”
“I’ve just thought! I’m coming into the town centre tomorrow so what I can do is just call in and pick the brochure up then. That’d probably be better wouldn’t it?”
Now had the conversation over Mrs Bateman’s brochure never happened, that would have probably been the point where I would have put Mrs Miller on hold and ranted at the first member of staff who happened to wander past the desk about how this silly cow has just kept me on the phone for 3 minutes to ask me for a brochure that she is subsequently going to come in and collect anyway. Had that conversation never happened and I would have made a sarcastic comment to Mrs Miller who was laughing like a psychiatric patient down the phone at something which was as far away from funny as I can possibly explain before slamming the phone down and spendng the next 3 hours feeling pissed off about it. But…. The conversation did happen, and so I just squeezed my eyes shut pressed my forefingers into my temples and replied in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper.
“Yes Mrs Miller. That would be better. We’ll see you tomorrow”
And why did I do it? Because I am a good hotel receptionist.
Friday Afternoon. There was a funeral party meeting in the resident bar which is situated about 5 metres from the reception desk. The mourners came in one by one as I sat at the desk with a sombre look on my face trying desperately not to sing the Jermaine Stewart song “We don’t have to take our clothes off” that had been stuck in my head all day.
There must have been a round 30 people in the bar wearing black suits, sipping sherry and tucking into cocktail sausage rolls when this dude came in. He must have been about 55, beer gut, moustache, you know the type of dude.
He walked up to the door of the bar and stood for around 5 seconds looking in, before walking up to the reception desk and asking
“Where do I go for the funeral?”
Now had the conversation over Mrs Batemans Christmas brochure never happened, I would have probably just stared at the dude with the beer gut and moustache and asked him if he was joking. Either that or I would have sarcastically pointed him to the direction of the function rooms or better still… told him I didn’t know what he was talking about and that there wasn’t a funeral party meeting at the hotel that afternoon.
But… the conversation did happen, and so for that reason I took a breath, smiled sweetly and said
“In the bar, just behind you.”
And why did I do it? Because I am a good hotel receptionist.
Saturday morning. The phone rang. It was Mr Dale who I had refused to check in the night before due to the fact that he was blind drunk and abusive and generally the type of person who I knew had the potential to piss me off.
“Hi it’s Mr Dale. I’m at the bank and they’re telling me that I can’t get any money out because you charged my card for the room the I rang and cancelled at 8 o clock last night”
Well first of all Mr Dale, you didn’t cancel the room, you were refused check in due to the fact that you were drunk and abusive. Second of all nobody has charged anything to your card. The people at your bank are idiots and they’ve made a mistake. That’s what I should have said. But…. Mrs Bateman and her Christmas brochure persuaded me otherwise
“I’m sorry Mr Dale but I’m afraid your bank have made a mistake, I did try to put the card through but cancelled the transaction as it didn’t pass the security check. Your bank are with holding the funds on your account
“Well that’s not what they’re saying”
“Well I’m very sorry Mr Dale but I’m afraid your bank are wrong. I am 100% affirmative that we have not charged your card and the reason I know is because I just cleared the credit card totals on the machine and everything has balanced as it should”
“Oh….. Oh right ok. I’ll just have to take it up with them then”
“Yes you will”
“Ok…Thanks, Bye”
And so I put the phone down on Mr Dale, then I cleared the daily totals on the credit card Machine, right before I refunded the £65 that I had taken from his Debit Card the night before. And why did I do it? That’s right, you guessed it! Because I am a good hotel receptionist.
“Yeah”
“Well do you remember Monday?”
“Yeah”
“Do you remember a Mrs Bateman Calling?”
“Oh yeah! Mrs Bateman, she wanted a Christmas brochure sending out because she’s looking to have one of the yuletide lunches in the restaurant on 23rd December for 12 people”
“Yes that’s her. Did you send the brochure out”
Pause for thought
“Is she saying she hasn‘t had it”
“Yeah”
“Then no probably not”
It was the above conversation that took place between my boss and I on Wednesday of last week that lead me to think that maybe, just maybe, I am a bad hotel receptionist.
I mean in a way I kind of always knew I wasn’t great. Despite having always commended myself on the fact that I always have the courtesy to minimize the face book screen on the computer when a customer comes to the desk. And that I have never once succumbed to the temptation to belt out the meatloaf song “life is a lemon and I want my money back” when a guest has asked for a refund.
So it was from that day, the day when Mrs Bateman ratted me out over the Christmas brochure, that I made the conscious decision that from then on, I would be a good hotel receptionist.
Thursday morning. The daily mail remained unopened and my facebook account, unchecked whilst I made use of myself by photocopying all of the standard forms we use on the desk , when the phone rang. Mrs Miller.
“Hi it’s Mrs Miller here”
“Hello”
“I spoke to your manager a few days ago and I asked him to send me a brochure for a birthday party I’m thinking of having for my husband”
“Ok”
“Well……. He sent it out but I realised afterwards that I’d given him the wrong house number and so he’s actually sent it out to my neighbours house and we don’t speak to the neighbours because….. Well… we don’t speak to them. Anyway so I phoned your manager back and asked him if he could send it out again but that was 2 days ago and it still hasn’t arrived so I’m thinking that maybe he’s sent it out to the wrong address again so what I was thinking is that I give you the right address now you could send it out to me and then I know that I’ll definitely get it”
“Ok Mrs Miller. What’s your address?”
“Its 22”
“yeah”
“Woodstock Drive”
“yep”
“Newcastle”
“yep”
“Under Lyme”
“Ok”
“Staffordshire”
“yep”
“ST5”
“Yep”
“2LZ”
“Ok Mrs Miler that’s fine, I’ll pass that on to My manager and get him to…….
“Wait, wait wait wait WAIT”
“OK”
“I’ve just thought! I’m coming into the town centre tomorrow so what I can do is just call in and pick the brochure up then. That’d probably be better wouldn’t it?”
Now had the conversation over Mrs Bateman’s brochure never happened, that would have probably been the point where I would have put Mrs Miller on hold and ranted at the first member of staff who happened to wander past the desk about how this silly cow has just kept me on the phone for 3 minutes to ask me for a brochure that she is subsequently going to come in and collect anyway. Had that conversation never happened and I would have made a sarcastic comment to Mrs Miller who was laughing like a psychiatric patient down the phone at something which was as far away from funny as I can possibly explain before slamming the phone down and spendng the next 3 hours feeling pissed off about it. But…. The conversation did happen, and so I just squeezed my eyes shut pressed my forefingers into my temples and replied in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper.
“Yes Mrs Miller. That would be better. We’ll see you tomorrow”
And why did I do it? Because I am a good hotel receptionist.
Friday Afternoon. There was a funeral party meeting in the resident bar which is situated about 5 metres from the reception desk. The mourners came in one by one as I sat at the desk with a sombre look on my face trying desperately not to sing the Jermaine Stewart song “We don’t have to take our clothes off” that had been stuck in my head all day.
There must have been a round 30 people in the bar wearing black suits, sipping sherry and tucking into cocktail sausage rolls when this dude came in. He must have been about 55, beer gut, moustache, you know the type of dude.
He walked up to the door of the bar and stood for around 5 seconds looking in, before walking up to the reception desk and asking
“Where do I go for the funeral?”
Now had the conversation over Mrs Batemans Christmas brochure never happened, I would have probably just stared at the dude with the beer gut and moustache and asked him if he was joking. Either that or I would have sarcastically pointed him to the direction of the function rooms or better still… told him I didn’t know what he was talking about and that there wasn’t a funeral party meeting at the hotel that afternoon.
But… the conversation did happen, and so for that reason I took a breath, smiled sweetly and said
“In the bar, just behind you.”
And why did I do it? Because I am a good hotel receptionist.
Saturday morning. The phone rang. It was Mr Dale who I had refused to check in the night before due to the fact that he was blind drunk and abusive and generally the type of person who I knew had the potential to piss me off.
“Hi it’s Mr Dale. I’m at the bank and they’re telling me that I can’t get any money out because you charged my card for the room the I rang and cancelled at 8 o clock last night”
Well first of all Mr Dale, you didn’t cancel the room, you were refused check in due to the fact that you were drunk and abusive. Second of all nobody has charged anything to your card. The people at your bank are idiots and they’ve made a mistake. That’s what I should have said. But…. Mrs Bateman and her Christmas brochure persuaded me otherwise
“I’m sorry Mr Dale but I’m afraid your bank have made a mistake, I did try to put the card through but cancelled the transaction as it didn’t pass the security check. Your bank are with holding the funds on your account
“Well that’s not what they’re saying”
“Well I’m very sorry Mr Dale but I’m afraid your bank are wrong. I am 100% affirmative that we have not charged your card and the reason I know is because I just cleared the credit card totals on the machine and everything has balanced as it should”
“Oh….. Oh right ok. I’ll just have to take it up with them then”
“Yes you will”
“Ok…Thanks, Bye”
And so I put the phone down on Mr Dale, then I cleared the daily totals on the credit card Machine, right before I refunded the £65 that I had taken from his Debit Card the night before. And why did I do it? That’s right, you guessed it! Because I am a good hotel receptionist.
Tuesday, 8 September 2009
Voice Recognition
A lot of hotel receptionists find that after a certain amount of time has passed, they develop a kind of voice recognition device in their mind, which enables them to pinpoint straight away who it is they are talking to on the phone, without that person actually announcing who they are.
I think it’s safe to say that anyone who knows me, will know that I am not one of those receptionists, and those of you who don’t know me will soon come to realise when reading the story of two telephone conversations that took place over the course of last Fridays Shift, between the hours of 2:30pm, and 10:30pm.
The first conversation happened at around 4:00pm in the afternoon as I was sat at the desk flicking through the Daily Mail when I was suddenly interrupted by the phone ringing
“Good Afternoon, Fawlty Towers, How can I help?” (Just Kidding!)
“Hi, Hi Hello it’s me”
The person on the end of the phone spoke in an accent that could have come from anywhere between Wales and the borders of Western Europe, I had no idea who it was, but I thought given time I would eventually be able to work it out. And so I responded
“Hi, How are you?”
“I am not good! I just come back from doctor”
“Ok”
“He tell me, I have inflamed nerve”
“Oh Dear!”
“Yes, so he tell me I must no work for 3…. Weeks! You Understand?”
“Yes”
“So I tell you I have inflamed nerve”
“Yep”
“And I must no work for 3…. Weeks”
“Yes”
“OK”
There was then a pause that lasted for around 5 seconds before I was left with no choice but to ask the following question…
“So do you work here or.......”
“YES! YES IT IS ME! I work in kitchen”
Well she didn’t tell me that! When she said she worked in the kitchen I got it straight away but because I haven’t got one of those voice recognition gismos I was completely lost prior to that statement.
Anyway half an hour later my boss was informed, and when I say informed I mean he found a piece of scrap paper underneath the daily mail which had “inflamed – 3 weeks” scribbled on it. Once I explained what it was, My boss managed to get it all sorted out and we all got back to our evening as it was, which leads me to the next story, of telephone conversation number 2.
It happened at around 8:00pm when my boss called me from home , to ask if I could ring one of the waitresses to find out whether it was her or one of the other girls working the lunch shift the following day, I jotted down the number, and as soon as I came off the phone I punched it into the switchboard, picked up the receiver and waited for the line to be answered, which it did after 2 rings. A male voice spoke
“Hello”
“Hello can I speak to Amy Please?”
“You what?”
“Can speak to Amy, It’s Emma calling from work”
“What are you on about”
“Er…. Sorry, I think I’ve got the wrong number”
“Em are you taking the piss?”
“Excuse me? What are you on about? Who is this???”
“It’s Phil!”
“Phil who”
“CHEF!”
“What?”
It took around 3 seconds, and then it hit me! I realised exactly what I had done, I was unable to explain it to chef straight away due falling off my chair in an horrendous laughing fit but it… was…. Funny!
The explanation for the mix up, was that Amys number had began with the same 3 digits as the internal extension to the kitchen. When I had dialled I had not pressed 9 for an outside line, and inadvertently put myself through to the kitchen thinking that I had called Amy’s house and when chef answered I just presumed I was talking to her dad.
Now I don’t know what offended Chef more, the fact that after knowing him for 5 years I still can’t recognise his voice on the phone, or that at just 27 years old I could mistake his voice as that of the father of a girl aged 23. But at the end of the day because I haven’t been blessed with one of those fabulous voice recognition thingys it makes it very difficult for me to figure these things out! All I can do is apologise! I’m sorry chef!
Anyway, much as I would love to carry on, it’s time for me to go because as I’m writing this the fire alarm siren is going off like crazy and it’s very, very distracting as the main box is only about 10 feet away from where I’m sitting.
Also this weirdo keeps on ringing the desk going on about silencers and reset buttons. I have to keep hanging up on him cos I'm waiting for the duty manager to call me from the annexe to tell me what to do about the alarm.
It's all good fun!
I think it’s safe to say that anyone who knows me, will know that I am not one of those receptionists, and those of you who don’t know me will soon come to realise when reading the story of two telephone conversations that took place over the course of last Fridays Shift, between the hours of 2:30pm, and 10:30pm.
The first conversation happened at around 4:00pm in the afternoon as I was sat at the desk flicking through the Daily Mail when I was suddenly interrupted by the phone ringing
“Good Afternoon, Fawlty Towers, How can I help?” (Just Kidding!)
“Hi, Hi Hello it’s me”
The person on the end of the phone spoke in an accent that could have come from anywhere between Wales and the borders of Western Europe, I had no idea who it was, but I thought given time I would eventually be able to work it out. And so I responded
“Hi, How are you?”
“I am not good! I just come back from doctor”
“Ok”
“He tell me, I have inflamed nerve”
“Oh Dear!”
“Yes, so he tell me I must no work for 3…. Weeks! You Understand?”
“Yes”
“So I tell you I have inflamed nerve”
“Yep”
“And I must no work for 3…. Weeks”
“Yes”
“OK”
There was then a pause that lasted for around 5 seconds before I was left with no choice but to ask the following question…
“So do you work here or.......”
“YES! YES IT IS ME! I work in kitchen”
Well she didn’t tell me that! When she said she worked in the kitchen I got it straight away but because I haven’t got one of those voice recognition gismos I was completely lost prior to that statement.
Anyway half an hour later my boss was informed, and when I say informed I mean he found a piece of scrap paper underneath the daily mail which had “inflamed – 3 weeks” scribbled on it. Once I explained what it was, My boss managed to get it all sorted out and we all got back to our evening as it was, which leads me to the next story, of telephone conversation number 2.
It happened at around 8:00pm when my boss called me from home , to ask if I could ring one of the waitresses to find out whether it was her or one of the other girls working the lunch shift the following day, I jotted down the number, and as soon as I came off the phone I punched it into the switchboard, picked up the receiver and waited for the line to be answered, which it did after 2 rings. A male voice spoke
“Hello”
“Hello can I speak to Amy Please?”
“You what?”
“Can speak to Amy, It’s Emma calling from work”
“What are you on about”
“Er…. Sorry, I think I’ve got the wrong number”
“Em are you taking the piss?”
“Excuse me? What are you on about? Who is this???”
“It’s Phil!”
“Phil who”
“CHEF!”
“What?”
It took around 3 seconds, and then it hit me! I realised exactly what I had done, I was unable to explain it to chef straight away due falling off my chair in an horrendous laughing fit but it… was…. Funny!
The explanation for the mix up, was that Amys number had began with the same 3 digits as the internal extension to the kitchen. When I had dialled I had not pressed 9 for an outside line, and inadvertently put myself through to the kitchen thinking that I had called Amy’s house and when chef answered I just presumed I was talking to her dad.
Now I don’t know what offended Chef more, the fact that after knowing him for 5 years I still can’t recognise his voice on the phone, or that at just 27 years old I could mistake his voice as that of the father of a girl aged 23. But at the end of the day because I haven’t been blessed with one of those fabulous voice recognition thingys it makes it very difficult for me to figure these things out! All I can do is apologise! I’m sorry chef!
Anyway, much as I would love to carry on, it’s time for me to go because as I’m writing this the fire alarm siren is going off like crazy and it’s very, very distracting as the main box is only about 10 feet away from where I’m sitting.
Also this weirdo keeps on ringing the desk going on about silencers and reset buttons. I have to keep hanging up on him cos I'm waiting for the duty manager to call me from the annexe to tell me what to do about the alarm.
It's all good fun!
Monday, 31 August 2009
The Chapman Wedding Reception
Strangely enough, as I sit writing this, Mr Chapman is standing in front of me at the reception desk, and to look at him, I can’t help thinking that the soon to be Mrs Chapman is an exceptionally lucky lady.
One guest however, who I am not looking forward to meeting today, is the infamous Mrs Comber, who spent most of Thursday morning pushing me slowly over the edge to the point where I was convinced I was going to lose my mind.
It all started at 8:00am when the phone rang, interrupting me from my morning coffee as I flicked through the pages of the daily mail
“Hello! This is mrs Comber speaking. My husband has a ¾ single room booked for Saturday and Sunday. He’s attending the Chapman Wedding but it looks like the children and I will be able to join him now so is there any chance of us swapping the booking to a family room?”
“No”
Obviously I wasn’t quite so blunt about it but in short the answer was no. I explained to Mrs Comber that the Chapman wedding party had booked out the entire hotel. With the exception of 2 budget single rooms that would not be suitable to accommodate a family and so unfortunately there was no possible way we could accommodate them
“Oh…” she said in a tone that suggested she was going to throw herself off the cliff the minute she put down the phone.
“What a shame”
“Yeah…… Its is”
Following that, there was a deadly silence on the line that must have lasted for a round 5 seconds
“Are you there mrs Comber?
“Yes I’m here, I’m just thinking”
“OK”
More silence
“Those Budget single rooms? What are they like?”
“If you’re trying to ask me if there is any possible way you can get a family of 4 inside one Mrs Comber, the answer I’m afraid is no”
That’s what I wanted to say. But I opted for the more diplomatic response
“Well they’re just small rooms with a single bed in Mrs Comber. Very Basic”
“Right, Right… Shame”
“Yeah…. It is”
Now this was followed by another deathly silence, at which point I was thinking “What does this woman want me to do??? Are we going to stay on the phone all morning talking about what a shame it is that we don’t have a family room available? Is she staying on the line in the hope that if she stays on long enough it will give amicable time for us to build an extra family room so that she and her ratbag children can stay? What? What do you want from me?
“Do you want to have a chat with your husband Mrs Comber and see what he wants to do?”
“Yeah, Yeah I’ll do that, I’ll do that. Thanks very much”
Gone
On recollection, I probably muttered something to myself as I put the phone down. I tend to do that quite a lot. The thing about being a hotel receptionist is that you do tend to meet a lot of incredibly stupid people, and I have a very low tolerance level of stupid people. I once put the phone down on someone who called and got as far as saying “I’m a bit lost” If you can’t plan your route properly darling don’t phone me. Not my problem. But I think it’s the little things that get to me the most. Like the people who drift around the lobby as though is a maze, completely oblivious to the huge monstrous sign that says “EXIT TO CAR PARK” I used to ask those people if they were ok and needed help. Not any more. They’re on the same par as the people who come up to the desk and say “I wanna check out” then put the key fob in front of me with the room number facing down. Check out from where love? Am I meant to know who you are? Muppet!
So anyway as I put the phone down. Mrs Comber very quickly placed herself into the same category of those people I have just mentioned. I t was 8:15 and she had already managed to aggravate me. Little did I know, she hadn’t even started.
10:00am. I was in the back office sorting out the change order when I received a text message on my phone. I walked up to the desk, picked up the phone, opened the flip and that spurred the following reaction..
“NOOOOOOOOOO!”
The screen on my phone which one sported a picture of my gorgeous border collie was white and fuzzy with a huge crack down the middle. How did it happen, I had no idea, but one thing I did know was that it was time to panic.
Within minutes, all 8 members off staff who were in the building had been notified that my phone was broken. As they stood at the desk in awe of my ranting it was made clear to them that nobody was to move until someone had come up with a solution. One by one they handed over their phones as I ripped their batteries and sim card out in attempt to try and retrieve my phone numbers and of course to see who the text message was from. When once again I was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing on the desk, I made it clear to the 8 members of staff who were still being held captive at the desk that nobody was to move until I came off the phone
“Hello it’s mrs comber was it you I was speaking to earlier”
Jesus Christ! This is all I need
“Yes Mrs Comber this is Emma you were speaking to me earlier. Are you ok?”
“Yeah yeah I’m fine I just wanted to see about the situation for this weekend”
“Ok”
“Those budget singles definitely won’t take a family?”
My forefingers at that point were pressed firmly against my temples, my eyes were squeezed shut, and I was slowly but surely losing the will to live. My mobile phone, is broken, and this woman is phoning to ask me if she can fit a family of 4 into a budget single room.
Breathe Emma….. Just Breathe.
“No Mrs Comber. Unfortunately there is no possible way of fitting 4 people into a budget single room. I’m sorry”
“Right ok. Shame isn’t it?”
“Yeah… It is”
That was then followed by a long silence, during which I was scowling down the phone and mouthing “What do you want me to say?????”
“Are you there mrs Comber?”
“Yes yes I’m here”
Another long pause
“I’m just thinking”
“THINKING WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT? AND WHY ARE YOU PHONING ME? DON’T DRAG ME INTO IT I’VE GOT ENOUGH TO THINK ABOUT! MY BLOODY PHONES BROKEN AND YOUR RINGING ME TO TELL THAT YOU’RE THINKING! I DON’T NEED IT MRS COMBER! I JUST DON’T NEED IT”
That’s what I wanted to say, but of course in those kind of situations, one must always try to compose oneself and maintain the level of professionalism that would be expected, and so I replied
“Ok…. Go on”
“Well it’s just a shame isn’t it?”
OH…. MY… GOD! Get this woman off the phone now before I wrap the telephone wire around my neck in an attempt to end the torture that is this conversation.
Those were my exact thoughts as I stared at my colleagues who were still being held hostage in front of the desk, giggling at my erratic state as though it were purely for their amusement
“Do you want to have another chat with your husband and see what he says?” It worked the last time, I thought. No harm in trying it again
“Yeah, yeah I’ll do that, I’ll do that ok thank you!”
Gone.
Now… my phone.
It took 4 members of staff to persuade me that my phone was indeed, knackered. Although Chef didn’t put it quite so politely. Luckily our new sous chef has a friend who runs a little shop not far from here where he sells handsets for next to nothing so he offered to take me down there after work, leading me to realise that maybe, just maybe I had over reacted, only slightly.
So another 2 hours went past, the hostages had been released and allowed to go about their duties whilst I sat flicking through the Daily Mail. Then the phone rang
“Hi there! Are you the lady I spoke to earlier?”
“No! No I aren’t. That person isn’t here any more. You pushed her right over the edge and she’s now walking around Newcastle Town Centre in her underwear talking to pigeons”
At least that’s what I wanted to say
“Yes Mrs Comber It’s me. How are you doing?”
“I’m good yeah! Right… I’ve been phoning round a few family members…..”
“Oh? Oh Have you? So it’s not just been you’ve been aggravating all morning then? You’ve inflicted your indecisive ranting on the rest of the family as well! That makes me feel better that I’m not alone in it all. Thank you Mrs Comber”
Again, that’s just what was in my head
“Ok…And what have you decided?
What had been decided, was that Mrs Comber is going to move into the room that Mr Comber was originally in, and Mr Comber is now going to go into one of the budget singles, The daughter is probably going to sleep in her room with either her nan or her aunty, she’s not quite sure, probably her nan, but then it depends. anyway she’ll let me know about that one. And with regards to the little boy well he’s going to sleep in the ¾ bed with his mummy because he’ll probably want to sleep with mummy anyway and….
“OH MY GOD! Mrs Comber will you please shut up! I can’t deal with you any more!
Floating head… slowly drifting back. Compose yourself Emma. You’re doing really well.
“Yeah that all sounds fine to me Mrs Comber. I will get all of that sorted for you, and we will see you at the wedding on Saturday”
Gone
So on Saturday morning, at 7:00am. I walked into work in a positive frame of mind, telling myself that it was going to be a good day, Nothing was going to get me down, and I could handle anything that was thrown at me.
I went into the kitchen, made myself a coffee, then went onto the desk where I sat beside the night porter who had a handful of notes ready to hand over.
“Ok” he said “First things first. We had a phone call last night from a lady named Mrs Comber………”
One guest however, who I am not looking forward to meeting today, is the infamous Mrs Comber, who spent most of Thursday morning pushing me slowly over the edge to the point where I was convinced I was going to lose my mind.
It all started at 8:00am when the phone rang, interrupting me from my morning coffee as I flicked through the pages of the daily mail
“Hello! This is mrs Comber speaking. My husband has a ¾ single room booked for Saturday and Sunday. He’s attending the Chapman Wedding but it looks like the children and I will be able to join him now so is there any chance of us swapping the booking to a family room?”
“No”
Obviously I wasn’t quite so blunt about it but in short the answer was no. I explained to Mrs Comber that the Chapman wedding party had booked out the entire hotel. With the exception of 2 budget single rooms that would not be suitable to accommodate a family and so unfortunately there was no possible way we could accommodate them
“Oh…” she said in a tone that suggested she was going to throw herself off the cliff the minute she put down the phone.
“What a shame”
“Yeah…… Its is”
Following that, there was a deadly silence on the line that must have lasted for a round 5 seconds
“Are you there mrs Comber?
“Yes I’m here, I’m just thinking”
“OK”
More silence
“Those Budget single rooms? What are they like?”
“If you’re trying to ask me if there is any possible way you can get a family of 4 inside one Mrs Comber, the answer I’m afraid is no”
That’s what I wanted to say. But I opted for the more diplomatic response
“Well they’re just small rooms with a single bed in Mrs Comber. Very Basic”
“Right, Right… Shame”
“Yeah…. It is”
Now this was followed by another deathly silence, at which point I was thinking “What does this woman want me to do??? Are we going to stay on the phone all morning talking about what a shame it is that we don’t have a family room available? Is she staying on the line in the hope that if she stays on long enough it will give amicable time for us to build an extra family room so that she and her ratbag children can stay? What? What do you want from me?
“Do you want to have a chat with your husband Mrs Comber and see what he wants to do?”
“Yeah, Yeah I’ll do that, I’ll do that. Thanks very much”
Gone
On recollection, I probably muttered something to myself as I put the phone down. I tend to do that quite a lot. The thing about being a hotel receptionist is that you do tend to meet a lot of incredibly stupid people, and I have a very low tolerance level of stupid people. I once put the phone down on someone who called and got as far as saying “I’m a bit lost” If you can’t plan your route properly darling don’t phone me. Not my problem. But I think it’s the little things that get to me the most. Like the people who drift around the lobby as though is a maze, completely oblivious to the huge monstrous sign that says “EXIT TO CAR PARK” I used to ask those people if they were ok and needed help. Not any more. They’re on the same par as the people who come up to the desk and say “I wanna check out” then put the key fob in front of me with the room number facing down. Check out from where love? Am I meant to know who you are? Muppet!
So anyway as I put the phone down. Mrs Comber very quickly placed herself into the same category of those people I have just mentioned. I t was 8:15 and she had already managed to aggravate me. Little did I know, she hadn’t even started.
10:00am. I was in the back office sorting out the change order when I received a text message on my phone. I walked up to the desk, picked up the phone, opened the flip and that spurred the following reaction..
“NOOOOOOOOOO!”
The screen on my phone which one sported a picture of my gorgeous border collie was white and fuzzy with a huge crack down the middle. How did it happen, I had no idea, but one thing I did know was that it was time to panic.
Within minutes, all 8 members off staff who were in the building had been notified that my phone was broken. As they stood at the desk in awe of my ranting it was made clear to them that nobody was to move until someone had come up with a solution. One by one they handed over their phones as I ripped their batteries and sim card out in attempt to try and retrieve my phone numbers and of course to see who the text message was from. When once again I was interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing on the desk, I made it clear to the 8 members of staff who were still being held captive at the desk that nobody was to move until I came off the phone
“Hello it’s mrs comber was it you I was speaking to earlier”
Jesus Christ! This is all I need
“Yes Mrs Comber this is Emma you were speaking to me earlier. Are you ok?”
“Yeah yeah I’m fine I just wanted to see about the situation for this weekend”
“Ok”
“Those budget singles definitely won’t take a family?”
My forefingers at that point were pressed firmly against my temples, my eyes were squeezed shut, and I was slowly but surely losing the will to live. My mobile phone, is broken, and this woman is phoning to ask me if she can fit a family of 4 into a budget single room.
Breathe Emma….. Just Breathe.
“No Mrs Comber. Unfortunately there is no possible way of fitting 4 people into a budget single room. I’m sorry”
“Right ok. Shame isn’t it?”
“Yeah… It is”
That was then followed by a long silence, during which I was scowling down the phone and mouthing “What do you want me to say?????”
“Are you there mrs Comber?”
“Yes yes I’m here”
Another long pause
“I’m just thinking”
“THINKING WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT? AND WHY ARE YOU PHONING ME? DON’T DRAG ME INTO IT I’VE GOT ENOUGH TO THINK ABOUT! MY BLOODY PHONES BROKEN AND YOUR RINGING ME TO TELL THAT YOU’RE THINKING! I DON’T NEED IT MRS COMBER! I JUST DON’T NEED IT”
That’s what I wanted to say, but of course in those kind of situations, one must always try to compose oneself and maintain the level of professionalism that would be expected, and so I replied
“Ok…. Go on”
“Well it’s just a shame isn’t it?”
OH…. MY… GOD! Get this woman off the phone now before I wrap the telephone wire around my neck in an attempt to end the torture that is this conversation.
Those were my exact thoughts as I stared at my colleagues who were still being held hostage in front of the desk, giggling at my erratic state as though it were purely for their amusement
“Do you want to have another chat with your husband and see what he says?” It worked the last time, I thought. No harm in trying it again
“Yeah, yeah I’ll do that, I’ll do that ok thank you!”
Gone.
Now… my phone.
It took 4 members of staff to persuade me that my phone was indeed, knackered. Although Chef didn’t put it quite so politely. Luckily our new sous chef has a friend who runs a little shop not far from here where he sells handsets for next to nothing so he offered to take me down there after work, leading me to realise that maybe, just maybe I had over reacted, only slightly.
So another 2 hours went past, the hostages had been released and allowed to go about their duties whilst I sat flicking through the Daily Mail. Then the phone rang
“Hi there! Are you the lady I spoke to earlier?”
“No! No I aren’t. That person isn’t here any more. You pushed her right over the edge and she’s now walking around Newcastle Town Centre in her underwear talking to pigeons”
At least that’s what I wanted to say
“Yes Mrs Comber It’s me. How are you doing?”
“I’m good yeah! Right… I’ve been phoning round a few family members…..”
“Oh? Oh Have you? So it’s not just been you’ve been aggravating all morning then? You’ve inflicted your indecisive ranting on the rest of the family as well! That makes me feel better that I’m not alone in it all. Thank you Mrs Comber”
Again, that’s just what was in my head
“Ok…And what have you decided?
What had been decided, was that Mrs Comber is going to move into the room that Mr Comber was originally in, and Mr Comber is now going to go into one of the budget singles, The daughter is probably going to sleep in her room with either her nan or her aunty, she’s not quite sure, probably her nan, but then it depends. anyway she’ll let me know about that one. And with regards to the little boy well he’s going to sleep in the ¾ bed with his mummy because he’ll probably want to sleep with mummy anyway and….
“OH MY GOD! Mrs Comber will you please shut up! I can’t deal with you any more!
Floating head… slowly drifting back. Compose yourself Emma. You’re doing really well.
“Yeah that all sounds fine to me Mrs Comber. I will get all of that sorted for you, and we will see you at the wedding on Saturday”
Gone
So on Saturday morning, at 7:00am. I walked into work in a positive frame of mind, telling myself that it was going to be a good day, Nothing was going to get me down, and I could handle anything that was thrown at me.
I went into the kitchen, made myself a coffee, then went onto the desk where I sat beside the night porter who had a handful of notes ready to hand over.
“Ok” he said “First things first. We had a phone call last night from a lady named Mrs Comber………”
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