“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.
Sunday, 20 September 2009
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!
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