Tidal Wave.

A beautiful day, blue skies, sunshine, perfect day for a wedding. 

Bride in white, bridesmaids in black, well, each to their own...snotty page boys with Gameboys in their pockets, a surprise to come when the little flower girl has no petals left in her basket for the aisle as she's already stuffed them down the toilet in the Clubhouse.

The mother of the bride was extremely happy, thanks to a few large breakfast gin and tonic, and as the wedding party climbed into a variety of vintage cars to take them to the church nearby, the father of the bride looked a little less happy than his wife.

On their riotous return for their drinks reception, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, and they were more than happy with the arrangements, despite the groom being convinced he had booked, a Van Morrison tribute turned out to be a Jim Morrison tribute, a lucky mistake in my humble opinion.

The wedding breakfast was uneventful, and the speeches quite moving, I'm not sure the heavily GAA themed cake was to everyone's taste, especially as by the time the cake was cut, one of the grooms brothers had removed his dress shirt to reveal a Manchester United top.

When the best man started his drunken rendition of 'C'mon baby light my fire' I made my excuses and left for home, confident that the rest of the night would be in the capable hands of our lovely Duty Manager.

Next morning they were in no state to check out. The bride and groom were staying an extra night, but their family was supposed to be leaving, at least by 12pm, if possible.

By one o'clock, (and many phone calls to hung over, uncooperative guests later), the Best Man his wife and a few others decided they were going to stay too, so once the Front Office Manager had juggled the other guests and accommodated them, they agreed to pack up and move to their new rooms.

When the Best Man finally vacated the room, and headed in the direction of the bar, one of the housekeepers on that floor came to my office, obviously very upset about something, and, as she had no English, my deputy translated to me that she had gone to service their room, only to find that not only did it resemble a pig-sty but the bed was soaking wet.

I went to have a look myself, and the only way I can describe it is that it looked like someone had poured a bucket of water on the bed. I had flashbacks of my Japanese guests a few years previously, I have never before seen so much guest generated fluid on an Hotel bed!!

It was obviously pee...strangely enough, there was no smell, none, just very wet, in the middle of a zip and link bed, (which is two single mattresses joined together). We did the usual routine, remove the bed, and base as it had gone right through, to an outside area, and called the Chem-Dry guy to come and steam clean them.

I passed on the information to the Front Office Manager and she was to contact the guest to discuss the cost of the extra cleaning etc. She didn't mention that she had re-booked them into a new room.

Later that day, I was behind the front desk, covering yet again for my receptionist friend, who had been on her feet since seven that morning, without a break, thanks to the ineptitude of her bully boss.

As she came back from her well earned coffee, a woman approached the desk, and enquired about booking a room for that night, I handed her over to my better qualified colleague and after she was allocated a room, she went back to join her laughing, drinking, shouting, party on the terrace of the bar, from which the strong smell of weed leaked into the Restaurant, much to the annoyance of the staff setting up for dinner.

I mentioned to my colleague what had happened with the disgusting room...she then told me that the woman that had just been at the desk was the guest that had stayed in that room, she was one of the bridesmaids, and her husband was the Best Man.  

She had just booked her into a different room, but then noticed they had already been allocated another room by the Front Office Manager, who had not noted in the system that it was a stay-over from the wedding of the year, so now that would have to be changed, and would I speak to her... please, as she didn't want the confrontation regarding the now, very large damage deposit which her Manager had neglected to take when she booked them in.

I suppose if the bridesmaid hadn't been so fucking arrogant, maybe if she had said something about the fact that they had left the room looking like a swimming pool in a dumpster, or just said sorry, I wouldn't have been so annoyed.

Before I had a chance to put my professional hat on, I could see myself, like in one of those 'out of body' experiences, marching towards this group of pissed up knackers, my hovering self was shouting,
"Don't do it...they'll kill you, they don't care, they're hard, they arrived in Hiace vans with white ribbons"

My accommodation manager self was saying, "bastards...bastards...bastards...bastards......how dare they put my girls at risk of infection, how dare they not say a fucking word about leaving urine in one of my rooms, then laugh about it, the arseholes"

When it comes to guest relations, I like to think that I am a true professional, I have always put the customer first, and I literally bend over backwards to make sure the guest is catered for, but sometimes, just sometimes, they really make me want to commit murder.

I thought I was quite diplomatic.

I approached the baying crowd, and asked if 'she' was Mrs F. When she confirmed that she was,I asked her if I could have a word...she snorted and said,
"Ok, what do you want"?

I asked her if she wouldn't mind following me somewhere private.
"

"Jesus, it's like being told to come to the fucking headmasters office",  she laughed to her friends, and strutted after me, mimicking my walk.

I should have just shown her up there and then and told them all that her husband or indeed herself, had pissed the bed and they would have to pay for the damage, and would have to cover any more potential damage with a large security deposit, but I chose not to embarrass her in front of her fans, and be nice about it.

We went into the function room, where, the previous night she had half stripped and belted out her version of 'I will survive' and I outlined the problem.

Suppressing my anger, I asked her if she was the guest in 115, she confirmed this, so looking her in the eyes I asked,

"Would you mind telling me what happened to the bed? Is it urine"?

All her bravado and arrogance melted away from her, she looked mortified,crushed, even.

Removed from her supporters, and in the presence of someone who had seen it all before, she made the split decision to tell the truth.

"I am soooo sorry, my husband had an accident,he drank way too much last night"

She was like a little girl caught smoking that weed by her granny.

"Can I ask you why you felt it unnecessary to mention it to the receptionist"?

All right, sarcastic, but professional!

'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' was all she could say. I banged on a bit about the hazard of having to deal with and handle bodily fluids without prior warning, and she was suitably chastened. I actually felt sorry for her, as in truth, what should have happened, is our GM should have tackled the Best Man over his lack of bladder control, instead of us ladies taking another lady to task over something that wasn't her fault, but that might just be my opinion.

Anyway, they didn't return for the extra night, she called later in the day to say they had changed their minds, and please let them off paying the cancellation fee.

A few days later we received a cheque to cover the cleaning, and a note to say she was too embarrassed to come back.

There is a God after all.