Pigs in Shit.

I have always had issues with staff/managers/anyone without a reservation/ who havent paid a deposit, using the Hotel accommodation, (I fucking hate it) especially on a long term basis.

In a previous Hotel, where I was Accommodation Manager, the room attendants would stand in the doorway of our 'live-in' chefs' room and say 'where do we start?' It was a typical, 'lad away from home' scenario, drink, guitars, girls, more drink, dirty clothes strewn around the room, enough aftershave lotion to sink a battleship, usually spilled all over the dresser, lad mags, used tissues (!!) To add insult to injury, he always left his payslips open on the desk, and the girls would give out for the rest of the day about how much money he was getting, when it was them who had to clean up his shit!! His chefs whites were always in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor, (his bathroom had no lights for a whole week once, and he didn't report it, so how the hell he washed himself properly I don't know, what am I saying, he's a lad!...but also a chef...eww!)

This was a 4* establishment. But he was a lovely guy, so he kinda got away with it!

Today I was literaly pounced on, on the drive up to the Hotel, I was flagged down in the car by the housekeeping supervisor and one of our cleaners. They were bouncing, mad, boiling with rage, which isn't a pretty sight to arrive at work to...!

'You have to go and have a look at that lodge the guys have used, it's unbelievable!!'

'The guys' being members of staff who have been living in for a couple of months.

Young, unattached males, with Mammys who do everything for them, on a good salary and a very short walk to work, are going to erm, enjoy themselves, use their leisure time to the full.

Unfortunately, their accommodation usually suffers.

The suffering then goes down the line to the cleaners, who, although justified in their complaints, make it their duty to inform anyone and everyone who will listen, that they have just had to clean dried vomit off the bath,(?!!FFS!) dried poo off every toilet, pick used condoms out of the bathroom bins, that have no liners in, scrub caked on grease from pots and pans that were left in the kitchen sink, sand blast the oven, wade their way through bedding that has been stained with 'God knows what' clean every cup, saucer, tea pot, and plate with bleach before putting them in the dishwasher, again. 'Deep cleaning' has taken on a whole new meaning today!

The suffering is then passed onto the Manager, who, has to inspect the damage and make a report, arrange for specialist collection of the soiled duvets, pillows, and bedding, has to arrange for the carpets, mattresses and soft furnishing to be steam cleaned, and calculate the cost. She also has to try to smooth the waters between the lads and the cleaning staff, who are now spitting fire at each other, and field questions from the GM who wants to know 'how bad' the damage is, 'did you take photographs?' and will 'deal with it' himself..

Down the line it goes, around and around, pointless, timewasting exercises which could have been avoided if they had had a tiny bit of potty training from Mammy, if only she had taught them to put their used toilet paper in the toilet, not on the floor. If only she had taught them to USE the toilet. If only she had taught them to cook real food, and made them eat their meals at the table, maybe, just maybe they wouldn't have eaten so many takeaways and wiped their sticky fingers on the wall beside the bed....!

If only we had been allowed to do housekeeping once a week for them, but no, they wouldn't pay, so the crap built up, the cigarette smoke became more and more embedded in the walls, the curtains, the carpets.....if only they had washed their feet more often then the acrid smell of cheese would have been lessened.

To the end of the line...the dirty little bastards themselves. They actually thought that the cleaning would take an hour as 'it's not too bad' in reality it took three ladies four hours to clean it out, without dressing the beds, as they are going to be cleaned later today, and all this will put the lodge 'out of order' until at least Tuesday next.

All this has to be accounted and paid for, the extra man hours, the cleaning materials, the contractors, the loss of revenue from the lodge being OOO, not to mention the now, very bad feeling between the girls and the dirty bastards, as the girls have told everyone how bad it was, and the lads have been blaming each other!

I love my job, I know how lucky I am to be here, and I enjoy looking after such good quality accommodation and facilities, but it never fails to amaze me how anyone can abuse their rooms/lodging, what sort of parents raise these pigs?

I 'lived in' for at least three or four years all told, and I never, ever let my accommodation get in that state, in fact, in some of the staff digs I stayed in I made vast improvements!! I painted, I cleaned, I fixed plumbing, I made curtains....Jesus I sound like the perfect tenant!

Where's me calculator?

Very Very Very Ingracious Punters

Today we have some VIP guests.

An Taoiseach?

No that was yesterday.

Nelson Mandela? 

One day.  

No, we have, lets see, journalists, sales managers' brother and his lover, someone from the property pages of the local rag, who else, oh yeah, the manager of a local firm who 'may' or 'may not' want to have a training course here in the summer but he can't decide yet so we are to butter him up anyway 'just in case'...fuck me, I am not worthy to be in such company.

Question to the floor..what constitutes a VIP?? or, as I am told these specimens are VVVIPS?? Someone who 'might (if they can get their act together and decide to) make a booking', or someone who actually matters?

My supervisor rang me to check if these were to get any 'special' treatment, my answer is NO NO NO... we should provide the same level of accommodation and service to all our guests.

I don't care if they write a few lines in some obscure golfing rag that no-one reads, or they might just tell Ireland that the barman forgot to put ice/olive/salt/martini, in his martini....I'm just too feckin' cynical for this industry sometimes.

Example of how these liggers and langers should be made to pay for every square of toilet roll;

Just to be nice, because we didn't have to, we gave one of our journalist 'friends' a welcome breakfast hamper on arrival.

This included, home made soda bread, bacon, eggs milk, Clonakilty black pudding, sausages, orange juice, honey, etc etc....I could hardly carry it it was so heavy and laden with goodies.

The next morning, one of my colleagues took a call from them, her face, I am told, went from Irish pasty to red to crimson to blue because she was holding her breath to stop herself exploding.

Consummate professional that she is, she kept her reputation intact by not losing her temper and dealt with their request.

The wife of the journo had called to complain about, not to ask for, or comment on, but to complain, loudly, bitterly, and with free use of expletives the lack of butter in her hamper!! She yelled as my colleague raised the handset to her ear, blasted her....can you believe the bare faced cheek of some people?

I wish I had been the one to take it down to her, I could have slashed their tyres into the bargain, given them something real to complain about, tut tut Queenie, get back in yer box.

I should soon be the proud owner of these fantastic badges made by Manuel, in the comfort of his utility room.

I was convinced I was getting a badger, that's how I read it, 'badger sets for the first ten to email', but now he tells me I'm only going to get a couple of little bits of metal with a very dangerous pin on the back that you could have someone's eye out with. Can't wait, now of course he knows where to send the hate mail as well...oh well in for a penny...!!

Out Of The Mouths Of Babes...

My son, 7, is a dote, a beautiful child, (stop sticking your fingers down yer throat)!

Ok, I'm biased, but he is, his teachers have always complimented me on his good manners, the fact that he loves school, and always works hard. The friends he chooses are nearly always a mirror image of himself, like attracting like.

So why is he such a little devil at home??

He's highly intelligent, but also highly emotional, and a tiny bit volatile, so I suppose he needs to vent some steam when he gets out of school, and, if I were given the choice between him being a pain at school or at home, there's no contest.

He can't even blame his hormones like I can, bless him.

Sometimes though, usually when he has conveniently 'not heard' me ask him to tidy up his room for the twentieth time in an hour, and we are at the point of coming to blows, he comes out with a little gem of observation.

"Mum, do you like your job?"

"I do, why?"

"Why do people come to stay at your hotel?"

"Lots of reasons, work, weddings, holidays, why?"

"And they get all their food cooked for them right?"

"Yep"

"And their washing done, their room cleaned, they don't have to anything, it's all done for them, they don't even have to wash dishes?"

"I suppose so, why?"

"Why don't they stay at home then?" (Serious, honest question,... he, for once,was not being smart)!!

Can't argue with that, I love the way children think......little children, not grown up kids who should just, well, grow up.

Why do you go to work? Money? Job satisfaction? To get away from the kids for a few hours because they are turning your once sharp, inquisitive brain into custard?

Most people would be honest and say 'money' which is why today was a bit of a arse.

I had an office full of housekeeping staff this morning, looking for the 'lost week'... the week they were convinced that they hadn't been paid for.

I went in on my day off to sort it out, under the impression that if it wasn't, then they would walk off site.

I refuse to be held to ransom by anyone, especially staff that are very generously paid, reimbursed for breaks, and most days are finished by 3pm.

I went through all the timesheets, payslips, ran off a spreadsheet of when payments went into their accounts...... I did everything I could do to show that they had indeed been paid for every hour, every minute that they had worked. I would never see anyone work for nothing, it goes against the grain, so it upset me to think that my staff might be thinking that.

The confusion arose out of the fact they were paid early for Christmas, which threw the fortnightly pay out of kilter.

Round and round we went in circles, until, I gave up and asked our Accountant to explain it to them again....I really didn't have any new words left, and I was so bored with the sound of my own voice.

After approximately thirty seconds of him entering the room, the girls were ready to sprint back to work!!

He told them exactly the same as I had been saying for the last half hour!! I know where I went wrong, I should have put on a nice suit, splash of Paco Raban, flashed my super bleached teeth at them, and had a sex change......!

This was all stirred up beautifully by one lady, stirred up, and put on to simmer all weekend, by someone who should know better, and stop behaving like a child, you can forgive a child, but not a forty-something mother.

I now have to spend precious time, time I should be using more effectively, on repairing the bridges, rebuilding the confidence and trust that I have built with my team.

I won't be working on the bridge that the lady in question has burned behind her.

"Vanity, Vanity, All Is Vanity"

They say you see your age in others.

I meet old school friends occasionally, and think they look old, not imagining for a minute that they are thinking the same about me!

I don't consider myself to be vain, but I suppose we're all guilty of a little vanity from time to time.

This morning though, something happened which prodded me out of my non-blogging habit!

I got a call to my office requesting that I go and speak to a new long term resident, so grabbing my phone and trusty screwdriver, (don't ask) I hot footed it to their front door.

looking a bit flustered and disheveled, Mrs. N answered the door,

"Oh good, look, I need you to help me sort something out before my husband comes back from his business trip, I have a bit of a surprise for him"

Being a good little employee I obliged. I might not have if I'd had prior warning.

Walking through to the living room I noticed at once some very large boxes wrapped in brown paper, next to these were more wrapped parcels, about five feet square, flat this time, mirrors maybe, or pictures?

"Your lovely maintenance man came over yesterday and put some hooks on the wall for me, I didn't want to ask him to help me, I thought I would wait for you, because, well, he's a man, and anyway I want a female opinion"

During the course of the conversation, it transpired that her husband would be celebrating his 50th birthday this weekend, and, as a special treat, she had organised a bit of 'art work' for him.

"Now, I thought I would put this one here..."

As she lifted one of the flat parcels and proceeded to lift it up to the hook on the living room wall, she gave me that look my mother gives me when she is pretending to be a weak little woman, so I held the picture in place, and she stepped back, making sure it was straight, then, she started to rip off the paper, which was fine until she pulled the whole thing off the hook, so it was now down to the same level as my face.

I had wondered why she hadn't taken the paper off until now, but one glance at the subject matter, now unfortunately, giving me an 'up close and personal' view of her nether regions answered that question.

I don't know how I managed to keep a straight face.

Maybe it was because she was so anxious that her husband would like his gift, and I didn't want to make her think that actually you know, maybe it's not such a hot idea to have a five foot square nude photograph of yourself beaming down onto your seating area, how ever 'arty' you might think it is.

Besides which, black and white photography does nothing for your wrinkles!

It got worse. In the other boxes were small sculptures, that she had obviously posed for, I felt a little uncomfortable handling them as they were quite graphic.

"For the bedroom, I thought" she said,

"Durh, no, put them on the dining table...." desperately trying to stop myself saying it out loud...!

Some figurines were quite sweet, of his favourite hobby, golfers with old fashioned plus fours and wooden clubs, that sort of thing, packed and shipped carefully from the US, to a rented lodge next to a golf course, in Cork.

In all, we put up three very large black and white nude studies of herself. They leave nothing to the imagination. We wrapped a further five sculptures, rather beautifully with stunning paper, that must have cost more than the contents.

She asked me for my opinion, but what could I say...? 

"Oh I think it's a fabulous idea to have your fifty year old, pale, skinny, wrinkly, body dominating each and every conversation you will ever have in this house...your husband, hopefully, will absolutely adore his gift, and be very proud to have his friends and colleagues round for drinks so they can admire the love of his life in all her splendour... I am so happy for you that you are so proud of your body, and want us all to look at it.

Once the word is out, you will have every security guy, green keeper, window cleaner, painter, builder, porter and waiter sticking their dirty little noses on your patio doors to have a gawp...my Devout Catholic Polish cleaners will throw a hissy fit and refuse to be in the same room as the things...their supervisor will have a coronary as she's an ex nun'...they look fucking awful you stupid, vain, pompous, old wagon!!

You are an attractive, mature woman, they do not do you justice, whatever the photographer charged you it was too much...why the hell didn't you have some decent head and shoulder shots, or some artful shots that just hinted at your treasures?" Obviously I didn't go that far, I did what most of us in the Service Industry do...I lied.

I lied so convincingly that she was beaming when I left, smiling like the Miss Texas she once was!

If I have ever wanted to be a fly on the wall it's now, his car was there when I drove past earlier....I wonder what that big square thing next to the bin is?

Note to self; If I ever become that vain, hit self on head with FBH!

Too Tired To Think Of A Title

Well, I am now, officially 'off duty'. I will not answer the phone, they do not need me for at least two whole days!

I had a lovely Christmas in the bosom of my family, I hope everyone else did too.

But now, I just want to relax for a couple of days, and stop being amazed at the stupidity of some people.

Stupid cat woman blocked her sink with cat litter...hello?

Stupid pregnant woman blocked her sink, and next doors'pipes with all the fat that she had accumulated in the same roasting tin all over Christmas...hello?

Stupid drunkard wedding guest picked a fight with someone HUGE who could flatten him with one punch, and chose to bleed all over the parquet floors and cream carpets, without attempting to clean it up...hello?

Laundry failed to tell me that the contractors had 'forgotten' to pick up our dirty linen, and so didn't bring back our clean...hello?

Every Manager in the property decided to take Christmas/New Year off, and it's our busiest time since the summer...hello?

Blocked toilets,no shower pressure, no spare accommodation to move guests to, gas fires that refuse to light, central heating systems broken down, broken window from mis-hit golf ball, guests convinced they have ghosts, and no maintenance engineer, he's on holiday....oh fuck it....HAPPY NEW YEAR ONE AND ALL!!!!

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.

The Fragrant Uma Thurman.

Name dropper?

Me?

How very dare you!

I have worked in lots of Hotels, for over 20 years so obviously I have had many 'celebrities' under my roof so to speak.

When does it become acceptable to start blabbing abut them? Is it like that 'official secrets' thing, where the powers that be wait 50 years or so before telling us mere mortals, that our beloved leaders once farted at a state function in Moscow?

I don't suppose she'll mind, and anyway, it wasn't her fault.

We had the production team, and some of the cast of 'Robin Hood' staying at the Hotel, not the Kevin Costner 'Prince of Thieves' version, but the smaller budget English version, starring Patrick Bergin, and that lovely man from the cheese advert. The rumours were flying around that Kevin Costner was indeed staying with us, and the branches of the trees in the grounds were assaulted by the ample arses of teenage girls from Blacon trying to catch a glimpse of him in his tights.

Uma Thurman was Maid Marian, she wasn't well known then, it was four years before Pulp Fiction, so she was booked into a standard, normal, ground floor room.

We had had a particularly busy day, lots of check outs, a wedding, staff on holiday so we were understaffed. It was also quite an exciting day, in that one of our chambermaids had won a substantial amount of money on the National Bingo the night before! Why she came into work I still don't understand, but I'm glad she did.

We were flying, sweating, nearly finished, last room, they were ok, getting on fine with it, so I went to check the public areas and see if I could help that inebriated girl from the wedding find her shoe. I found it, eventually, under the fountain in the outside smoking area. I went back to check on the girls a short time later.

I could hear the giggling, the clanking, the obvious sound of no work being done......four housekeepers had congregated in the last room to 'help' finish it off.

I walked along the corridor ready to hurry them up, to find other work for the non essential staff crowding the room, at exactly the same time as Ms Thurman had crept into the ground floor fire exit, and was returning to her room.

She smiled that enigmatic smile at me, we exchanged a hello and we walked, together, into her room, and both saw at the very same moment, two housekeeping staff in the bathroom, one with a bottle of perfume, mid-spray on to her neck, the other, lovingly brushing her long hair with Maid Marians' hairbrush.......another was sitting on her unmade bed, leafing through some private letters, the last one, on hearing us enter the room, jumped into the air, and began dusting furiously, convincing no-one.

I was so relieved that she didn't have that sword she so swiftly dispatched her enemies with in Kill Bill that day!

I don't know who was more annoyed, her or me, but she certainly let her feelings be known!

She calmed down after a while, and was very nice about the whole thing, but I was embarrassed for days. The whole Hotel was awash with stories about how she had screamed at the girls, and threatened to sue.....typical rumour mill.....but actually she was too nice about it.

Shame really, it would have been a better story :)

The film was much better than the Hollywood version by the way.

Black Friday? Sh***y Saturday!

The works 'do' was last night.

I have the flu. I didn't go. I am very glad I didn't go.

Apparently the food looked ok, smelled ok, tasted, on reflection a 'bit' strange, but you know how it is, having a drink, relaxing with your workmates, no-one wants to be the one who complains, and anyway what does it matter, get the meal over, and on to the club.

On to the club they went, all 75 of them, in varying states of sobriety and dress. The typical company Christmas Party.......whoopee do. Come to think of it, even without a raging temperature and a face that looks like porridge, I don't think I would have gone anyway, I mean who wants to see their boss, er, relaxed? Not me.

So off they teetered in their new heels, bought especially for the evening, paddling through puddles of beer and vomit, to sit and shout over the musak, for a couple of hours at people they don't speak to all the week.

Missed opportunities, lost handbags, smudged lippy, everyone drunkenly told that someone "really loves them," new friendships, ruined friendships, broken heels, and food poisoning, all of life is here.

So, today I have been Mummy at work too. Grown women are worse than kids!

Our own 'do' is next week. Somewhere else I'm glad to say.

It's Raining Men

"Quick, what room is above here?"

"Morning to you too" I replied.

Staring back at me, wild eyed, and hair dripping water down her face, the night Manager, looking like she'd had more than enough for one shift, had rounded it off nicely with a shower.

Arriving for the 7am shift, I walked into Reception, not really thinking about anything else, other than getting organised for the day ahead.
A tour departing, another coming in. As a city centre hotel, a quick turnaround is pretty normal, the tours don't usually make much mess, they aren't here long enough...and they often leave a tip under the pillows for the girls doing their rooms.

"Um, problem"? I ventured, half expecting to get my head bitten off.

"What the fuck do you think"?

"How long have you had water pouring through the ceiling onto your head"? I asked.

The look of exasperation on her face was enough to send me running up the stairs of our 18 th Century building to investigate.

I had figured out which room it was on the way up, and, arriving at the door, could hear splashing noises. Now anyone who has worked in Hotels will know, that Hotels are dodgy places, occasionally filled with dodgy people, so its not a good idea to reach for the master key and ask questions later!

So, being polite and professional, I knocked, then knocked again, nothing.........so I had no choice, my colleague was in danger of drowning, electrocution, of having her first wash for days, so I opened the door.

I shouted, loud, from behind the door,

"Hello, housekeeping.....can I just check your bathroom?"

Nothing.

I had no choice, I went in, I walked towards the bathroom, calling out as I went, then the problem became clear.

Standing in the corner of the bathroom, was a naked Japanese tourist, quite content in his nakedness, as his partner threw bucket after bucket of water over him.

I kept a straight face, well they're good tippers, and explained the best way I could in sign language, keeping my eyes above sea level, that if they had to do that could he please stand in the bath.

From that day, I think I became unshockable, or was that when it became my job to ask the prostitutes to vacate the Ladies Room?

"People Are Stupid"

A 'twenty something' told me that, but I always played devils advocate.

"No, people are not stupid, they are all different, have different opinions, you shouldn't be so negative, look for the best in people....."

How come he knows more about people than me? I am twenty years older than him, surely my life experiences give me the edge??

People are most definitely stupid!

We have some guests checking in on Monday, long term, moving from France.
They want to bring the contents of their whole house with them, including the plants! So, like an idiot I have been on my hands and knees measuring the height of the bloody windows from the floor, to see if the feckin things will fit!

Never mind the mice that have set up a colony of thousands and think they can stay for free, never mind the fact that the builders arrived as everyone was leaving last night and began taking the floor up in the bar.......and left it like a bomb site, never mind the fact that it has been raining for days non stop, and we are in danger of becoming a 'Norfolk Broads' type resort, no, lets get our priorities right.......the yuccas' happiness is paramount.

They can't help it, they're French.

My lovely receptionist friend had a meeting with the GM the other day.....I take back what I said about her complaints falling on deaf ears, he seemed quite concerned, and said he would not tolerate bullying from anyone, he also said he would investigate her complaints.....we'll see if he puts his money where his mouth is.

Now, where's me tape measure, they want to bring their expectations with them.

"We Veerrry Beeezy"

As with most Hotels and Resorts in Ireland at the moment, our housekeeping staff are, in the main, Polish, which is fabulous as far as I'm concerned, as I have never had to chase anyone over their bad standards or attitude. Mostly, as a whole they are a delight to work with. I know I shouldn't generalise, but in this case it's true.

There's always an exception to every rule.

My last supervisor, lovely girl, polite, friendly, mature........stubborn as hell.

On my days off, I would leave directions in the diary of what needed doing that day, I always made sure that she understood what was expected, that she had no problems, that she would be able to complete the tasks, that she had enough staff to do it.
Without fail, when I came back, nothing was done. The excuse was "we were very busy" er, yes, and?? The bare minimum was all you could expect.

I then spent a couple of days picking up the pieces.

I have lost count of the number of times I blew my top, having horrendous rows in both broken English and Polish, it must have sounded like a comedy sketch, some bright spark who, walking in on the torrent, called it Penglish.

What can you? Sack someone who has been there longer than you, and in all honesty probably does more work than you? At this stage, I was already in the process of cutting my team down to the bare minimum, so without a supervisor, even one who played dumb at the mere mention of the dreaded mattress turns, we would have been even deeper in the shit.

You always know the hotel you are working in is in financial trouble when your purchase orders come back with refused written in blood on the top page. First casualty is always toilet rolls. I have never had to cut up the Indo and put it on a hook on the back of the bathroom door, but I have come pretty close. Once this starts to happen, get the hell out of there. That sounds completely disloyal, but hey, loyalty has to be earned, along with respect.

I sincerely hope my last property thrives and starts to make money, there are still some lovely, decent people working there, and I would like to see it succeed, but unless it has huge investment, in the very near future, I seriously doubt that will happen.

A GM friend of mine starts a new position today, I still don't know where, he wouldn't tell anyone, something to do with 'jinxing it'!! I hope he's ok, and it's what he wants. It must be difficult taking over a property with total control, but he has the technology as they say, I'm sure he's fine.

Personally, I wouldn't be a GM for a big clock.

Speaking of GMs mine has just announced that I now have control of the cleaning standards in the public areas in the clubhouse as well as my bits!! Oh thrilled I am! Since the day I walked in the door, I have thanked the Lord under my breath that I am not responsible for the bars and lounge.....because they are fucking filthy!! Having said that, it was starting to annoy me, so maybe its a good thing. Nice to know that he thinks I'm up to it!

Now, what's 'skirting boards' in Polish?

The Start Of The Beginning

Last week I let the cleaning contractors go, they were costing the property over two grand a week, and I still can't figure out what they were doing.

Today, we have our own housekeeping team, five wonderful ladies, who, when I last checked, were rubbing and scrubbing like Billy-O.
I organised some COSSH training for them with Rosie, from the company that supplies the cleaning products, just to go over how and when to use the various chemicals and products etc...she told me that she had never met a more enthusiastic team...my God, I must be doing something right at last!

I have taken on quite a task here, although it is an established property, the area in which I am working is new, and so is my position, so it's a learning curve for all of us.

Some things you never forget though.

I had a long conversation with a long term resident this morning, the wife of an Antipodean furniture mogul.

I was warned she was high maintenance, and so I was prepared for the sarcasm, the tears, the dramatics!

This was wrong, that was wrong, "it was never like this before."

'NO'...

because the contractors spent all fucking morning in your lodge pandering to your every fucking need you selfish cow...which is why they rushed the others they had to do...which is why they were crap...!!

What I actually said was, "please accept my apologies, my supervisor will be right down to you and you can direct her on your cleaning needs"

I also pointed out to her that her two cats (which she isn't supposed to have in there anyway) shit all over the floor, the girls had to scrape it off the runners on the patio door...that shut her up!

'You are the weakest link....fuck off'

I got a text today from a receptionist at my last Hotel, a lovely woman, warm, kind, funny, fantastic with the guests, who is also highly professional. She wanted my opinion on a letter she was going to send to her General Manager.

In short, she gave notice, but not before making a formal complaint about her treatment by the new Front office manager. To say this woman is a tad rude is the understatement of the year.

I have certainly met and indeed worked with far worse, but I don't have dyslexia, am not as forgiving as my receptionist friend, and I am not in the unenviable position of having an ambitious bitch for a line manager, so I understand her frustration. I told her to send it, making sure the owners of the property received a copy too.

The letter will fall on deaf ears, or blind eyes, whatever, but it should make her feel better about leaving.

Its the age old story of 'new brooms' new GM, new Front Office, new Accommodation, all recruited from the GMs' pool of wannabes, well that's what you do isn't it? Surround yourself with old chums, people you've worked with before.......they do all the work, you sit back in the knowledge that they owe you and will do anything, almost, to keep their jobs.

I relocated this year to Cork from Mayo, and, after turning down three other offers, agreed to take a position with a General Manager I really felt I could work with, at a property that needed investment in both time and money, but had potential.
A few weeks later, he announced he was on a years' contract and was leaving.....

So the new guy starts....first week, and I find myself sending texts to an ex GM friend of mine telling him that I think this guy is a prick. 'Give him a chance, he's only just started' I am told, hmm maybe.....then, the following morning's meeting turns into a bloodbath. His parting shot was "I could get another Accommodation Manager to do your job for 10k less than you are getting". I wished him good luck, knowing full well that he had someone lined up already, and began scanning the sits vacant.

I can spot a bully a mile away, I no longer allow myself to be a victim of these reprehensible half wits, but I get so angry when I see it happening to someone else. I offered my lovely receptionist a job, just to see her and her daughter through Christmas, it not glamorous, but the moneys good, so I hope she agrees to take it.

I've just been reading about a project to build the first hotel in space.....fantastic, just think of the endless possibilities, imagine how many times you would hear yourself saying ' I'm sorry? your water won't stay in your bath? That would be the lack of gravity, I'll send a plumber up to you straight away.'

Jesus, who invented guests?

Don't Thank Me!

A guy I know saves lives, it's getting to be a habit. He isn't a firefighter, or a paramedic, he just seems to be around, when someone tries to kill themselves.

Last weekend he stopped a young lad, with obvious suicidal intentions, I say obvious because he was hanging over the parapet of the river bridge at midnight. .

I suppose I would have done the same, although I'm probably more cynical than him, less patient, and certainly not strong enough to pull a six foot drunken Irishman off a bridge.

A friend, far more spiritual than me, once said that she believed there are angels that walk the Earth, they're all around us, (woooo!) I put it down to too many chasers, but you know, I'm starting to think she's right...

He told this lad not to thank him, he wasn't doing it for him, it was for purely selfish reasons in that he didn't want to read about him in the paper, knowing that he could have done something.

I love my life, but if I ever find myself looking down at rocks and flowing water...I hope my angel isn't too far away.

I seem to have worked in Hotels for ever, in one shape or form. It wasn't intentional, I wanted to be a nurse, but I didn't have the stomach.

Much to the disgust of my mother, I left her nest and went in search of a life of servitude.

I thought it would be fun, easy, I would meet lots of nice interesting people, be paid handsomely for my efforts and have a fab pad in the staff quarters...would I do the same now, knowing the truth?

Of course I would!!