Death of a guest.

So I had to make a new tag for this one. It's one of those weird topics that you don't know if you should express your true feelings because it may sound rude. Eh, fuck it.

So a few weekends ago we had an extremely large wedding party in the hotel. All young adults. All loving the party life. I will tell you more about them in a separate post.

This guest, a lady, was also here for a wedding, though a different wedding than the one previously mentioned. I wasn't around for her death- that happened during the day, well before I came in.

I guess she had been doing badly for awhile. She didn't start "serious business" dying until during the day. The daughter who was staying here called the front desk wanting an ambulance. The front desk girl, Bloom, was on the phone with the 911 operator and still on the phone with the daughter. One frazzled desk agent with two phones held up to her ears. Though luckily the ambulance arrived while she was still on the phone with 911.

It could have been a bad day for the paramedic. It had been a crazy night of drunken wedding guests who all insisted on using the elevator. Well, the elevator needed to be cooled down and had to be shut off for awhile. Though luckily they just got it back up shortly before this whole fiasco started. Just for irony's sake I hope that woman would have been 300lbs if they would have had to carry her down the stairs. Sorry, feeling a mean streak in me today.

Well, long story short, she died at the hospital. I talked to her daughter a few nights later. Her daughter seemed to think her mother knew it was time to go. She came out for a wedding, to see her family. She then said good bye to her family. For good.

And that's the tale of 314, kids.

Also the daughter has no concept of what an ashtray is. She smoked tiny capri cigarettes. Her method of quitting smoking is that a tinier cigarette, such as a capri, is only equal to a third of a "normal cigarette." She would also leave the tiny capri cigarette butts all over the fucking property. It was like you were on the path of a leprechaun with an addiction.

I learned something last night.

I learned what irish men wear under their kilts.

Shamrocks. Booyah.

But seriously kilted guy, thank you for the excellent conversation- You made a happy end to my terrible week.

And now things get a little less than awesome.

I have two hockey teams in the hotel. One is from Canadian. I am beginning to suspect Canadians are just... dumb. They decided to take the elevator up to their rooms on the top floor and thought it would be humorous to hit the elevator distress bell and then start punching eachother. (*facepalm*)
They showed back up in the lobby around 4am and of course I yelled at them. Morons.

Sorry, your auditor is very, very tired. Your auditor has been overworked and it's nearing the end of wedding chaos season. If I get bitched out by one more drunken wedding guest I swear someo- Well, it just won't be very good.

Fat momma- yet again.

So I wrote about that large woman yesterday.. I've decided to call her Fat Momma. She and her son decided to extend their stay through Sunday.. for the time being. I mentioned briefly in my previous post that Fat Momma and Fat Son have a distinct odor to them.. My A shifter, who I shall call Bloom, told me about them. She received numerous guest complaints about the elevator and hallways smelling like a mix of corpse, rotten egg, and ass. We have to spray down the areas with our heavy duty air freshener every time they pass.

One of our housekeepers went up to clean the Fat room but couldn't due to the smell being so strong it made her nauseous. So we got two other housekeepers to double up and clean the room. They did, and then went back to their duties.

So the first housekeeper is cleaning the room next door to Fat Momma's room and then Fat Momma cranes her fat head out of her door and asks the housekeeper if she saw a black wallet in the room- Fat Son immediately starts to ask "What wallet?" but Fat Momma tells him to shut up. The housekeeper told her "No ma'am" and that she hadn't seen a wallet and then rushed down stairs immediately to tell the Boss Lady about what happened.

After Bloom was done telling me this story I made a bet with her that the next incident involving Fat Momma and/or Fat Son will be a bathroom one. More so of a tub incident.