Would You Describe The Guest As More Sheepish Or Baa-shful? NOT MY STORY & yes, it is a repeat.
I work night shifts in what I consider a decently-sized hotel. I fly solo on my shifts, so it’s a fun combination of front desk work, handyman tasks, housekeeping, and bartending (and all the stuff that entails). It’s roughly 140 rooms. It’s a nice location with really nice regulars, as well as frustrating locals, as seems to be fairly common.
It is nearing the end of my shift one day in June 2020. Breakfast has opened, and we are approaching 6:50. My shift ends at 7:00, so I am doing my characteristic “stand and do nothing, but don’t look idle” thing, as not a lot of people are checking out.
Here comes a man to check out. He’s in plain-looking work clothes, and he’s carrying a duffle bag. He smells — not badly, just… smells like farming. I’m not bothered by this, but I sure do notice it.
Guest: “Can you look after my bag while I have breakfast?”
I don’t mind, so I carry it behind the counter and resume my thing, wishing guests a good morning and checking out the few that are leaving.
I notice something’s off. I can’t pinpoint what.
Then, something touches my leg, and it feels like it’s trying to bite me. I am startled, and I feel like a cartoon character; internally, I am screaming, and my soul is escaping my body. I’d like to think I’m still maintaining my customer service smile.
I look down… and there is the cutest littlest lamb. And I mean the littlest. I know for a fact that I’ve abandoned my customer service smile and look all kinds of confused. A lamb. In my lobby. In the city. And I haven’t ever done any drugs to suspect hallucinations.
I keep staring at the critter for a good minute or two as my heart smelts to goop. It has a collar, which I tie to the duffle bag. I walk into the restaurant and approach the guest.
Me: “There’s a lamb trying to escape, and I figured you’d be interested to know.”
Would You Describe The Guest As More Sheepish Or Baa-shful? NOT MY STORY & yes, it is a repeat.
I work night shifts in what I consider a decently-sized hotel. I fly solo on my shifts, so it’s a fun combination of front desk work, handyman tasks, housekeeping, and bartending (and all the stuff that entails). It’s roughly 140 rooms. It’s a nice location with really nice regulars, as well as frustrating locals, as seems to be fairly common.
It is nearing the end of my shift one day in June 2020. Breakfast has opened, and we are approaching 6:50. My shift ends at 7:00, so I am doing my characteristic “stand and do nothing, but don’t look idle” thing, as not a lot of people are checking out.
Here comes a man to check out. He’s in plain-looking work clothes, and he’s carrying a duffle bag. He smells — not badly, just… smells like farming. I’m not bothered by this, but I sure do notice it.
Guest: “Can you look after my bag while I have breakfast?”
I don’t mind, so I carry it behind the counter and resume my thing, wishing guests a good morning and checking out the few that are leaving.
I notice something’s off. I can’t pinpoint what.
Then, something touches my leg, and it feels like it’s trying to bite me. I am startled, and I feel like a cartoon character; internally, I am screaming, and my soul is escaping my body. I’d like to think I’m still maintaining my customer service smile.
I look down… and there is the cutest littlest lamb. And I mean the littlest. I know for a fact that I’ve abandoned my customer service smile and look all kinds of confused. A lamb. In my lobby. In the city. And I haven’t ever done any drugs to suspect hallucinations.
I keep staring at the critter for a good minute or two as my heart smelts to goop. It has a collar, which I tie to the duffle bag. I walk into the restaurant and approach the guest.
Me: “There’s a lamb trying to escape, and I figured you’d be interested to know.”
(Contd)