Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Inn Trouble: I prefer the term "Saltine"

The old saying goes that no good deed goes unpunished.  I learned this firsthand last summer.  A woman called me, looking for a place to stay for an upcoming weekend, explaining that her son was moving to Lawrenceville and they wanted something close.  My parents were visiting that weekend and I had forgotten to mark "their" room as booked on my calendar.  So I told the woman (let's call her Jackie) that she could stay at my one bedroom rental for the same price as staying at the bed & breakfast, which was a considerable discount.  For those of you counting, that was mistake number one.

Jackie booked the room through my booking agent and told me she would call when she and her husband were ready to check in.

That day I got several calls from her, all indicating she was clearly out of her element.  Although Jackie and her husband lived in a major midwestern city, it became evident immediately that they were suburbanites.  The traffic scared her, parallel parking was a near impossibility, and the cars whizzing by?  They were a nightmare.  You get the idea.  But they were done moving--finally!--and ready to check in.

Five minutes later, the phone rang, and a dejected sounded Jackie told me that they weren't going to stay at my place.  "We don't feel comfortable in this neighborhood.  We don't feel safe."  I told her that I'd meet her down there and we could talk about her concerns.  So me and my Dad take off in the Camry to the property.

Jackie and her husband were ensconced in their car, about 60 feet from the house, with the windows tightly closed and the doors locked.  They both get out of the car and relay this story to me:

They walk up to the property and sitting on the stoop are a couple of kids.  Mr. Jackie asked what are they doing, sitting on these steps.  They have no business sitting on these steps.  Who exactly did they think they were, sitting on the steps?

One of the kids, Mr. Jackie said, "called him a bad name."  Right around this time, my neighbor across the street heard the commotion (apparently) opened his door and told the kids to go home.

Um, what did the kid say?

Mr. Jackie jutted out his chin, and declared, "He called me a CRACKER!!!!"

Before I had time to react, a large, black van pulled up.  It was the father of the two kids that had the exchange with Mr. Jackie.

"Bobby!!"  the guy in the van shouted (to a boy at the end of the street who was, at the most about 8).  "What did you say to this man?"  The kid said he didn't say anything.

Mr. Jackie (almost tearfully, I might add) wailed to the guy, "He called me a CRACKER!!"

"BOBBY!!!  WHAT. DID. YOU. CALL. THIS. MAN???"

"NOTHING!!!!!"

Since we were clearly at a stalemate, the guy in the van apologized again and drove away.

"We can't stay here.  It's not safe here," Mr. Jackie said.

"Don't you at least want to go inside the house," I asked.  "It's very nice and I think you would like it.  This neighborhood is actually very safe and I think you would feel better if you took a look at the house."

Jackie shoot her head, Mr. Jackie shook his head.

I should probably mention that all this time, my Dad has been in his Camry across the street from where Jackie and Mr. Jackie are parked.  But out of the corner of my eye, I see my Dad ease out of the car and start to inch toward the Jackies' car.

Jackie asked about alternate places to stay, so I suggested the Marriott up the street.  "And how do we go about getting our money back?"

I explained my cancellation policy to her, mentioning that it was on my site as well as the booking agent's site.  "So we won't get any of our money back?" Jackie wailed.  No, I replied.  I said I was very sorry but it's summer and a busy time and since she made the reservation I had turned people away.  I added that I was sorry that they felt uncomfortable but the house had been rented for nearly a year and no one felt uncomfortable and in fact I had a five-star rating from the people who stayed with me.

Now, I see my Dad is getting closer to the Jackie car and is smoking a cigarette all Cool Hand Luke-like.  I should mention that my Dad is an affable, genial person.  But you don't want to get him mad (trust me, I speak from experience).  Mr. Gentle Giant can morph into Commando Bill at the drop of a hat.  I remember thinking, well this is great, we officially have a three-ring circus.

Then Mr. Jackie intervened.  "Well, I can tell you what," he growled.  "You WON'T be getting a five-star rating from US!!!  Jackie, get in the car and LET'S GO!!!"

I went back to the car, where my Dad had returned.  He looks at me in a "what happened?" kind of way, and I explained that they weren't going to stay here.  "Some little kid down the street supposedly called him some kind of name." 

Jackie and Mr. Jackie took off, leaving behind a cloud of dust as they left for the safe security, and hopefully all Caucasian, Marriott Hotel.  They never left a review and I never heard from them again.  






Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Inn Trouble: They Gave Me Their Two Cents

About three years ago, I decided to add a third room to the bed & breakfast's offerings, so guests could rent the entire second and third floors.  I charged what I thought was a lot of money, so when an attorney contacted me about renting the two floors for nearly a week, I thought I'd hit the jackpot.

The attorney was from the west coast and was coming with his business partner to launch a new product at a trade show.  He said he looked forward to his visit to Pittsburgh, and surprised me when he said that the third sleeping room was actually for his parents, who lived about a day's drive away.

He seemed, as my Mother would say, "a nice young man."  His parents were due to arrive first, and at first blush they seemed like a spirited couple, full of piss and vinegar. It was then I began to notice that the wife started talking in stage whispers whenever she had something she felt was daring/risque/conspiratorial. 

You're in deep doo-doo if you don't get me more TP!
Then I found out that they had considered starting a bed & breakfast.  They owned a big house, kind of like mine ("Ours is much nicer than yours, dear," Wifey whispered), nestled in a private forest, away from civilization in what sounded like a picturesque setting. 

Their son and his business partner was due to arrive at the airport at 11, which was my usual cut off time for check in, but since they were throwing a lot of money my way, I figured I'd make an exception and stay up for them.

That was a mistake.  Midnight came and went, as did 1 a.m.  At about 1:30, I got a call from a giddy/giggly/possibly drunk Lawyer Man.  It seemed he and the business partner forgot the directions I gave them ahead of time, didn't bother to ask the car rental people for a map, had no GPS in their car, and now they were lost.  Wasn't that hysterical?!

I tried to figure out where they were, and Lawyer Man's business partner was heard in the background shouting out random "landmarks", which Lawyer Man gleefully passed along.  "Ooh, we're at a traffic light!"  Me:  "Do you see a street sign, or any businesses?"  Background bellowing:  "Tell her there's an Exxon station here!  And a car wash!".

It being now nearly 2 in the morning, I could only generally tell them how to get here, since they could give me no idea of where they were.  I suggested finding a gas station that was open and get directions to Children's Hospital and call me for specific directions from Children's.

Of course, navigating them the two blocks or so from Children's to my place was another ordeal.  Seems both parties in the car couldn't remember their left from their right.  Wasn't was SO FUNNY!!

In the middle of all this Ma and Pa Kettle are tromping down the stairs, demanding updates.  When I semi-glumly told them about their getting lost, they exchanged knowing looks and chuckles.  Apparently this kind of thing happened on a regular basis.

They arrived at nearly 3 in the morning seemingly none the worse for wear.  The next day the real fun began:  Lawyer Man thought I was his personal assistant/trade show coordinator/logistics manager.  Since they had no GPS or no maps, they needed directions.  To everywhere.  Multiple times, because they kept losing the directions I printed out for them. And when they changed their plans, which was frequently, they needed more sets of directions.  Which they promptly lost.

I needed to help them find a place to buy a carpet remnant for their trade show booth, a dry cleaners with same day service (Lawyer Man brought no clean dress shirts, apparently), to different museums.  Could I call this place and make dinner reservations?  Could I email this place and ask them about something? 

Then there were conversations like this.  Usually at night, like at 9 or 10.

Ma:  "How old are your smoke detectors?"
Me:  "I don't know, a few years old."
Ma:  "They look old.  Do they work?"
Me:  "Um, yes - we can use the button to test it."
Ma:  "Oh, no, that's too much trouble.  Are you sure they're OK?  I don't know if (her husband) will be able to sleep, this could be a real fire hazard!"
Me:  "I can get new batteries, if that would make you feel better."
Ma:  "Well, putting new batteries in an OLD detector wouldn't do much good."
Me:  "I'll go get new detectors."
Ma:  "Well, if you feel that's best, dear."

My favorites are at 9 in the morning, when I have my 10 minutes in the bathroom each day.

Pounding on the bathroom door.  "Julie?  Julie!  JULIE!!"
Me coming out, after getting out of the shower and putting on clothes.
"Oh, I didn't realize you were in the SHOWER.  I guess it can wait."

Their advice was invaluable:

"Do you know your butterfly bush is SERIOUSLY OVERGROWN?  Do you have hedge clippers?  Let's trim that RIGHT NOW."

"Did you know that you are running SERIOUSLY LOW on several things? I've made a list for you to take to the store with you:  toilet paper, napkins, coffee, um, what?  You keep that in storage.  Well, I didn't know that, dear."

"You know, with a little bit of cleaning and some paint, this could be a really nice place!"

And did I mention the Lawyer Man was here with his business partner to launch a new invention?  I'm not going to say that the premise was ridiculous or that their presentation was cheesy or they were selling snake oil.  All I will say is that it's entirely possible they were inspired by the Solarman 2000 contraption shilled by Ed Begley, Jr. in the mockumentary "Pittsburgh."

So the week finally came to a close, and ordinarily I don't expect or want a tip.  But with all the running around and extra things I did for them and the aggravation they caused me, I thought they might be obliged to cough up a little extra.  So I left tip envelopes in all of the rooms.

So what did they leave me?  A few pennies on one of the nightstands.  Good thing they were long gone, because I have a pretty good throwing arm.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Dyeing for a Room/Cereal Killer: Qu'est Que C'est?

As many of you know, I've sold my house and I'll be moving out in a few weeks.  For the past nearly five years, it's also housed what became a bed & breakfast.  I've hosted people from all over the world, and am lucky to call some of them my friends.  For the most part, guests were friendly, normal people looking for an affordable place to stay.

Of course, people that ask me about my B&B aren't interested in these people.  They want dirt.  They want to hear about the weirdos, the strange people my Mom warned me about.  I've been entertaining friends and family with some of these stories (thankfully, few) and in honor of my B&B closing, I thought I'd share a few of them on this blog.

My Mom keeps saying that I should write a book, but honestly I don't have enough offbeat/weird/funny stories to tell to make up a book.  But if I did write a book, I would call it "Inn Trouble"--get it, get it?

So I present story number one, which I'm calling "Dyeing for a Room".  A few years ago, I got a reservation for a two-night stay from a man who was coming to Pittsburgh with his wife to attend the graduation of their child at a local university. 

They arrive in the early evening and seem like a nice enough couple--I showed them to their room and gave them a chance to settle in.  They stayed in the less expensive room here, which comes with a bath shared with me.

Later that evening, the wife approaches me and says, "Where can I do my hair?"  I wasn't quite sure what she meant, but said that she can use the bathroom to "do her hair", and even though the bath was shared, it would be available to her most of the time. 

She seemed satisfied with that answer and then explained that she needed to dye her hair.  "I want it to look good for graduation tomorrow."  Um, OK.  Who exactly brings a box of hair dye with them to a hotel?  I would think most people do that kind of stuff at home ahead of time, in their own, familiar bathroom.

She said she would be "real careful".  That should have been red flag number one, because she was anything but careful.  Being of Asian descent, she had inky black hair and was dyeing it to match her natural hair color.  So the hair dye?  It was inky as well.

After they had gone to bed, I was doing my final sweep of the first floor:  turning off the porch light, turning on night lights, etc.  I went to the bath to brush my teeth when I saw my recently painted blue walls now looked like a Jackson Pollock painting.  There was black dye everywhere.  It was like you tried to dye a sheepdog and halfway through he shook himself dry. 
It's OK if I dry my hair by flinging it around, right?

There was goopy black dye everywhere:  behind the toilet, on the walls, on the floor, on the sink, you name it.  There wasn't even any evidence that she had even tried to clean it up: no wadded kleenex in the wastebin, just the box, bottles of solution, and discarded gloves.

OK, I was mad but also realize that sometimes these little family events can be stressful not just for the children, but for the parents as well, and gave Miss Saigon a pass.  For now.

The day they checked out, they left very early to catch their plane home, so I wasn't awake when they left.  But it seems that they left a little departing gift for me:  they tipped over the dispenser containing the equivalent of two boxes of cereal.  If that wasn't bad enough, after the entire two boxes of cereal cascaded onto the floor, they walked all over it, crushing it into the floor and the rug.

No attempt was made to clean it up (I'm noticing a trend).  They did leave a note:  "Sorry - we don't know how this happened (I do--you knocked it over).  We couldn't find anything to clean it up with (how about your hands?)."

Did they leave a tip for the mess they made?  No.  I have a tip for them:  don't come back.