When Edgefest came to Tulsa in the summer of 1999, I was working at the DoubleTree Hotel downtown as a night auditor and doing double duty as the front desk agent for the graveyard shift. One night, not long after I’d started my shift, a man came up to the desk. The exchange that followed went something like this:
[indent]Him: Listen, someone else has my room key and he’s still out at [Edgefest venue]. Can you make me another one so I can get into my room?
Me: Sure, no problem. I just need to see a photo ID. A driver’s license is best, if you’ve got one on you.
(He hands me the ID and I look at it, then at the name on the hotel account, then back at the completely unfamiliar name on the ID…)
Me: Sir, I’m awfully sorry, but the name on your account here is Milton Bradley [or whatever], and your ID here says… [reading name off ID] Dave Mustain. I’m sorry, but hotel policy dictates that unless you can show me an ID with matching–
Him: Look. I obviously registered under an assumed name, but clearly, I’m Dave Mustain.
Me: Well, yes, sir, I can see on your driver’s license here that you’re Dave Mustain and that’s definitely you in the photo there, but since the name on the ID doesn’t match the name assigned to that room in my computer–
Him: Oh, my God! Listen, I know you’re trying to do your job and all, but I’m Dave Mustain! Can you please just give me my room key???[/indent]
We continued like this for another thirty seconds or so before he stormed off angrily. It turned out later that his manager or whoever had checked in that afternoon and had forgotten to give Mr. Mustain his key. He decided to come back to the hotel earlier than expected and thought there would be no problem getting another key made. I don’t think he planned on encountering a desk agent who’d never in his life heard the name “Dave Mustain”. Of course, I’d heard of Megadeath, but wasn’t the least bit familiar with their music or the names of the band members. I really had no idea that I’d just refused a celebrity entrance to his hotel room. Later, when I told the story to my manager (who was about my age), she looked at me in shock for a few seconds, then said, “Oh, well. He’ll get over it.”