Hateful McBitchalot arrived Tuesday afternoon–before the official checkin time of 3 p.m. I might add–with her silent, long-suffering husband. They are the prime example of stereotypical Floridiots. (There are fine upstanding people in Florida. They do not often come to Hippy Hollow.)
Right off the bat, Hateful wants to move to the suite (notice the singular) with the roll-in shower. Why? We do not have rubber mats in the bathtub. I would like someone to tell me where there is a hotel that has rubber mats in the bathtub so I can kick her there. She does not want to slip-n-fall in the tub. So Detailed AGM, who can see the good in anyone, moved her to that room. This entailed calling the person who was assigned to that suite (again, notice the singular) over the weekend to see if they really needed the roll-in shower. I don’t know the details of that decision since GM was the one who called and I was up front running interference while the managers did their thing.
An hour later, Hateful calls to see if we have a cooshy armchair for the living room of her suite. WTF? Apparently, The Homewood In Columbia has such a beast. The Homewood In Columbia can do no wrong. (Why doesn’t she just stay there, everyone who hears her talk about it says. You probably just thought the same thing.) Detailed AGM informs Hateful that her suite does not have an armchair in the living room because it’s supposed to be wheelchair accessible. Well, this just will not do! So she ends up getting moved to the suite she was supposed to go into in the first damn place.
Detailed AGM forcefully hung up the phone after this conversation and expressed his desire to introduce an icepick to her facial structure, declaring “I will go across the street (there’s a Big Lots across the street) and get her a damn rubber mat if it will shut her the hell up!” My shift was up at this point and I had to run back to clock out.
You have to work hard to piss off Detailed AGM.
The next morning Hateful descended upon the desk again to declare that the pool heater was broken. Squirrel AGM had checked the temperature last night and it was set to the proper 84 degrees Fahrenheit, but that was clearly wrong. You see, Hateful has a heated pool (in Florida?) and she knows what 84 degrees Fahrenheit feels like. Our pool does not feel like that, hence we are all lying to her about the temperature. Even the thermometer. She expressed doubts as to its proper calibration.
Yes, this really happened. GM pulled one of his disappearing acts on me so I couldn’t push him up there to deal with her. That would have been a fun conversation to watch–he does not suffer fools gladly. I got him back, though. The Owner came in yesterday afternoon when GM was playing a song that had gotten stuck in his head for Squirrel AGM and I didn’t warn them The Owner was on his way to the back. 
This morning Hateful and Long-Suffering were nice. They just wanted directions to Flat Rock Playhouse.
