Kate's Motel

What you don't know about your bedspread won't hurt you.

Teenagers + Alcohol + Weed + Kate’s Motel = Fun For Kate!

I sure hope that Doo wasn’t expecting me to come home anytime soon. Finally, after 9 months of sitting at Kate’s Motel with no action or significant drama to speak of, I have at last had to call Henry County’s Finest to come to my aid.

Kate’s Motel loves the popo.

The popo loves Kate’s Motel.

I KNEW when they checked in this afternoon that I was probably going to have trouble, but I relented and checked them in anyway, secretly hoping that before the night was over, I would have the opportunity to exert my au-thor-I-TIE and throw someone out, sans repayment of room and board.

For two hours straight, I watched and listened to countless people going up and down the elevator, tried to convince myself that what I was smelling was NOT weed, and wondering just what the monetary damage to the room was going to be by the time all this was over.

The first noise complaint came 5 minutes before my shift was over.

*JACKPOT* (insert cha-ching sound here)

I went up to the room and warned them of the noise curfew….once.

Kate don’t play.

Twenty minutes later, Kate learned that Henry County’s Finest has a hard time taking one phone call at a time. I got put on hold at least twice. Fortunately, less than 2 minutes after I hung up the phone with the dispatch officer, 3 policemen walked through my lobby doors. Good service so far, Henry County.

Over the next hour, my protégé and I watched ten (10) people under the age of 21 pile into the lobby of Kate’s Motel. We watched ten people under the age of 21 get questioned about their age and I had to restrain the urge to stand up and shout, “You’re all just babies! Why in the hell would you want to jeopardize your future by fucking up like this?!? You were born in 1993 for Christ’s sake! I was already in high school by then!!! You’re all idiots.”

I have to admit that I enjoyed, down in the deepest corners of my acrimonious heart, watching those kids all receive breathalyzer tests. It was like being in the middle of my very own Cops show. I kept waiting for one of the girls to lose it and start fighting the officers and screaming stuff like, “I AIN’T DONE SHIT! YOU GOT TO LEAVE ME ALONE! LET MY PEOPLE GO!”

I wasn’t that lucky tonight.

While I’m not quite sure what happened to the delinquents, their alcohol came home with me. I got a half gallon of cheap Russian vodka and a flask of MadDog 20/20 out of the whole ordeal. If you look close, you can see the used breathalyzers floating in the bottle in the middle.

Life is good.

January 10, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

If You Ever Need An Outfit To Match That Stick Up Your Ass, Give Me A Call

Dear Lady in room 215,

It has come to my attention that you are not happy with the room that I assigned to you last night.  This is very unfortunate because, as I am sure you noticed, it was a very nice room.  All of the rooms at Kate’s Motel are nice.  They all feature hardwood floors, pillowtop mattresses, granite countertops, glass showers with rainfall showerheads, a 32” flatscreen LCD television, and they all come with microwave, refrigerator, free Wi-Fi, and a free Deluxe Continental Breakfast.

Incidentally, I do understand that the room you were assigned, one of the last 5 rooms I had in all of Kate’s Motel to offer you and being a handicapped room to boot (although at this point I do believe you have some handicap in you somewhere), it was not the ideal room for you.

You must understand why I question your claim of discovering a pubic hair on one of your sheets shortly after you checked in.

a) Are you 100% positive that it was a pubic hair that you found?  Did you smell it?  Did you examine it under a high-powered microscope?  I have to say honestly, if it were me in your shoes and I suspected that what I was looking at was a stranger’s pubic hair, I certainly would not have been able to convince my face to get close enough to it to examine it and determine exactly where on said stranger’s body this particular hair came from.

b) Most adults have pubic hair.  As is common with hairs from the pubic region, they tend to latch on to whatever cloth is nearest.  I’m sure you’ve probably had one in your mouth at some point or another.

c)  This is a hotel.  There are worse things than pubic hairs hiding in your room.  I’m surprised you were able to sleep at all.

In closing, I’d like to inform you that no, I won’t be refunding the entire price of your room.  I’m not authorized to make that decision; I just work here.  You should be grateful that you received the generous 50% discount that I graciously provided to you and remember to tip the Housekeeping on your next hotel stay.  They are less inclined to leave pubic hairs on your sheets when you do that.

Thank you,
Kate

January 4, 2010 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , | 6 Comments

The Six List of New Year’s Resolutions

The Six List is a list of six categorically related items. What makes them related, or how they are related, is entirely up to moi.
Why six? Cause 4 isn’t enough, five is so cliché, and ten would be just pretentious (I love this word).

Instead of making resolutions that I know I can’t follow through with, I think it would be so much easier to make a list that I know I can live with, and that way I won’t feel like warmed up shit when June rolls around and I haven’t done anything that I said I was going to do.

6. Give up a vice.
Smoking, drinking, overeating, prostitution…these are apparently the vices that the do-gooders of the world are talking about when they tell you to give it up.  All I have to say to that is:  My vices could be a whole lot worse.

I’ve never sold my son’s Playstation to pay for weed, and I’m pretty sure that no sexual favor has ever been exchanged for monetary gifts or otherwise.

This year I resolve to only smoke after I’ve overeaten AND had a nice stiff mojito with my meal.

5. Take better care of yourself.
You mean I’m going to have to join a gym or give up my Cokes?  This is not an option.  I’ve tried cutting out the sugar in my diet.  It was not a pretty time in my life.  The Coca-cola keeps me sane, and you alive.

For the safety of the entire planet, I resolve to drink more Coke.

4. Read more.
I’ve read the entire Stephen King collection (some twice), almost all of the classics, Anne Rice, Lemony Snicket, J.K. Rowlings, The Brothers Grimm, Nora Roberts (in my younger days), John McCammon, The Twilight series, Dean Koontz, and countless books on the metaphysical side of life.

This year I resolve to progress to adding a biography here and there.  Something on Willy Wonka, maybe.

3. Swearing less.
What the fuck?  How am I supposed to accurately convey my anger at the idiots that come through this hotel if I can’t swear?  I guess it’s not acceptable for everyone at all times, but it’s not like I go into church to tell the preacher that I think he’s an asshole for not even remembering my dad’s name when dad was in the hospital having heart surgery.  Don’t ask me for a picture of my dad because you can’t seem to place the name.  Fuck you.

But I didn’t say that out loud.

This year, I resolve to drop the F-bomb less than 20 times a day.

2. Being more decisive and standing up for myself.
I think I got that covered.  I resolve to continue telling the people that talk to me as if I’m no smarter than Corky, exactly where they can go and what they can do with their self-imposed, guilt-soothing bullshit.

1.Learning how to do something new.
Something that most of you don’t know about me…I played piano for 20 years before I had Ryan, and had to learn to live with playing Fur Elise with a toddler tinkling at the top of the keyboard for the duration of the song.  When I asked Ryan last month if he wanted me to teach him how to play the piano, he informed me that he already knew.

K: “Well when did you learn?”
R: “I was born knowing.”

He gets that smartassedness from me.  He gets the know-it-all personality from his father.

For the year of 2010, I resolve to learn how to counteract my son’s smartass answers with even better smartass answers of my own.

Cross your fingers, the year’s almost up.

December 30, 2009 Posted by | advice | , , , , , | Leave a comment

Artificial Intelligence Is No Match For Natural Stupidity

Dear Mrs. Obnoxious Lady in room 228,

Please remember when you are checking into my hotel that it is impolite to interrupt someone while they are talking.  Here are a few things that you might have missed while you were yapping at me in that horrible accent of yours.

a) Your discounted rate of $69.99 plus tax is exactly that.  $69.99 PLUS TAX.  This does not mean that you should stand at my counter and count out exactly sixty nine dollars and ninety nine cents.  Although I must admit that I smiled on the inside when you realized you were going to have to count again.

b) We have a Continental Breakfast that we graciously serve from 6am to 9am.  That means that it’s included with the payment of your hotel room.  It also means that you are welcome to expand your generous waistline on our danishes.  It does NOT mean that anyone on my staff is going to make your waffles and bring them to your room.  Something tells me you’re not a “tipper” anyway.

c) I know that you are expecting another couple to check in sometime in the near 20 minute future.  You’ve managed to tell me approximately 7 times since you walked through my lobby doors.  Yes, I will give them the same rate as you, and no, you don’t need to stand at the front desk until they get here to make sure that I’m not trying to scam you.  Although, had I known that you were going to be such an insufferable bitch, I would have told you that the lowest rate I had available was $99.99.  Because I can do that.

d) I could steal your credit card number if I really wanted to.  Fortunately for you, spending the next 20-30 years in jail for credit card or identity theft is not preferable for me, so your credit score is safe.  However, I can see where it could be hard to trust someone that you don’t know with this information.  Because it’s entirely possible that I have a loser ex-husband that fights me at every turn on child support, I could have a crappy job that doesn’t pay me what I’m actually worth, and Christmas is just around the corner.  Lucky you found an actual honest person.

I have a “script” that I follow with every single guest that checks into Kate’s Motel.  Had you listened to anything that I said while you were checking in, I wouldn’t have had to repeat everything and taken 20 minutes to finally get your keys to you.  You would have known what time breakfast was served, what time checkout is, and the best place to park your car.  And the best part is, you would have known all these things without ever having to say a word.

I also would have gotten through the entire procedure without a migraine headache to show for it.

Thank you,
Kate

December 19, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

We Need To Discuss The Impact You’re Having On The Lobby Restroom.

Hotel Tip #37

It’s a common thing in an Interstate Hotel to have weary travelers come bursting through the lobby doors in a mad dash to the restroom. This is fine. We at the Front Desk completely understand that you’ve probably been on the road with a driver that refuses to stop for any reason other than death or possibly dismemberment and your bladder can only take so much abuse before it starts to rebel against you and cause you extreme embarrassment.

There are, however, some courtesy rules that you should probably know before you step a single toe into my lobby restroom.

If you happened to miss the sign outside the restroom door declaring the proceeding room to be of the unisex variety, you should certainly be aware of this fact once you lock the door behind you. (And please, DO lock the door. Housekeepers aren’t famous for being able to speak English and they don’t, as a rule, always knock before trying to enter through an unlocked door.) Unisex restrooms means that the person that sat on that toilet before you was most likely of the opposite sex, and the person after you most likely will be also.

We have now established the definition of a unisex restroom. Pay attention.

Men:
When you use my lobby restroom to break the seal, please have some common courtesy and lower the lid/flush the toilet/aim correctly. This has nothing to do with the feminist movement or I Am Woman Hear Me Roar. I can tell you from first hand experience that walking into the restroom and being greeted with the stench of a stranger’s urine all over the toilet lid and the floor, and hoping that the toilet doesn’t clog from the gummy film that has formed inside the bowl because said stranger didn’t flush when he made use of the facilities over 5 hours ago is NOT one of those happy smells that beings back memories of childhood. It makes me want to vomit and kick you out of my hotel. No soup for you.

Women:
It’s a fact of life that Aunt Flo will visit you once every 28-32 days. Most of you have timed her visits so precisely that you are adequately prepared for her ugly face. Sometimes, however, there are accidents. I understand this. Should you have an accident anywhere near the vicinity of my lobby restroom, please understand that I do not have a Hazmat suit on hand to remove the soiled panties that you left stuffed behind the commode, and you should either place them in the provided trash can or put them in your pocket. I watched a gore-filled horror flick last night that was less terrifying than the thought of being within 20 feet of your nasty undergarments.

As with all hotel courtesy rules, these are optional to follow.

But please be warned that should you choose to follow your own path, it’s a very likely possibility that you will be the subject of a popular internet blog.

Choose wisely.

November 28, 2009 Posted by | advice | , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Silence! I Keel You!

I’m not saying that my upstairs neighbors are terrorists just because they are Muslim. That would be racist, unfair, and just plain mean. In fact, I’m not saying they are terrorists at all. Not trying to get anyone red flagged here.

In the spirit of being innocent until proven guilty, I’m just going to lay out the facts and let people decide for themselves. And for humor’s sake, I’m going to refer to the couple as Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Fact 1:
Mr. and Mrs. Smith live in a one bedroom apartment on the third floor. They have no children. Doo and I are still trying to decide if Mrs. Smith is pregnant or if she just really has an oddly shaped midsection. (I do realize that not everyone can be shaped as perfectly as Elizabeth Hurley.) If she IS indeed pregnant, I’m going to have to be a bit weirded out and I’ll tell you why. Mrs. Smith is in the same age group as my mother. Somewhere between 45 and 65. Mr. Smith is at most in his mid-20’s.

I get the whole cougar thing. There are just some lines that shouldn’t be crossed.

Cougars look like Ivana Trump and Courtney Cox and they have enough money from their alimony to avoid the tribulations of apartment living.

Fact 2:
They are awake and in a hurry at all hours of the day and night. I know this because I was awakened this morning at 4:45am to the sound of slamming doors and rapid heavy footfalls leading from the bedroom to the kitchen and back again several times.

Random jumping up and down above the exact spot where the light fixture hangs over our dining room table. Running from the bedroom to the kitchen for no apparent reason other than I will occasionally hear their smoke detector going off. (PS: Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Smith for burning whatever you cooked the other day and opening your balcony door to air out your apartment. I was enjoying the fresh, cool, autumn air with my own windows open that day and the aroma of your unintentionally (or not) blackened curry rice invaded my apartment like a healthy whiff of Agent Orange.)

Fact 3:
They tried to get me to sell them Doo’s Jeep. Now, I totally get bad credit. My own is not spectacular. And avoiding creditors by obtaining a vehicle through personal means could possibly be a good idea, if said vehicle is actually for sale. But there is a name for people that take away someone else’s only mode of transportation because they don’t have one of their own. Those people are called carjackers.

I’m just sayin’.

So I don’t have any hard evidence that my upstairs neighbors are terrorists. Sure, they listen to music that reminds me of the end of Moulin Rouge, and Mr. Smith just kinda has the sort of face that makes a man want to punch him right in the kisser, but I’m really beginning to believe that they aren’t terrorists. They’re just assholes.

November 24, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , | 3 Comments

If You Weren’t So Stupid, I Could Tell You How Stupid You Are.

Stupid Hotel Question of the Day:

(Guest, pointing to the elevator)
“Is the third floor up there?”

Last time I checked, it was.  But it’s entirely possible that someone came and took it.  You know how those gypsies are…

November 7, 2009 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , | 1 Comment