The following occurred at about
Scene: Quiet lobby, three women behind the check-in desk; a somewhat heavyset younger woman working on one of the computers; a very short older woman with those cat’s-eye glasses on a thin metal chain (a look that could have qualified her as a substitute teacher), and some other youngish woman that just doesn’t make an impression. On the other side of the desk is a distinguished looking man (a Richard Gere type, only shorter with more wrinkles and about nine-tenths less handsome, a person herein described as “me”) and a woman who really doesn’t figure much into this particular story, which says more about the circumstances than her personality, because sometimes it just happens that way.
The cat’s-eyeglasses woman, whose head, neck and top part of her shoulders peek over the desk, stares at the two people who have just entered the quiet lobby but says nothing as they stand there in an otherwise empty lobby. They look confused, but how could they be? Once the front door opens, they are facing what could only be the check-in desk, an area familiar to any traveler. And yet the visitors hesitate, look, and slowly approach. Twenty feet away, 15, 10, and they stop again. Cat’s-eyeglasses still stares, but now looks as confused as they are. She remains silent. They take another step, and another. OK, just one more and …
“Welcome to the Poco Diablo Radisson, how can I be of assistance to you today?” Cat’s-eyeglasses says, the greeting well practiced, or merely rehearsed.
“Uh, checking in.” That’s the previously mentioned “me,” if you are confused.
“Wonderful. Your name please?”
“Well, I have this express check-in printout, I did it online. And it said to bring it to the express counter and I, there’s no-“
“Name, please?”
“Yeah, guess this doesn’t do much good, what’s the sense, we’re the only ones here, right, so that pretty much means this was kind of a-“
“Name?”
“Right, name.” I give her my name.
“Yes, here you are, one night, correct?”
“That’ll do it.”
“Wonderful, this will only take a second and we’ll have you on your way. I see you’ve prepaid so if I can just see some ID we’ll have you on your way.”
“No problem.” I hand her my ID, which is brand new because I lost my driver’s license not too long ago and went to the DMV for a new one, but then I found my old one but it was still worth the $4 fee because now my ID does not have a photo of me with a mustache, which I could have mentioned to the clerk but she wanted to have us on our way, so I kept all that to myself.
As she is tapping at the computer, I notice her name tag.
“OK, looks like we’re finished here,” she says. “Here are your keys, and you will see I have written your room number on the sleeve here because it is our policy not to say room numbers out loud for the privacy of our guests.”
“I can see why. She certainly seems suspicious,” I say, gesturing to the heavyset woman behind the counter. “Good policy. You can never be sure.”
“Yes, we certainly think it is.” Her sarcasm detector is set on “Off.”
“Never be too careful, that’s what I always say. So we’re in …?’
“Right there, sir, I’ve written it down.” She places a map of the property on the counter. “Your room is just around the corner here. Now where did you park?”
“In the parking lot.”
“Right, of course. So if you go out those doors there to the left, head down the short flight of stairs and follow the sidewalk, then, let’s see, you take a right, or no because, hmmm.” She says something no one can quite here.”
“OK, so it’s right out there and I go where again?”
“Those doors, you’ll see stairs, go down there and turn right. But first follow the sidewalk, then turn right. But you know what’s really nice? There are signs pointing the way to all the room numbers, it’s so easy.”
“Perfect, thanks so much. Oh, one more thing, where is the fitness room?”
“My goodness, I should know that. Let me take a look here and I am sure I’ll have you on your way in a second.”
Her finger follows the paths on the map, stopping and turning every now and then as if trying to find a way out of a maze. “You know, you’d think I’d know that by now, but this is my first week and-“
“It’s right here,” the younger heavyset woman says, her finger plopping next to a box saying “Fitness center.” “See, it’s right next to the pool.”
“Oh, so it’s right across from the room.” Damn! Now she knows the approximate location of our room.
The cat’s-eyeglasses woman apologizes. “I’m still trying to get everything straight around here.”
“You’re new, I understand. So how long do you have to work here before you graduate to a nametag that has your real name instead of Trainee?”
Yes, the good folks at Radisson had issued their new employee a label, so much more convenient than an actual name. Saves money on nametags as well. The fine plastic sported by Trainee could be used over and over again by many other Trainees, saving Radisson as much as up to a few bucks a year (negated, of course, should a few nefarious visitors leave with the tiny containers of shampoo and conditioner).
“My goodness, I don’t know, I’ve never asked about that,” Trainee says. “But my real name is Jan.”
“So it is a job description, right? You’re not Jan Trainee?”
“No, just Jan.”
“I hope that someday your fine efforts on behalf of this company will earn you your name back.”
“I hope so too.”
“It’ll take a few months, I think,” said the heavyset woman, who has a nametag with her alleged name rather than her position, since her position (Woman Who Looks Too Busy to Help, Speak to or Acknowledge Customers) is too long to fit on a nametag.
“And I hope to be here a few months from now,” Jan Trainee says. “I’m sure I will be.”
“Too bad you don’t earn a credit toward your name with every guest you help. Then I could come back a few times and help you toward your goal.”
And perhaps even attend the ceremony where Trainee ascends to her true and proper name, though that may be a secret Radisson ceremony that involves the death of some small animal wearing a nametag that says “Sacrifice.”
