“…Wayne’s in the hospital… he may have had a stroke…”
That was the gist of the voicemail about my stepdad. My mom left it while I was in a conference session; I didn’t notice it until later. Getting back to her right away wasn’t all that easy. She and Wayne refuse to carry a cell phone when they travel. (Parents, right?) I figure she was either calling from the hospital or from their hotel room.
By the time I tracked down her hotel, it was about 8:50 p.m. I called the front desk. The desk clerk picked up and I requested to be connected to my mom’s room. She wasn’t there. The phone rang a number of times. There evidently wasn’t a voicemail system, so I was caught off guard when the desk clerk answered again after about the 10th ring.
He sensed my puzzlement and explained (a bit testily, I noticed) that the phone rolls back to the front desk if nobody picks up in the room. Good enough.
Then he crossed a line.
He continued by letting me know that…
[Desk clerk] “I’ve been routing calls to that room all night and I don’t appreciate having to do that all evening…
[Me] What…? Who the HELL are you?!
He wasn’t having any of it. Evidently, his indignation about being bothered to route so many calls trumped all else. He doubled-down: It was better, evidently, that he educate me about how their phone system re-directs all calls back to the front desk when guests don’t pick the phone in their room. And, can’t I understand that he gets swamped when that happens?
[Me] What the HELL is your name?! Who the F*** is your General Manager?!
I wanted full and complete names. (I wasn’t sure yet what I was going to do with the names, but I needed a bone here. Any bone. And, it’s worth adding, that this all happened even before I found out later from my mom that this schmuck had harassed her about all of this.) It was moot. The little shit wouldn’t give up the names. I couldn’t get to him. He was in control.
I wanted blood.
That’s my default name for anybody whose name I can’t get and whom flies within the corona of my hate when it flares during rare moments to the burning passion of a white-hot sun. I wanted to reach through the phone…
[Me] You might as well give it up JACK! It’s public information; I can easily find it through your corporate office.
(Hey, I was grasping at anything to regain some balance.) In any case, he obviously felt secure what with there being an entire telephone network between us.
[Desk clerk] Oh yeah? What are YOU gonna do? What do you think you can do?
[Me] (Are you effin’ serious? Do you effin’ believe this??!) Dood. I am going to make it my mission to make sure that SHHITTTT rains on your F***-ing head! (Emphasize with spittle.)
I finally hung up. I. Was. Pissed!
My first inclination was to go out on all the social networks. All of them….
I’ll follow this up later today with part 2 and let you know how it played out.
But, let me ask you. What would you do? What would you recommend? Are there governmental agencies to report this sort of crap? Or, would you push the proverbial button?