Atomic Nerds

…or “Why we hate going anywhere.” Every time we try to travel, there is at least one, usually several incidents along similar lines to the following. Today’s exercise in frustration was booking a hotel reservation for this coming May to, among other things, visit LabRat’s mother. To this end, we were attempting to take advantage of the reasonably priced and located Super 8 hotel in the link above.

This confused the shit out of the staff of the Super 8.

I called the number listed, with the confirmation number for the block of rooms in front of me. I then made the mistake of speaking. As most families are this time of year, the nerd ranch finances are undergoing the annual holiday “We spent HOW MUCH on WHAT?! For WHO?!” reaction, I wanted to verify that no charges would be forthcoming until the actual dates we’d be in Phoenix. With an audible sizzle and pop, several of the desk monkey’s precious few neurons fizzled. Not helping matters, the desk-monkey had apparently learned English only moments before answering the phone. The accent was some bizarre hybrid of Middle-Eastern, Indian, and hare-lip. Eventually we muddled through this verification, and I began the process of trying to get one of the special rate rooms.

“This is for a group thing. I have a confirmation num -”
“You have number? *pop* Then you *fizzle* *sputter* don’t need reservation?”
“No, I’m trying to make a reservation on the group rate.”
“We rooms do have not rate group should can am reserve!”
“What?”
“*fizzle* *pop* Reservation? What dates?”
“Ok, we’ll sort out the group rate in a minute.” I provided the dates.
“Ok so yes you check out want to on [date I want to check in]?”
“No, that’s backwards, and would involve time travel.”
“*pop* *FIZZLE* *BANG* *sssssss*”

Finally, we got the dates worked out.
“Name what under should *fizzz* room doubt?”
“S as in sierra. T as in tango. I as in India. N as in November….” and so forth.
“Ok, that name S-t-i-k-f-g-l-a?”
“No, S-T-I-N-G-R-A-Y.”
“S-T-I-K-F-G-L-A?”
“Yeah, close enough.”
“Ok ams paying you how room this ares card should what?”

I began to suspect that the hotel was actually short staffed, and the manager had simply dragged a hobo off the street. The poor hobo was still coming off the paint thinner, and wasn’t quite sure what was going on yet. LabRat was looking at me during this phone call with increasing incredulity. Both of us were beginning to question the wisdom of staying at this establishment, especially since I was no longer convinced it was in the correct town, or even the correct continent. After what is possibly the most glacially paced and certainly the most frustrating conversation I’ve had in recent memory, billing information was exchanged* and the reservation was made. I prepared to tackle the difficult part.

“Now, about this group rate. I’m supposed to mention confirmation num - ”
“Group what is rate this room you hello should harry potter abacus? *fizzlesputterPOPOPOPOP*”
“I’m part of the group for number - ”
“Wait I get manager.”

I heard an exchange in the background. Apparently both desk-monkey and manager suffer hearing loss, as the entire exchange was perfectly audible. The manager, fortunately, spoke with only a slight drawl and could be understood clearly. The desk-monkey, well, I’ll do my best to reproduce what I heard.

“Now what?”
“Guy this reservation group rate says number?”
“Jesus Christ, lemme talk to him.”

“This is the general manager, what’s the problem?” As this was spoken in the tone of one who suspect I am the problem, this feller was a winner right off the blocks.
“Well, I just made my reservation. I’ve got a confirmation number for a group rate for the NRA conven-”
“Buddy, you got the wroooong place.” I honestly wish I was making this up. That was, in fact, a verbatim quote from the man identified only as “General Manager.” I guess his parents didn’t have much in the way of hope for him when they named him.
“Wonderful. Let’s just cancel that reservation, yes?”
“It doesn’t look like it even went through the first time.”
“Good. Now just to make absolutely certain, there is no reservation for me at your establishment, correct?”
“Nope.”
“Thank you. Good bye.”
“Ye-”

Eventually, we did wind up with a reservation somewhere in Phoenix. The folks at the Holiday Inn Express number listed in the originally linked source were certainly orders of magnitude both more friendly and more intelligible, though thanks to the popularity of the dates we’ll be in town, no less confusing. Presumably we’re at the right hotel. I think. Maybe. Oh well, if not there are still a few months to try and straighten things out. If not, driving in Phoenix is not the worst thing in the world, and I am certain we’re at least in the right town now.

Currently scheduled for late May 2009: machine gun nests and sending unpleasant computer viruses to anybody suggesting we go any place more distant than Albuquerque.

*Yes, I will be watching very carefully for unauthorized activity on that card. In fact, I’ll be surprised if there isn’t any, given the overall situation.

Posted bullshit, Ranting |