Noise above Me
What about ‘Employee Only’ do people not get. Once again, a guest went into the fridge and look my lunch. One would think the fridge is a sanctuary zone for employee food.
Anyhow … I had a great Dante and Lola love moment to share, however this next post is priceless, and of course, it has Dante in it.
So the other night/super early morning. Early enough to still be dark, a guest in let’s say room 123, comes to the desk and complains that the guest right above them is making an incredible about of noise. Banging and such. I picked up the phone to call them and Dante intervened.
“Stop. I’ll go handle it.”
I don’t know if he was trying to act macho or what in front of the 123, but he did push out his chest when he said that.
“Dante, we should …”
“No,” Dante held up his hand. “I’ll handle them. I know who they are.”
Thinking, ‘oh my gosh’ they must be thugs, I looked up room 223. No wonder Dante went up there, they were three Kentucky Homegrown country bumpkin boys up to do roofing. Nice guys. I was certain they’d issue an apology to the people below.
Now if you didn’t know this, sound travels. Sound especially travels in a hollow, uninsulated stairwell. You can hear every normal footsteps, but that night, a minute or so after Dante left, I head a thump, thump of running foots steps.
Thump-thump-thump-thump-thump then … thumpidy, thud, thud, thump … bang against the bottom door.
I raced over to the stairwell to see Dante laying on the ground. “Did you fall down the steps?”
He jumped up.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Oh my God,” he gasped and ran right by me to the front desk. Once I was behind the desk with him, he slammed the door shut.
“Lock it,” he said. “Hurry.”
My eyes shifted to the wide opening of the front desk area. “If you’re hiding, whoever wants you will get you.”
“Jackie! He tried to kill me. We need to call the police before he comes after me.”
“223. 223,” Dante rattle fast and grabbed the phone. “He threatened to kill me.”
“He threatened or he tried.”
“What difference does it make!” Dante shouted. “I went up there, knocked, he opened the door, I told him politely about the noise complaint and the guy told me, he was done with me, he had a gone and he was coming down here to get me.”
“Oh my God. He had a gun.”:
“Yes! I saw my life flash before my eyes. I kept thinking I’ll never see my children again.”
“You’ve never seen them anyhow.”
“That’s not the point!” Dante shouted. “I am calling the police. We don’t want an active shooter. He was angry. He was out of control. Thank God Lola isn’t here.”
I watched as Dante called 911, then when he was done he yelled at me.
“Why are people in the lobby.”
“They’re getting their coffee.”
“No! Jackie! We have a potential active shooter!”
Dante then proceeded to tell people, “please do not panic. Return to your rooms, stay secure, there is a possible active shooter.”
Suffice to say, the ones in the lobby were contractors and construction workers, they all just shrugged and went out to their trucks to leave for the day.
The police showed up very stealth like, not wanting to escalate the situation with their presence.
Dante was shaking out of control, so much so, he locked himself in the break room. I was just finding it hard to believe that those three, sweet country guys would threaten Dante. When I told the police that, the one officer said, “It’s always the ones we don’t suspect, ma’am.”
They went upstairs. I don’t know what happened there, but a few minutes later they came down. They were baffled. They told me the Country hadn’t a clue what they were talking about, said they didn’t have any weapons and the police believed they were harmless enough that they left.
A few minutes later, Country Bumpkin Bob comes down with his southern voice. “Hey, I have no clue what the heck that was all about.”
“Dante said you threatened to kill him.”
“Whaaat?” Bob laughed. “Has he been up all night. Maybe he’s half asleep. He came up, told me about the complaint. I told him and pointed in the room, ‘look I’m just about done. I’m packin’, then I’ll be down to get with you. You know to check out. But he ran off.”
“You used the works packin’.”
“Yeah, I was packin my things.”
“Ah, okay. Sorry about that. Here… have an extra complimentary muffin.” I handed him the ever popular banana nut.
I knew where the mix up was and went to the break room.
Dante stood in the doorway not wanting to come out.
“Dante, the police gave it an all clear.”
“Thanks.” I eyed the bottle of vodka Dante held. It belonged to our guest John one of many John leaves hanging around.. “Why are you drinking.”
“Yeah, uh, about that. Did you actually see the gun?”
“No, but he said he had one.”
“And did he use the words, ‘I’m Packin’”
“Exactly!” Dante said. “He had this look in his eye. When he said that.”
“Dante … he was packing.”
“Yes, yes, he was. He was packin.”
“That’s not what I said,” I told him. “Bob was packing.”
“Jackie! I know.”
“No, Dante. He said he was packin because he was.”
“Obviously. All that mayhem, the falling down the stairs, clearing the lobby, the hysterics? Not needed. He wasn’t packin a gun, he was packin his clothes and tools and he told you he was coming down to check out.”
After a pregnant pause, Dante’s expression changed. “Oh.” He nodded, took a sip of the vodka and closed the door on me.