These two fed-up concierges are just two comedians/writers/actors trying to make it big (i.e., not starve) in New York City. After falling into concierge work, they started posting their funniest, most bizarre experiences on their private Facebook pages. Now they post their trials and tribulations, tragic and fun, on their Tumblr: how may we hate you.
As concierges in Times Square, we’ve seen it all: shady drug deals, drunken fistfights, and shrieking reality stars.
These are the #OMG #crazy #wtf stories we tell at our best friend’s boyfriend’s roommate’s barbecues. The stories we’re really fascinated with are the ones with no logical explanation.
The Ones Who Have Never Heard of Broadway
Broad-who? (Justin Brown/Flickr)
This is a real-life interaction that we actually experienced:
Guest: What IS a Broadway show exactly?
Concierge: Well, it’s like plays or musicals.
Wife: Wicked! We saw the poster!
Guest: Wicked’s supposed to be hilarious.
Concierge: It’s not hilarious, but…
Guest: So it’s one of those things where they’re in your house, and mom is pregnant and there are cameras?
Guest: Wicked is like “Look at these weird people,” and there are cameras?
Concierge: No… it’s not a reality show.
I’m still not sure how this guest gathered from the poster for Wicked, a live musical, that it was a reality show about pregnancy. I try not to think about it too much because it makes me feel like my brain is crazy.
Here’s a tip: Leaving meat and underwear hanging around your hotel room is generally frowned upon. (Jesse Weinberg/Stocksy)
One evening, a well-dressed British businesswoman very timidly approached our desk.
Guest: Pardon me, miss, but I wonder if you can assist me with a little problem in the room.
Concierge: Absolutely ma’am, what seems to be the problem?
Guest: Well I’ve just checked in, and it’s very nice, but the balcony in my room… (She trails off, looking very uncomfortable.)
Concierge: Is the door locked? I can send someone up to unlock it.
Guest: No… (reluctantly, she leans in and whispers) There’s some ham and men’s soiled underwear on my balcony.
We immediately dispatched a room attendant. Indeed, there was a slice of spiral ham with one bite mark taken out on the floor of the guest’s outdoor patio. And sure enough, as it was foretold, just about a foot and a half to the right of the ham was a pair of soaking wet, brown-stained men’s tighty-whities. It was artistically disgusting.
Here’s the thing: There was only one room above that one, and it had been empty the night before. There also weren’t any other accessible platforms within ham-and-underwear throwing distance of her balcony. The ham seemed relatively fresh, as far as mysterious floor-ham cleanliness standards go, and the tighty-whities were soaked, despite a lack of rain. These had been recently deposited on the balcony, but from where? The guest was blessedly satisfied with a room change, and that was the end of it.
The “Lottery Winner”
“But I’ve got the winning ticket! I’m as good as rich!” (Getty Images)
Once during the slow season, a woman wandered into the lobby from the street and demanded to pay for a suite with her winning lottery ticket. She threw a piece of paper from three weeks prior onto the front desk and insisted that all we’d need to do is check the numbers from a few weeks ago, and we’d see that she’s a millionaire. We’d just have to send the paper in, and that would pay for the suite for a whole month! When we explained to her our payment policy, she threatened to complain to the president of our hotel chain and stormed out of the lobby. Somehow, we were never reprimanded.
The Grossest Guest Ever
Every woman needs a good bag for toting essentials like keys, wallet, lip gloss… and phlegm. (Getty Images)
After selling a mother and her adult daughter two tickets for the Sex and the City tour, I witnessed the following: The daughter reared up like she was about to sneeze, the mother scrambled to unzip her purse, then she held it out in front of her daughter just in time for her daughter to sneeze directly into the purse. Mom then zipped up the purse, tucked it under her arm, grabbed her daughter by the hand, and chirped, “Have a nice day!”
I did not have a nice day. I spent the rest of the day searching on Google for “sneezebags” and “are sneezebags a thing.” No answers.