She Threw a Pen Holder at Me Over a Hotel Reservation 😳

By: A Very Tired Hotel Night Auditor

Last night, I had the absolute wildest encounter with a would-be guest—someone who clearly believed reality could be bent with sheer entitlement and an overused speakerphone.

It started off fairly normal. A woman came in to check into a reservation that had been made through our own hotel’s website. Now, just for background: all direct bookings are collect-on-arrival. We don’t do “prepaid” or “pay now” setups like third-party sites such as Priceline, Expedia, or whatever “Miceline” this guest was talking about.

So I ask for a credit card and a photo ID. She immediately insists her mom paid for the room. I explain, politely, that the reservation wasn’t prepaid and wasn’t through any third-party site. I even offered to send her mom a credit card authorization form—an easy solution if she really wanted to pay.

But no, no, no—she had a confirmation number, she put the card on file, and she knew it was paid.

Mind you, this was a 35-year-old woman. Not a teenager on her first solo trip. But sure enough, the moment she didn’t get her way, she said, “I’m calling my mom.”

Now, I’ve worked this job long enough to know what’s up. I handle reservations from every channel, and I know our system better than I know most of my friends. I knew this was a pay-at-the-hotel booking.

So she gets Mommy on the phone, puts her on speaker (yay), and we go through the same script again. I calmly explain how the reservation came in, that it wasn’t paid, and that we could either take a card now or send the form.

That’s when Mom chimes in with:

“I travel a lot. I know how this game works.”

Ma’am. Please. Then you should know this isn’t how prepaid bookings work.

I ask her, “Do you see a charge on your bank statement?”
Her response?

“Well, it wouldn’t post that quick… but no.”

So no proof of payment, no card on file, no form filled out, and we’re stuck in looped logic from Hotel Karen and her sidekick Momzilla.

Then came the moment where things really went off the rails.

The guest looks me dead in the eye and says:

“Do you have a manager? Because you clearly don’t know what the f*** you’re doing.”

Cool. Professional me still online. I calmly repeat (again) that I know how our reservations work and that a manager will just confirm what I’ve already explained. I even say, “I’ve given you multiple options to resolve this, but I can’t make up a payment that doesn’t exist.”

Her response?

“You better give me your manager’s name because you’ve had a SHTY attitude since my mom got on the phone. You don’t treat paying customers like this, you fing c**.”

Deep breath.

Me:

“Since you haven’t paid for the room and aren’t checked in, you’re not a paying customer. And since I refuse to continue being verbally abused, I’m canceling your reservation with no penalty. You’re free to find other accommodations.”

And then…

She threw our pen holder at my chest.

Yep. That actually happened. An adult woman, screaming obscenities, chucked a plastic pen container at me across the front desk. Thankfully, I’ve got the reflexes of a seasoned night auditor and avoided any real injury.

At that point, professional me clocked out and bitch mode clocked in.

“Well, if I’m such a f**ing rtard, it must be a miracle I’ve kept this job for five days a week. I’ll be calling the police now. Have a good night—and to the poor soul at whatever hotel you check into next, I truly hope you treat them better than you treated me.”

She stormed out in a fit of rage… but in a perfect twist of karma, her bag got caught on the door handle and yanked her back like she was in a Looney Tunes short.

Moral of the Story?
Don’t argue with front desk agents who know their systems. Don’t throw office supplies. And maybe, just maybe, leave Mom out of it.

This one’s going in the books.