The first incident was some time ago, in the Sky City Hotel in Auckland.
I had awakened with indigestion, to find a room service buffet cart on wheels in my room.
Upon inspection, it became apparent that someone had eaten a steak burger, curly fries with aioli and a vanilla ice cream sundae in my room.
Distressed at this intrusion, I pushed the cart into the hallway, wearing only a pair of denim shorts which, unfortunately, were several sizes too big.
I was therefore required to use one hand to uphold the integrity of my shorts whilst pushing the buffet cart with my other hand.
After stepping into the hallway, a loud click was emitted by the door closing behind me.
I was alone, half naked with no phone or room key.
I banged loudly on a door I believed was the hotel room of a workmate, to no avail.
I waved at what I thought was a security camera, in the hope that someone at reception realised my situation.
A gentleman who presented as a visitor to our fine country emerged but was not receptive to my approach.
He shouted “no, no, no” and swiftly slipped back inside his door. In hindsight, raising both hands above my waist and greeting him perhaps too enthusiastically was an error of judgement.
At least five minutes passed before a young woman, who presented as a visitor to our fine country, emerged from a nearby room and screamed.
I had approached her with one hand gripping the front waistband of my shorts, gesticulating in what I thought was a friendly manner with the other hand. It was an error of judgement.
A young man emerged to defend his friend, and looked startled but did not scream. It became apparent that communication was an issue, given the variance of first languages amongst us. But they were kind enough to allow me to telephone reception from their room.
Which brings me to my recent experience in your fine establishment.
Upon hiring one of your finest single bedrooms, with a shared bathroom, I felt it was safe to step from my room into the shared space, upon establishing said space was empty. In the interests of efficiency, I wore only the aforementioned towel, and carried the barest of essentials, including my plastic swipe card to regain entry to my room.
However, post-shower, it became apparent that the swipe card would not work, even after I removed what appeared to be a red sauce commonly served at McDonalds, and a white substance which, upon tasting it, may have been aioli.
After multiple unsuccessful attempts, I began suffering from what can only be described as horrendous flashbacks to the previous scenario I have described.
It became apparent that I had little choice but to head to reception.
My initial experience with your reception was interesting to say the least. On arrival the previous day, a staff member had glanced at me, said “sorry” and placed a “back in 10 minutes” sign on the counter. On his return, he apologised again, checked me in, and gave me the world’s smallest parking map and no microscope.
Anyway, that is another matter. But I was not optimistic the solution to my dilemma was your reception.
I stepped into the hallway, one hand securing the shrunken towel. Again, a distressingly similar scenario to my past experience.
I walked about 40 metres and was near the lift when I heard the voice of an angel call “room service”.
I was delighted to encounter a cleaner in the throes of her duties.
She looked at me and quite calmly said “what can I help you with?”.
Clearly, this was a woman of experience, unfazed by what she saw before her.
She had a brisk, efficient manner, several star tattoos on her forehead and a physical presence which suggested she could disable me with a chokehold.
I will never forget her.
After letting me back in my room, she advised me it was close to checkout time, but not to rush, for which I was grateful.
At reception, I advised the person reading a magazine behind the counter that the card was faulty.
She thanked me and tossed it in a box marked “checkout” with several other cards.
I will, as they say, leave this with you.
* Craig Cooper travelled to Wellington for the purpose of this column, at his own expense. A brief review of his experience is on booking.com under the heading “Fawlty Towers”
