It amazes me how deeply I'm affected by other people's attitudes.
I mean, when someone doesn't treat me warmly, my first and very immediate thought is to wonder why they don't like me. Generally, if I've not even opened my mouth, I tend to believe that a grumpy person dislikes the way I look. I'm no Andi McDowell, after all, so I suppose a real aesthete would be put off by my face. This makes me feel very self-conscious.
If I have my children with me, I immediately assume that my progeny are piglets and the person has determined that I'm a terrible mother/they're terrible children/both. This also makes me feel very self-conscious. And much like a failure.
If I've asked a question and the person is short-tempered or unkind, I just know it's because I've asked the stupidest question on the face of all existing planets and the person is merely tolerating my existence. This makes me feel like an idiot.
It takes several encounters with a grumpy person before I begin to realize that I'm not the problem. This makes me feel dense. But better.
One of the adventures of our recent mini-vacation began with the phone call I made to our hotel the day before our departure.
"Would it be possible for us to store an ice cream cake somewhere at the hotel?"
A high-pitched elderly voice that sounded very much like Minnie Mouse responded, "No. That won't be possible. Our freezer is full."
H-okay. "Um...I have another question. We will be having pizzas delivered to the hotel on Friday night. Our forensics group will be arriving back at the hotel at around 9:00. Would it be possible to use a breakfast area or common room to eat?"
"No, I don't think so. You can call back tomorrow and ask to reserve a meeting room, but it will cost extra."
This one suprised me. We've always been welcomed to every hotel we've gone to for speech tournaments. Sometimes our name is on the marquee. Sometimes the hotel actually foots the bill for the pizza. I shrugged, thanked the Minnie Mouse voice and figured I'd ask someone else when I arrived the next day.
But when I arrived the next day, I had the opportunity to put a face to the voice. A woman with very stiff, teased hair and a stiff-looking face to match stood behind the counter.
"I'm here to check in," I said. "I have a reservation for today through Friday night."
A few keystrokes, and a response, "I don't have a reservation for you for tonight. I have one for tomorrow and one for Friday, but not for tonight."
I was struck dumb. How could this be? I'd driven over and hour and had five tired kids in the car. I had definitely made this reservation, and I had definitely been told that my room would be ready when I arrived. I had also definitely failed to bring my confirmation number.
"There's nothing I can do." This, even though the parking lot was practically empty.
I didn't want to have to strangle this woman, so I took a deep, deep breath, wondering what I'd done to deserve this treatment. I'd been nice. I had showered. I hadn't even brought my kids into the foyer with me. What had I done that would cause her to be so mean and unaccomodating?
"Can you cancel my other reservation and just make a new one including tonight?"
"I could, but I'd have to charge you $14 per night more," she squeaked, glaring at me over her bifocals.
I stood for a moment looking at her, then I put my head in my hands. "I'm kind of at your mercy here. I have five kids in the car, and I'm tired. Is there anything you can do?" Having already gathered that this woman was the type to flaunt her lack of authority, I totally expected her to say, "My hands are tied," but she surprised me.
"Well, I can put you in a vacant room for the night..." (Thank goodness. A vacant room, I thought. I certainly wouldn't want an occupied one. What a favor she's doing me!) "But you'll have to check out of it and check into a different one in the morning."
I sighed.
"Isn't there any way you can put me in a room that will be vacant tonight and Thursday and Friday? Is there a way you can check to see what rooms won't be filled this weekend?"
She shook her head.
But then, with the push of a few buttons, she did just that.
"You'll have to stop down here at the desk at 7:00 tomorrow morning or your card will expire."
Let it expire, I thought. I'm not coming down her in my jammies at 7:00 during my vacation.
And I hauled my children to the third floor.
For the remainder of our stay, this woman was a thorn in my side. When taking our microwave popcorn to the front desk for my son, my friend Marcella was told that there was no microwave in the hotel (came to find out later that it wasn't true). It was then that I started to realize that it wasn't I who was the problem. If this woman could be difficult with Marcella, it had to be that she was quite simply a difficult woman.
We were able to get a room for our pizza party by asking a reasonable human being for help. We were able to get permission to store our cake by talking to a sane human being. And when Minnie Mouse approached a couple of the quietest kids in the club and I in the lobby telling us that we were being too loud, that guests were complaining and that one guest had already left because of us, I was able to look her straight in the eye, ask her to repeat what she'd just said, and then boldly respond to her by saying,
"Oh. Okay. I'm sorry."
Okay, so I wasn't so bold.
But at least I had realized that it wasn't just me. In my heart, I knew that this woman would be short-tempered and unaccomodating with anyone with whom she interacted.
But it still bothers me how deeply her attitude affected me.
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