Upstairs/Downstairs
The following story actually happened while I was working as a chambermaid at a four star hotel in Manchester city centre. What music students won’t do to pay the bills. I wish I was embellishing, but truth really is stranger than fiction here. [Warning: Things do get a little graphic towards the end, so depending on your situation, it's may be best to read at home.]
An informational aside before we begin: The toilets in England are a different shape than those in North America. Imagine a beer stein and then put a shallow oblong bowl on top; that is roughly the shape of the English toilet. As a result, there is no water in the actual bowl portion, only a little bit in the beer stein part. This may seem to be superfluous information at the moment but stick with me and all will be revealed.
I arrived in the room and began the usual routine of gathering up all the dirty linen, collecting all the garbage and opening the windows. Opening the windows is of vital importance even in the middle of winter as it is imperative that the stale-Marlborough-and-wet-air-from-the-shower smell gets aired out. Also, people seem to feel obligated to take advantage of the free heat and always crank the thermostat to max, which usually results in a somewhat heady, wholly indescribable fragrance unlikely to be appreciated by the next guest.
Most of the rooms were pretty clean that day so I was counting on an early finish. Dreams of an early night fizzled quickly when I lifted the lid on the toilet. There, on the left hand side of the bowl, was the biggest skid I had ever seen. If you will just indulge me a little more detail here… small skids are not unusual due to the lack of water and shape of the toilet bowl. This one however was enormous and three dimensional.
After doing a little dance about how gross that was, I took a few moments to formulate a plan. Several options were considered. I decided the best plan was to drench it in toilet cleaner and place my faith in the near tidal wave power of the flush to rid the bowl of all or at least most of the offending item. Here is another British conundrum to go with questionable dental hygiene and windows that do not keep out drafts. Why does the toilet flush with such torrential power but I could spit with more force than the trickle that comes out of the shower? And to think that this country once ruled the world. Honestly. I’m sure the Romans would have had all of these things completely under control.
Anyway, back to the toilet. After making the bed and letting the item soak in industrial-strength chemicals for 10 minutes, I decided to try my luck. Two flushes later the cold, iron claw of reality was planted firmly on my shoulder. Bravely, after another two “this is so completely disgusting” dances I brandished my toilet brush and started to scrub.
I soon discovered that the item was baked on. The item’s resilience started me thinking about how long it would have had to be there in order to become so dried out. That train of thought was stopped immediately as it was clearly going nowhere good. I strengthened my grip on the brush, closed my eyes, grimaced and began to scrub all the while trying to control the bile that was rising in my throat.
The item finally broke apart only to expose its soft under layer which was subsequently smeared all over the side of the bowl. Clearly my technique left much to be desired. I employed the power of the flush to try and remedy the smearing and remove the particles from the bristles of the brush. The first problem was solved but it took two more flushes and some extensive swirling in the clean water to rid the brush of evidence. Ew.
In order to try and forget this incident I continued on with the rest of the bathroom. I had noticed some hair on the rim of the toilet, which is completely normal and some on the counter, also normal. What was abnormal was they were the type of hair, if you get my drift, and there was quite a bit of it. As I bent down to wipe the floor I discovered a huge pile of the same behind the garbage can. Because it was that special kind of hair and had never been shaven, it was too light for the vacuum and kept blowing away. Brooms are not generally part of the the chambermaid’s basic equipment so I had no choice but to wipe it up by hand.
So, putting all of the puzzle pieces together (for those that need a little less vagueness), it looks like that particular guest decided to do some cosmetic trimming in the nether regions but neglected to place the surplus in the garbage.
The rest of the room was absolutely spotless.
There was a boarding pass from Bergen on the table.
Crazy Norwegians.
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