Titillating Tales of Terrible Tourists, v.7: Rhonda, You're Not Helping

And now it’s time for yet another edition of, Titillating Tales of Terrible Tourists! This one’s a doozy. First, though, I want to share with you a random comment that was made on my final tour of the season.

Guest: (speaking of our Riverboat Discovery cruise where we make a stop at an “authentic” Athabascan village.) That was really interesting. It’s good to learn about the savages and see how they live. (Noticing the mortified look on my face by merely hearing the Native people of Alaska that presented at the village who just so happened to all be graduate students in Engineering, and who, I might add, do NOT live at the Disney-esque village that is only there for tourists, she said,) Well, I guess they’re not called “savages” anymore, but they were. Now they’re what? Indians?

Me: Native is the appropriate term.

Guest: Right, that means the same thing.

Me: (Smiling as always, I issued my standard line when I want to leave a conversation.) You’ll have to excuse me. I think it’s time for me to eat.

WOW! Savages? Really? I don’t think native people have been called savages in at least a century. And maybe a century is too much. Let’s go with 50 years. Seriously. Savages? As Shaggy would say, “Yoinks!”

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming:

Rhonda, You’re Not Helping.

As much as I hoped it would be different, I knew it was going to be a bad tour. Why? Well, for starters, it was a Tour 13 (by far, the worst itinerary…and coincidentally, the cheapest). Also, it was my second Tour 13 in a row, as I had just completed one the day prior, and I was livid that I had to do another one (especially after the insulting tips I received for the one I’d just completed which were the result of crappy people (many of whom opted out of our last day’s activity, thus opting out of tipping me) AND the fact that we started our tour with a 10 hour bus-ride on a motor coach WITHOUT air-conditioning). But, I sucked it up and got up at 2 o’clock in the morning to catch the bus to drive down to Seward.

Now I don’t remember what weird thing happened on the bus ride, but I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities. My morning started with a creepy adventure. The first possibility was that this was the morning where I saw Anchorage as the bars closed, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. Not only did I see all the creepers outside, a very drunk woman bumped into me, then ran out into the street, and attempted to get into a moving car. The cop that was behind the car that chose to speed off while she was holding onto the door, causing her to flail into the other lane of traffic arrested her as she screamed and pointed at no one in particular, whilst allowing the motorist who sped off to go on his merry way. After that, we started our three-hour drive to Seward and came within inches of hitting a full-grown male moose. The other possibility is that this was the morning I got into a cab, and as we pulled into the Hilton, a group of belligerent English guys tried to convince the cab driver to get them onto Elmendorf Air Force Base. The driver refused and got into a verbal fight with them before I was able to get out of the car. Once I managed to free myself from the cab’s interior (in the middle of the fray), I went to the trunk to retrieve my suitcase, and the cab driver attempted to speed off, causing me to chase the car, banging on the trunk. Luckily for me, he stopped after 20 feet, opened the trunk, and allowed me to get my belongings. Meanwhile, I was surrounded by an angry, drunk mob.

Neither was a good start to the day (at 2:45 in the morning), and one of them definitely happened that morning.

We arrived at the ship around 6:15, went through security, boarded, and grabbed some food in the Lido deck. Around 7:15, we headed to the showroom, and I met my group. They seemed okay. There was a family of thirteen that claimed they would be trouble. As it turns out, the one that claimed they’d be trouble was a pain in my ass. The whole family was a rude, though they were completely unaware of their behavior and thought they were a dream. Of course, in the beginning, I just thought they were making idle threats.

Our debarkation group was called, and I led my group of 43 hardy travelers to our bus. And which bus was I lucky enough to have? Oh yeah, that’s right, #869, the same bus I had exactly one week prior--the same bus that didn’t have air-conditioning, had rattling windows, and a smelly lavatory. How did I know the lavatory was smelly? Well, because I had 44 passengers, and when that happens, I am relegated to the back seat next to the lavatory, where it’s especially hot, and especially smelly (especially when the driver decides to put the trash bag next to my seat). Less than pleased? Yes. Optimistic that maybe, just maybe, they took my complaints seriously and fixed the air-conditioning on the bus? I made my best effort.

Everyone settled in, the family of thirteen sat in the back, and I set up camp in the front. The best seat in the house is reserved for the handicapped. How is it reserved? There’s a sign on the seat. If someone who normally has to sit in the front seat boards the bus, they know to sit there. No one did, so I moved a lucky couple (who I really liked) to the front seat. They were, by far, the most pleasant couple next to whom I’ve had the pleasure of sitting. I made a couple of rounds to the back of the bus trying to gauge the air-conditioning situation. At first it wasn’t too bad, but I had a sinking feeling that that would change.

On my first sweep, I became officially acquainted with Rhonda. She was the loudest member of the family of thirteen (who will heretofore be known as the Baker’s Dozen), and she was sitting in the back seat next to the lavatory (which happens to have a little desk area next to it as well). Seconds into our first conversation, I knew Rhonda was not someone I wanted to be near. She was the arch opposite of Mr. and Mrs. Williams, the very sweet couple sitting next to me. (He was American and she was a beautiful, reserved, polite, and very proper Thai woman). She was, in a word, class-less.

Rhonda: You know, I usually sit in the front seat.

Me: Oh, well, that seat is reserved for people with mobility issues.

Rhonda: The people sitting there are fine.

Me: Since no one sat there, and the coach is full, someone had to take those seats. The couple sitting there just happened to get them.

Rhonda: Well, it should have been me. I just had knee surgery, so my leg has to be elevated. (I glanced over and noted that she propped up on the desk. Catching my glance, she continued.) This actually works really well for me.

Me: Good. I’m glad you found a place to rest your leg.

Rhonda: The front seat is better.

Me: (Knowing that I wasn’t going to win this battle, even if I pointed out the fact that Rhonda was the first person on the coach and CHOSE to sit in the very back seat, I decided to walk away.) Well, I need to check on something with the driver. I’ll talk to you later.

The ride continued. The lack of air-conditioning was becoming more apparent, but wasn’t horrendous. I talked to the group about optional excursions and answered the most questions from Rhonda’s daughter, Janessa (which happens to be the fake name I made up at a bar one night when I couldn’t decide between “Jennifer” and “Vanessa”). Janessa’s biggest concern was that she had to pay to do anything fun. As someone that is attempting to sell optional excursions, you don’t really want to have a loud conversation about all of the free things that are available on the tour, so I did what I could to keep the question-and-answer period as short as possible.

We arrived at our lunch stop in Wasilla, where I fielded a myriad of questions about Sarah Palin including, “Will Sarah be at lunch?”, “Will we go to Sarah Palin’s house?”, “Why won’t Sarah be here? I paid good money for this tour!”, “Do you have Sarah Palin’s number?”, and on, and on. You might think these questions were facetious. In some cases they were. In many, they were completely serious, and sometimes, people got downright angry with me for not driving by Sarah Palin’s house (of which I’d like to point out that I was not driving, and I don’t know where Sarah Palin’s house is, and I’m guessing they don’t allow tour buses down her street). On one tour, someone accused me of forcing my liberal agenda on them because of this obvious omission from the tour. Let it be known that I NEVER talk about politics (and I have nothing to do with the tour-planning), so such an accusation is unfounded and insulting.

Once we finished lunch, everyone gathered outside of the coach (which was sweltering), and Rhonda’s portion of the Baker’s Dozen complained about everything. The food sucked. The kids were mad that the friends they met on the ship were on different tours (and that was somehow my fault?). The coach was hot. They wanted more cookies.

Needless to say, I was really looking forward to the next portion of the ride. We boarded. I opened up the emergency windows on the top of the bus, and we set off. As we were driving down the highway, I walked to the back to try and keep spirits up in the section where it was steamy to say the least. As I got to the back, I noticed that Rhonda switched places with her eldest son (who, with his love of D&D and social awkwardness, I pegged at 16, but found out much later that he was 19). She was now sitting with her 7-year-old son one seat up. A very sweet Indian family drew the short straw and ended up in front of her (and in the middle of the Baker’s Dozen). The mother and son were sitting in the seats directly in front of Rhonda, while the grandmother was sitting across the aisle with another stray member of the Baker’s Dozen.

As I walked by, the mother (whom I will call Mary), grabbed my arm.

Mary: Hey Cardelia, I have a quick question.

Me: Sure thing. What is it?

Mary: If my son were to lean his seat back, which he can’t do right now because someone is shoving their leg into the back of his seat, how would he do that?

(Rhonda shot me a dirty look and started to get worked up.)

Me: (Looking over at Rhonda, who WAS pushing the seat forward with the force of her bodyweight, then smiling at Mary and her son, Harris.) Ah, well, if that WERE possible, which I see it isn’t right now, it’s pretty easy. He needs to pull the lever on the side of the seat and lean back.

Mary: Thanks. I hope the situation changes in case he wants to do that.

Rhonda: (Yelling and looking around wildly.) I don’t have a choice! My foot has to be elevated at all times!

Gary (Rhonda’s brother): (Shouting from across the aisle.) Rhonda, shut up and put your foot down. You’re making a scene.

Rhonda: I will NOT put my foot down. It has to be elevated at all times. I won’t be able to walk tomorrow if I don’t. As it is, I don’t know if I can walk. It’s all swollen.

Gary: Then move back to the other seat, where you can put your foot up.

Rhonda: Too late! I’m already here. (At this point, Rhonda uncrossed her leg, then flung her bare foot over the seat and rested it between the window and Harris’ head.)

Mary: (Looking forward, with rage growing on her face.) I would appreciate it if you did not put your foot in my son’s face.

Rhonda: I don’t have a choice! I have to keep it elevated. There’s nowhere else for me to put it. (Then she moved her foot between the two seats in front of her, resting it between Mary and Harris’ faces.)

Me: (Knowing someone had to make a sacrifice and knowing that person was me, I quickly intervened.) Rhonda, how about you come up front and sit next to me?

Rhonda: I don’t see how that’s going to help anything. Where am I going to put my foot?

Me: I feel confident you can find a more appropriate place for your foot up front next to me than where you’ve chosen to put it here. (Mary gave me a thankful smile.)

Rhonda: I really don’t think so.

Me: Well, I do. Get up and follow me.

Rhonda: I don’t think it’s going to work.

Me: Why don’t we try it out. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll rearrange people, so you’re putting your foot into the faces of your family members. (Okay, fine! I didn’t say that last part. I just wish I had.)

Rhonda reluctantly got out of the seat and followed me up to the front. She complained the whole time. I got to the front seat, cleared it off, and let her sit down.

Rhonda: This IS better. It’s much less prissy up here. (She smiled at me, thinking that somehow I was on her side and agreed that Mary was WAY out of line. Then, she resumed to complaining.) My son isn’t going to be very happy with me up here.

Me: (Thinking she was referring to her older son who had set up a fort in the back seat.) He’ll be fine.

Rhonda: No he won’t. My 7-year-old will freak out if he’s not next to me.

Me: I think he’ll be fine.

Rhonda: No he won’t. You need to switch seats with him.

Me: Rhonda, I’m sure he’ll be fine. He isn’t alone. He is sitting with his brother, sister, cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents. I feel confident they can keep him entertained.

Rhonda was quiet for about two minutes, and then she started a running commentary of everything. When I say, running commentary, it was more of a running critique. She complained about the driver. She complained about the people sitting around her. She complained about the heat. She complained about the sun. She complained that she couldn’t see Mt. McKinley at any given time. And then, tragedy struck. There was a traffic jam.

The mood on the bus was far from good, mostly because everyone was hot. So long as we were moving, we were able to get slight air circulation. With the coach being stopped in traffic, we had nothing. I quickly offered up a game. Mr. Williams was kind enough to help me rip up scrap paper to make writing surfaces for everyone. As I finished up the process, Rhonda started in.

Rhonda: Great. Now what are we going to do if we all die?

Me: (Wanting desperately to ignore her.) What?

Rhonda: You just ripped up our Emergency Info sheets.

Me: No I didn’t.

Rhonda: Yes, you did.

Me: No, I didn’t. I ripped up blank Info Sheets that I brought in case I needed extra.

Rhonda: Those aren’t blank.

Me: Yes, they are.

Rhonda: Not the one on the bottom.

Me: (Flipping it over, to reveal the original info sheet with my handwriting on it, stating my name and the tour number.) That was the original. I made copies off of this one.

Rhonda: No, it’s not.

Me: Rhonda, I’m in charge here. I didn’t rip up the information sheets, and I don’t need to prove it to you. This was the original.

Rhonda: Oh, so you wrote up an example one in case we messed up?

Me: No. It’s the original.

Rhonda: Well, you still…

Me: (Cutting her off.) This conversation is over.

I turned around to try and rally support for the game, but was met with anger. Just as I was about to give up hope, the traffic jam cleared, and we continued on our way. The rest of the drive was filled with Rhonda’s running critical commentary and overheated glares from everyone in the back. As we rolled into Denali, I got on the microphone and gave them all of the information they needed, while Rhonda tried to interrupt me and pretend that she and I were in a private conversation. I finally bid them all goodnight, and went to unwind with my co-workers.

The next day, the group had a tour of Denali National Park. I arrived at the lobby to help direct them to the appropriate bus (they were split between two). Rhonda was chasing after her 7-year-old yelling, “He didn’t take his meds this morning. He’s going crazy.” Once she corralled him, she cornered me and informed me that she had to sit in the front seat. I kindly told her that she would need to speak with the driver about that. Her solution was to hover next to me on the sidewalk.

Her hovering made other people crowd around me. I announced that I did not know where the bus would pull up and that crowding around me would not help them get on the bus (that wasn’t there) any faster. Every time I moved, the crowd followed me. Rhonda would push people aside in her attempt to jockey for prime spot. The bus pulled up, and the crowd moved as a solid mob to where it would stop, despite my loud suggestion that a line needed to form. Rhonda, not wanting to get left in the dust, pushed her way to the front of the crowd, knocking people over. She then stood right in front of the door, so close to the door that it could not open.

I told everyone to take two steps back. No one listened. I made an announcement that if they wanted on the bus, they needed to take two steps back before the bus door could open. Rhonda refused to move, saying, “I need to be the first one on!” My reply? “Then you need to take two steps back, otherwise NO ONE is getting on the bus.”

She finally stepped back. The driver was getting off the bus, and she attempted to push him over to get on board. He stopped her, and informed her that she had to tell him her name. She then checked in all thirteen members of her family (who were several people behind in the crowd). She got on board, then she leaned out the window and started yelling to her family. “You’re all checked in! Push through and get on the bus! These people shouldn’t go before you.”

Her daughter yelled back, “We can’t! All these stupid people are in the way!”

Thankfully her uncle stepped in and told her she could wait her turn.

Then, I noticed the Indian family. They, once again, drew the short straw, and were on the bus with the Baker’s Dozen. I sympathized with Mary, and she told me that it was becoming comical more than anything.

For eight glorious hours, Rhonda wasn’t my problem.

The next day, we headed to Fairbanks on the train. Rhonda approached me at the train station.

Rhonda: Do we have assigned seats on the train?

Me: Yes.

Rhonda: Good. I’m getting so sick and tired of all of this pushing. People keep cutting in line, and they push their way onto the bus. I can’t handle it. I had knee surgery, so I have to be careful. I don’t see why people have to be so particular about where they sit.

I said nothing. I wanted to say, “YOU are the one that cuts in line. YOU are the one that pushes people. YOU are the one that yells. YOU are the one that is causing the problem.” Instead, I walked away.

The next day, we had our local day of sightseeing and fun in Fairbanks. Rhonda sat in the front seat, and her father sat behind her. He decided to use the opportunity to take care of every phone call he hadn’t made in the week prior. Throughout the whole tour, he talked loudly on his cell phone. Toward the end of the tour, I passed out my comment cards. As I walked off of the bus, Rhonda said, “So, basically, we have to lie about you on these cards, so the company re-hires you next year.” I answered, “No.”, walked off the bus and muttered, “I hate you.”

The end of the day tour was the end of the whole tour. It was time for me to get paid. Everyone lined up to say goodbye to me, and wouldn’t you know it, the Baker’s Dozen…well, they didn’t tip me at all. They had no trouble telling me about how wealthy they were, but they apparently didn’t think that they needed to follow the guidelines for tipping. In fact, most large families do not tip. If they do, they tip you as though their group of 15 people was one unit. Let me fill you in on a little secret, a 15-person family is comprised of 15 different people. While it may be one family, it is still totally inappropriate and very insulting to tip someone that had to put up with all 15 individuals as though they were only dealing with one (or none in this instance).

I wasn’t surprised, so I wasn’t all that angry. The one thing I would have changed was the fact that once I said “goodbye” to my tour, I had to sit in the lobby for another six hours meeting the people from my new tour. In doing so, I kept running into the people that stiffed me--most notably, the Baker’s Dozen. At one point, Rhonda’s brother and brother-in-law sat down to shoot-the-breeze, and told me all about how crazy there sister was and how they were very unhappy that the black sheep of the family had to be included on the trip.

So was I, because Rhonda, you definitely were NOT helping.

Titillating Tales of Terrible Tourists, v.6: A Tale of Two Carnies, or The Ballad of Scowling Poodle-Face

Well this is a long overdue tale of the most draining tour I've had this summer.  Now is a good time to tell the tale because I'm with another group of Carnies, AND I recently ran into someone that had experienced all that is Scowling Poodle-Face.

My second tour of the season was, by far, the worst.  Sure, I've had someone get injured on 67% of my tours.  And sure, 50% of those injuries required a hospital visit and involved broken bones, but this tour was still poke-your-eyes-out bad.  What makes a tour bad?  Is it terrible things happening at random?  Rain? Lost luggage? Rabid dinosaurs brought back to life by an evil scientist?  No.  It's people.  And sometimes, it just takes one.

From the get-go, I was apprehensive about the tour.  I know this may make me sound like a bit of a snob, and I really don't intend to (since, technically, I fall into this demographic), but the reason for my lack of enthusiasm was that this tour was a budget tour for budget travelers.  Don't get me wrong, it's still not cheap clocking in at a grand for just the land portion of the tour (and that's for 4 days, mind you), but it is infinitely cheaper (and substantially sub par) when compared to the other available tours.  As a result, the people that purchased this tour were very different than my other guests.  Many were very nice.  Most of them were first-time group travelers.  And some of them were simply awful.

The meet and greet day was fine.  Slowly but surely I met my collection of travelers.  They ranged from Willard, the 83-year-old solo traveler who was quickly approaching the time in his life when he had no business traveling to the large group of non-English-speaking French-Canadians to my biker couples from Ohio who wanted to know where they could buy some weed (and were under the mistaken impression that it's legal in Alaska).  In total, I had 32 guests, and, to be fair, the majority of them were nice.  I don't want to go as far as saying delightful, but they were nice people.  If the nice people were the only ones there, I would have had a MUCH better time.  But they weren't.  Instead, I had the angriest people alive.

I met four of the five Angries during the meet and greet.  They seemed fine.  They seemed tired and a bit miffed that they were awake, but they seemed fine.  They were two couples from upstate New York.  The husbands seemed like they were in to have a good time, and the wives, well, the wives were pleasant.  A few people did not show up for the meet and greet, so I left notes under their door instructing them to find me the next morning in the lobby before we took off for the train.  And that's when I first met Poodle-Face.

I showed up bright and early at 6:00 AM to greet my guests, most of whom were not there yet (since they didn't have to show their smiling faces until 7:00 AM).  I stood there, arranging name tags as guests from unescorted (read: not led by a Tour Director) tours kept badgering me about giving them a name tag (which I don't do because they are not part of my group) and basically yelling at me because they feel all left out and confused, which just prompts me to eventually tell them that the reason they didn't get a Tour Director is that they didn't pay for one (and that never goes well).  As I greeted people and made myself appear useful, I saw the first four Angries.  The wives didn't seem terribly happy (and I would later learn that they just weren't happy people). I handed them their name tags.  Then, out of nowhere, a woman of less than 5' in stature with a helmet of hair and a scrunched up face approached me.

"Are you Cardelia?" She barked in her thick southern twang.

"Yes."

"Is this all I have to do?" She shoved her completed information form into my hand.

"Yes, thank you.  It's nice to..."

"I'll be over there."  She cut me off and stomped away muttering to herself.

It wasn't how I generally like to start with people.  Usually, I make an effort to do a formal introduction explaining my role in their lives for the next few days.  She wasn't interested, I guess.  Eventually, our coach pulled up, and I loaded everyone onto it.  As we drove the 10 minutes to the train station, I explained a little about the train ride and what would happen once we reached Denali.  Even during that 10-minutes drive, the four Angries complained that they were sitting too long.  I heard things like, "We hardly had a chance to see Fairbanks."  To which, I could only reply, "Well, you chose the tour." (ed. If I haven't already mentioned it, this is not a tour that I personally would choose. It is flawed.  Very flawed.)

Once we were all loaded (and hopefully happy) on the train, I walked down the aisle.  Poodle-Face stopped me to inform me that her insulin was in the refrigerator next to the bar.  As she informed me of this she also pointed out that someone else had to help her because I was nowhere to be found (which, just to defend myself here, I wasn't on the car because I was too busy loading their 75 bags onto the train, so I had an excuse).  I promised her that I would remind her of the whereabouts of her insulin, then sat down.  When I sat down, my coworker approached me to tell me about her.  He apparently helped her out with the insulin, then she yelled at him for being too tall and blocking her view of the train yard (this, of course, was in lieu of a "thank you").

The train started up, we rolled through the Alaskan countryside.  I tried to sell optional excursions, but hit several road blocks.  The four Angries didn't want to spend any money.  The other folks thought everything was too expensive.  Most people felt they didn't have enough time in Denali (which I won't argue since it was a crappy tour).  Poodle-Face and her gang (which, I should probably describe.  They consisted of her husband.  A tiny man who was shy as all get-out and truly seemed surprised anytime I said hello to him and her two friends who were ever-so lovely) decided to purchase the Dog Sled Ride for the next morning.

Throughout most of the train ride, I spoke with the nice people and occasionally found myself attempting to smile at Poodle-Face.  She just gave me dirty looks.  After four long hours, we pulled into Denali.  I passed out their key packets, we loaded a coach, and I explained our day.  We had 45 minutes before they were to go on their tour of the park.  I explained (as I had explained the day before and on the train ride) that they should get food before going on the tour.  Everyone was dropped off at their rooms, and I went back to the main lobby to wait for them.

The first to show up were the four Angries.  They didn't like their rooms.  Apparently, they weren't fancy enough (which was the same complaint they made about the rooms at the hotel in Fairbanks).  I gave them some line about Alaska being rustic (which is true; however, if they had splurged a bit more, they might have ended up in nicer accommodations).  They also were very upset at the cost of food.  I explained to them that food in Alaska is more expensive than it is in the Lower 48 because it all has to be shipped in (think Hawaii).  They were convinced that they were being ripped off, and they were mad that they were sitting so much, to which I could only apologize and remind them that they were on a group tour (designed for the elderly), and that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

As I was going through all of this, Poodle-Face pushed her way through the crowd and started in on me.

"Cardelia, Cardelia!" She shouted at me.

"Yes?"

"I have a problem!  My room doesn't have a refrigerator, and I told them I needed a refrigerator.  I have diabetes, and I need to put my insulin in the refrigerator.  They know I need this!"  Poodle-Face yelled at me in the midst of an enormous crowd.

Smiling, with a look of concern, I replied, "I'll look into it.  You did move into the room 3 hours early, so that might be the issue."

"No, that's not the issue!" She squawked back. "I need a refrigerator.  I put it on the bed.  Hopefully it doesn't ruin.  If it's not cold when I get back, I'll die."

Feeling the melodrama, I said, "Well, I'll look into it while you are away on the tour."

"The ice machine is broken in my building."

"Okay, I'll check on that too.  Did you try the ice machine at the other two buildings next to you?"

"What?  That is too far! (ed. The buildings are about 10 feet away from each other and the distance is smaller than what she would have walked in an enclosed hotel to get to the ice maker or the elevator)."

"Okay," I just wanted her to leave. "I'll look into it."

She stood there for a minute, started to walk off, then turned.  "Cardelia, Cardelia!  My blood sugar needs Subway, or I'm gonna die!"

Knowing that this wasn't a joke, I tried not to laugh. "Well, then I guess you should walk your blood sugar over there."

"I am!  This place is too expensive.  It's a rip-off."

"I'm sorry you feel that way."  My smile was glued on.

"I'm gettin' a $5 foot long.  Don't let them leave without me."

"They won't leave without you, and the foot longs are $9."

"What?!"  She was incredulous.

"It's Alaska." I smiled and started waving.  "Hurry back."

She and her crew ran off.  I continued directing people to the best of my abilities.  They came back just as the buses were arriving for the tour.  As they boarded the bus, Poodle-Face scowled and informed me that "This place is a rip-off!"  Her sentiments were echoed throughout the bus.  Luckily, I didn't have to go with them, so I stood there on the sidewalk, waving as the bus pulled away with all of my unhappy guests.

While they were gone, I checked on the refrigerator situation.  I didn't have to explain much about the guest in question, as the front desk staff knew exactly about whom I was talking.  A refrigerator was delivered to the room an hour after the tour left.  

Feeling good that the situation was resolved, I was ready to meet the group when they returned after five hours.  The bus pulled up, I eagerly greeted them, asking them if they had a good time.  The four Angries were still angry and hungry.  They didn't heed my advice about getting food before the tour.  They also told me that they didn't see anything.  In fact, all they saw was a couple of bears, some caribou, and a lynx.  Yeah, an effing lynx!  No one sees those!  And a couple of bears?!  That's a good day.  I directed them to a nearby restaurant since they made it clear to me that the hotel restaurants were far too expensive.

When Poodle-Face emerged, I proudly approached her and told her that the refrigerator was delivered, so she needn't worry about her insulin.  Rather than thanking me, she asked, "What about the ice machine?"  I informed her that it was, in fact, still broken, but that the ice machines in the two other buildings may be in working condition.  This answer was not good enough for her, and she yelled, "That is unacceptable!  I need ice!  If I don't get ice, I'm gonna die!"  To which I replied, "I'll see what I can do."

Once they had all vacated the lobby, I approached the front desk, and the manager personally delivered a bucket of ice to Poodle-Face.  She never said thank you.

That night, I went to the bar and made poor choices.

The next morning, I greeted everyone in the main lobby as we waited for our coach transfer to the train station.  Poodle-Face and her motley crew returned from their Dog Sled Ride excursion and the woman was smiling.  I didn't think it was physically possible for her to do such a thing.  She was so happy.  I even thought that it might be a good day.  Too bad it wasn't.

We arrived at the train station, and I looked for the guests that went ahead of the coach (because there is a visitor's center next to the train station, and I encourage people to go there beforehand for all of the free fun that it holds).  I spotted the four Angries, and one of the wives was near tears.  As I approached, she shot me the look of death.

"Hi!  How are you?" I asked, hopeful that I could turn that frown upside-down.

"Not good."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

And then she started screaming, "This tour is awful.  Everything is too expensive.  You didn't tell us about any of the free stuff.  You only told us about the things you have to pay for."

"I'm sorry you feel that way, but I did tell you to come to the visitor's center since you opted not to purchase any of the optional excursions."

"Well, we came here, but you didn't mention anything about the dog sled presentation.  That started at 10, and we didn't get here until 10:15, and it was over." (ed. If a free presentation lasts less than 15 minutes, is it really such a loss that you didn't get to see it?)

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

"I bet you are!"  She yelled at me.

Her husband then walked up to me and ranted about how awful everything was and how angry he was about the tour and how it was a waste of money.  Again, all I could do was remind him that he chose it.

Once he finished, her friend walked over to me and said, "You're doing a great job.  This is no reflection on you whatsoever."

And then the train came.

We boarded the train.  I walked through to make sure everyone was situated.  As I approached Poodle-Face, her smile was quickly dissipating.  Then she asked, "How long is this train ride anyway?"  And the answer was...8 hours.  And then the smile was gone, and she was angrily muttering to herself once again.  I opted to go to an empty car and sit alone.  Occasionally, I walked through my car to talk to my guests.  The Angries complained that they were sitting too much.  The French-Canadians were really nice; however, they were upset that we wouldn't have much time in Anchorage.  (Later on one of my comment cards, I learned that one of the French-Canadians would have preferred the train ride more if we had had a disco ball and bingo.  Weirdos.)  When dinner was announced, Poodle-Face told the waiter she wanted to eat in the last seating  After a half an hour, she called me over.

"Cardelia, Cardelia!"

"Yes?"

"When do I get to eat?  They told me I could eat, but that was 2 hours ago.  I have diabetes, and if I don't eat now, I'm gonna die!"

What I wanted to say was, "Well, that would just mean I'd have to do a little extra paperwork.", but what I actually said was, "I'll see what I can do."

Sure enough, the waiter came up and brought her down to eat.  As she returned, she complained that it was too expensive.

After eight long hours, we pulled into Anchorage.  I got everyone and their luggage loaded onto the coach, and we drove over to the hotel.  As promised, I sat in the lobby for over an hour, awaiting my guests' complaints.

First down: The Angries.

The angrier of the wives approached me.  "There's not hair dryer in my room.  My friend has a hair dryer.  Why don't I?"

I went to the front desk and was told that it was probably in the drawer.  The Angry had disappeared, so when she returned I suggested she look in the drawer.  Apparently, she was one step ahead of me. "Oh, I looked in the drawer.  It was there.  Thanks for nothing."

Yeah.

Second down: Poodle-Face (who, I forgot to mention sleeps with a scowl on her face, leading me to believe that it IS, in fact, possible to have your face freeze that way.)

She stomped out of the gift shop toward me, barking, "Cardelia, Cardelia!"

"Yes?"

"Do you know how much a bag of chips costs in there?"  She meant business.

"Uhh...I'm guessing it's more than you're willing to spend?"

"Five dollars!  FIVE DOLLARS!  That is ridiculous.  It's a rip-off!"

"I'm sorry you feel that way."  I smiled, whilst giving her a look of concern.

"Where's the grocery store?  I need to go to the grocery store.  I need to buy some chips or somethin'."  Poodle-Face was just revving up for the rampage.

"Well, the closest grocery store is almost two miles away.  You'll have to take a cab."

"A what?!  That's ridiculous!  You know, that train was awful.  They didn't have anything to eat.  No bread, no chips, no crackers.  I have diabetes, and I have to eat, or I'll die!"

(ed. Now I'm not expert on diabetes, but I'm pretty sure that you are NOT supposed to eat bread and chips and crackers.  I could be wrong, but I think those are the main culprits of the disease, thus making them "no-no's".)

I sighed, plastered on my smile, and offered to help.  "Well, I don't think there's a convenience store, but maybe the front desk will know of one.  Let me check with them."  She followed me over to the front desk.  

As I waited to pose my question, Poodle-Face asked, "Did you see how much that breakfast buffet costs?  Did you see?!"

"Too much?" was my only reply.

"You're damn right!  $16.95 for a breakfast buffet?  You gotta be kiddin' me.  That's outrageous!  You keep forcing us to eat at expensive places."

"Well, it is a hotel restaurant.  Those aren't known for their bargain prices.  But, as I pointed out on our way into the hotel, there are plenty of restaurants that will be open in the morning.  You don't have to eat the breakfast buffet at the hotel."

"And I most certainly will not!"  She then shot me a dirty look (or just looked at me with her normal face).

Just then, the front desk agent asked how she could assist us.  I asked her if there was a convenience store nearby where my guest could buy chips and her first response was to point us to the gift shop.  I tried to stop her, but it was too late.

"I have BEEN to the gift shop thank you very much.  I will NOT spend five dollars on a bag of chips.  It's a rip-off.  A RIP-OFF!  You people are ripping us off.  I'm onto you!"  Poodle-Face was irate.

The agent simply apologized and suggested a convenience store around the corner; however, both she and I agreed that it was probably closed.  Poodle-Face then flew off the handle about the price of the breakfast buffet and was greeted with the same calm apology from the desk agent.

Unhappy with everything, she turned to walk away.  Stopped.  Then turned around and yelled, "I am never EVER coming back here again.  This state is AWFUL.  I will NEVER come here...and none of my friends will either!!"  Then she stomped off toward the exit.  I just stood there, shrugged my shoulders, and resumed my position next to my chair.

Within two minutes, Poodle-Face stomped back in.  Clearly, she didn't make it to the convenience store.  She bumped into two people that were traveling on another tour director's tour (with the same itinerary, thus were cut from the same cloth).  She ranted over the five dollar chips and the $16.95 buffet.  They sympathized.  Then, they all discussed (loudly) how cruel we tour directors were to force them to buy all of these expensive meals.  If we were worth our salt, we would have taken them to McDonald's.

I so wanted to jump in and ask them when the last time they saw a McDonald's was.  Because, let me tell you, they aren't near downtown.  The closest McDonald's is a $12 cab ride from where we were.  Furthermore, they would be dismayed to learn that McDonald's costs more here than it does in Tennessee.  Why?  Because we're in effing Alaska!  That's why!

Though, had I done any of that, they would have accused me of setting the prices, in much the same way that another guest accused me of personally changing the price of the Subway foot-longs to $9 instead of $5 as advertised on television.  Right.  I have that power.  It has nothing to do with the fact that the Subway is in a national park in the middle of nowhere.  It's all me.  I'm an evil genius.

But I digress...

They eventually left the lobby.  I then met the French-Canadians at a karaoke bar, and after singing it all out, I went home.  The next morning I met my group for our not-so-exciting tour de Anchorage and transfer to the ship.  When we said our final goodbyes, my tips were total crap, but my comment cards were better than expected.  Poodle-Face completely passed me by without saying toodle-loo.  

Once everyone was on their merry way to the fun ship, I walked inside the terminal, to see if my roommate had seen Poodle-Face.  She hadn't, but another tour director had.  He knew immediately who I was talking about when I called the woman, "Poodle-Face".  Apparently, she walked by him.  He asked her how she was, and she responded, "I'm not happy about a lot of things."  His response?  "Have you ever thought of smiling?"

And that was the last we heard from Scowling Poodle-Face (which is her full indian name).

The End.

Until over a month later, when I went on the Dog Sled Ride, and the woman that runs the thing told me about the angriest woman alive.  She knew Poodle-Face, and she said the only thing that made her smile was holding a puppy.  Perhaps she has a soul after all.

I'm exhausted.

Oh, and just so you can sleep at night, I did learn a couple things from this.  First, I always make it a point to tell people how expensive Alaska is when we first meet.  Second, I take nothing personally.  I just nod my head and let them yell knowing full well that I can't do anything to change their ugly demeanor--they were just born that way (or maybe it's Maybelleine).

Titillating Tales of Terrible Tourists, v.5: When Cameras Drop

I did it!  I completed my very first tour up here in Alaska.  It went smashingly.  I already miss my people--the 60th Anniversary crew, the honeymooners, the 35th Anniversary-ites, and the girls.  If only we could just travel together all summer!

I'll tell ya what I don't miss though...  I do not miss the unescorted groups that kept getting thrown on my coach with all of their questions, confusion, and general bad attitudes.

My first tour was an intimate affair of 18.  We laughed and didn't cry...except when we had to share our coach with random strangers.  For whatever reason, (well, okay, I know the reason.  We were only 18 people, and the coach seats over 50) other unescorted groups were tossed into our coach.  This wouldn't be a problem, except that the unescorted people kept asking me questions, and, technically, I shouldn't talk to them because they didn't pay for my services.  Alas, I'm a nice person, and I didn't want to be a jerk in front of my own guests, so I helped them out a little--not a lot.

On our last day, I thought I was home-free.  I was positive that we would be the only group on the coach.  And then, I discovered, much to my dismay, that 20 extra people were joining us.  And those 20 extra people were not nice.  They were all angry that they didn't have a tour director, so I had to give this answer, "Well, I'm sorry you're upset, but you chose a tour that is unescorted.  Mmhmm, yes, I do understand your frustration, but when you chose your tour, you opted for one that did NOT have a Tour Director.  Yes, I can see that, and I'm sorry you feel that way.  Well, the simple answer is, the people on my tour paid for a Tour Director, you did not."

And what I really wanted to say after explaining and re-explaining was:

"Because you're cheap."

But those words were never uttered.

Throughout my five-day tour, there was a group of 4 people that kept taking the front seats on the coach.  I still don't know how they did it.  Somehow they managed to stake out a spot that was closer to the coach area than me, so every time I got on board, they were already there.  Knowing that others were getting upset (since I was annoyed myself), I opted to remedy the problem by banning anyone from sitting in the front two seats.  I took one for myself, and the other was to be the "picture seat" where guests could rotate in and out every 20 minutes.  This plan would have been a good one if it weren't for those unescorted people.

One couple from the other group claimed motion sickness and insisted on sitting in the front seat.  And let me tell you, they were a piece of work.  For eight hours, I had to sit next to the unhappiest woman on Earth (or so I thought until I met Scowling Poodle-Face on my second tour).  She had a constant monologue going throughout the ride.  "When are we off this bus?  It better be soon.  That driver better drive fast.  I'm not staying on this bus until 5.  Why aren't we going faster?  Why aren't we taking a different road?  We better not go back to Denali?  I'm never going there again.  That place is horrible.  Why would anyone go there in the first place?  When are we getting off this bus?  Why are we on a bus?  Well, the train was even worse.  Why would we go on a train?  When do we eat?  Why are we stopping?" ...

While those two definitely peppered my experience, it was the couple in the back that lent the comic relief.

Our lunch break was in Wasilla (insert Sarah Palin joke here).  As we unloaded the coach, the couple from the back (who were on the unescorted tour) approached the driver and me with an issue.

"Is it possible to leave the tour early?"  The wife asked.  The driver and I looked at each other, somewhat confused.  "My husband's father is in the hospital, and we have to catch the next flight home."

"Well, I can call my supervisor and see what we can do, "replied the driver.

"We just need to get dropped off in Anchorage.  It shouldn't be that hard."

"Except that we have 36 other passengers that need to get to the ship.  We'll see what we can do."

With that, we went inside the restaurant for lunch.  Upon our return to the coach, the driver worked out a plan to make a detour and drop the couple off in Anchorage.  Everything seemed fine.  All was right with the world.  The complaining motion-sick lady was still complaining.  Once we made the announcement that we were making an unscheduled stop in Anchorage, she started demanding that we take her to Nordstrom.  My people were still delightful, and then tragedy struck.

I was standing in the aisle, chatting with one of my favorite little ladies when I looked up and saw the woman, for whom we were stopping in Anchorage, frantically waving her hands.  I rushed over to her, and she pulled me into the lavatory.

"I dropped my camera in the toilet."  She was panicking and almost in tears.

Baffled, I replied, "I'm so sorry."

"Can you get it out?"  She then thrust her arm down the toilet hole.  "I can't reach it."

"I don't think you'll be able to reach it.  Take your hand out of there."

"I haven't flushed, so it should be there.  Maybe you can reach it?"  She asked, her arm still shoulder deep in the toilet.

"It all goes into a tank.  I'm not sure how deep it is, but I'm not putting my hand in the toilet."

"But your arms may be longer than mine."

"I'm sorry.  I don't think you can retrieve it that way."

"Well, what do I do?"  She cried.

"I'll talk to the driver, but we'll have to drain the tank."

She was getting frustrated. "Can't he just pull over and do that now?"

"No, ma'am.  We can't.  We have to drain the tank at a special facility.  It's illegal and an environmental hazard to drain human waste on the side of the road (ed. despite how much you might think Wasilla is a s-hole)."

"But how am I going to get my camera back?" She shoved her arm back down the toilet.

"We will do everything we can, but there is nothing we can do right now.  How about you come back to your seat?"

She then fumbled with the sink and got frustrated when water didn't come out of the faucet.  "Why won't this work?"

Feeling really bad and a little disgusted, I replied, "There isn't any water.  We only have hand sanitizer on the coach."  As I said that, I was thinking, "And don't get near me, you probably have the Walk AND the Hep now.  Who shoves their arm down a toilet hole in the first place?"

She rubbed hand sanitizer all over her hands, then sat down next to her husband, who was shaking his head in annoyance, and started to cry hysterically.  "I don't know how it happened!  I've had things in my pockets before, and they've never fallen out!"

I sat down across from them and felt great sympathy for her  "I'm so sorry.  We will do everything we can.  We are getting you to Anchorage as fast as we can, but I make no promises about the camera.  Is there anything else I can do that might make you feel better?"

Her husband turned to me, narrowing his eyes, "You can get the camera back, that's what you can do!"

I was taken aback and wanted nothing more than to defend myself and say, "Sir, I did NOT throw your camera in the toilet on a motor coach.  In fact, I was nowhere near the toilet when the camera fell in.  I have NOTHING to do with this.  Your anger is misdirected.  I'm just trying to help here, and you're not even going to tip me...and for the record, no tip is worth risking the Hep."

Rather, I said, "We'll do what we can."

I walked over to the driver to update him on the new situation, and he gave me the same answer I gave them.  When I returned to the back of the bus, the wife decided that the camera wasn't that expensive, so it didn't matter.  Ten minutes later, I walked back to check on them and give them instructions for their departure in Anchorage.  The wife handed me her husband's business card asking me to mail the camera or even just the memory card when we found it.  She also apologized for her outburst explaining that the lost camera was the last straw.

Once we reached Anchorage, the couple exited the bus.  We retrieved their luggage, and the wife gave the driver a hug.  Part of me was surprised that I didn't get a hug, but I was also relieved.  She was unclean after all.  And, I didn't tell the driver that she shoved her arm down the toilet until three hours later, which gave me a little bit of pleasure since he did screw me over first thing in the morning by misleading my group for his own enjoyment and purposely driving away when he knew I was missing two people.

I have no idea what happened with the camera.  I passed the card onto the driver supervisor, and the story is now the stuff of legend.

Moral: Don't carry valuables into the lavatory on a coach.  And if you do, and it falls into the toilet, just walk away.

Titillating Tales of Terrible Tourists, v.4: The Case of the Delinquent Driver

The scene: Morning, the day of the SF Marathon.  Also, the day after those wretched girls from Dallas wreaked havoc on my self-esteem.

7:25a – Get in car and leave house, making sure to give myself enough time to get to the Ferry Building knowing that many roads would be closed along the way.

7:45a – Arrive at the Ferry Building.  As it happens, the drive wasn’t so bad after all.

7:50a – Witness the start of the 10K fun run.

7:55a – Cheer on the marathon runners as they pass by on their way to the finish line.

8:00a – Loiter around the Ferry Building awaiting the check-in person for my tour.

8:05a – Start the meet & greet process of my day and get briefed on the altered boarding procedure

8:07a – Meet my soul mate.  Who is my soul mate? A tall, handsome, debonair, 50-ish London-dwelling doctor with a full head of salt and pepper hair, good teeth, and piercing blue eyes.  How did I know he was my soul mate?  Because every time he spoke to me, his eyes looked deep into my soul, and I couldn’t look away.  Hell, I was ready to just ditch everything and run away with him—and based on what would soon transpire, I probably should have done just that.

8:12a – My soul mate realized that he was hogging all of my attention, so he stepped aside to allow me to mingle with others and gather the group.

8:15a – My fellow tour guide took his group across the street and boarded their bus.

8:25a – I gathered my group together and walked them across the Embarcadero to Market street where we were to board our bus.

8:29a – The bus wasn’t there.

8:33a – The bus still wasn’t there.

8:34a – My passengers were complaining that I made them walk across the street and there wasn’t a bus.

8:35a – I called the driver, and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Where are you?

Delinquent Driver: All the roads are closed.  I can’t get to the Embarcadero.

Me: I know.  It’s the marathon.  You should be getting on the Embarcadero.  We’re on Market.

DD: I can’t get there.  All the roads are closed.

Me: No they’re not.  I drove here.

DD: Well, Market’s closed.

Me: No it’s not.  Where are you?

DD: I’m at the ball park.  I’ll be there in 5 minutes.

I hung up the phone, and looked at the 40 increasingly irritated tourists trying to think of what to say.  “Well, the driver is on his way.  He’ll be here shortly.”  I then tried to make small talk with them, but they weren’t really having it.  My soul mate was by my side.  He knew it wasn’t my fault.

8:42a – My group was getting restless.  They complained that they should get refunds.  They thought I should take them all to a bathroom.  One man blathered on about how we were going to cut out a winery (which wasn’t going to happen).  Others complained that we would get back to the city an hour late (which also wasn’t going to happen).

8:45a – I called the check-in person across the street to tell her that my driver still hadn’t arrived.  Her answer, “I know.  He said he’s on the way.”

8:47a – I called the driver looking for an ETA.

Me: Where are you?

DD: Five minutes.

Me: I’m not looking for a time.  I want to know exactly where you are.

DD: Almost there.

Me: What intersection?

DD: Three minutes.

Me: You and I both know that’s not true.  Where are you?

DD: I’ll be there. (Click.)

8:49a – I called the driver again.  He didn’t answer.

8:51a – I called the check-in person.  The lead tour guide (my immediate supervisor) answered.  He was of absolutely no help.

8:54a – I called the driver again.

Me: So?

DD: Almost there.

Me: Be more specific.

DD: Two minutes.

Me: What street are you on?

DD: Market.

Me: Where on Market.

DD: One mile away.

Me: I’ll walk the people to the corner.  We’ll meet you there.

8:57a –I announce to the group that we are going to walk one block away to meet the bus.  As we start walking, I see one of our buses driving toward us.  I assumed it was my driver.  I halted the group.  The bus drove past us, and I was enraged for two reasons. First, why would he drive past us?  Second, why was he driving a bus that only fit 27 passengers instead of 40?  I ran over to the bus, and my group of 39 lemmings followed me (despite the fact that I made no command to do so), and the answers to both of my questions were immediately revealed when the people from the 9 o’clock city tour started boarding.  It wasn’t our bus.

9:01a – I apologized to the group and called the driver again.

Me: Where are you?  We were supposed to leave a half an hour ago.

DD: A mile away.

Me: How is that possible?  Traffic isn’t stopped.

DD: I’m on my way.

Me: Where are you?

DD: I’m at First.

Me: No you’re not.  I’m looking at First Street.  You aren’t there.

DD: Well, I just left the ball park. They made me turn around.

Me: I thought you were on Market.

DD: I’ll be there in five minutes.

Me: You need to be here now.

DD:  (Click.)

9:04a – My group is planning a mutiny.  I don’t blame them.

9:05a – I apologize profusely, while my soul mate stands by my side.

9:07a – I walk out into Market Street to see if I can spot the bus.  My group follows me into traffic.  For their safety, I yelled at them to get back on the sidewalk.

9:12a – The bus finally shows up.

9:14a – I board the bus and discover that my driver decided to bring a date to work, and she was napping in my seat.  I’m not sure where they met, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she worked at the Hi-Tide or the Tunnel Top (for those that aren’t aware, these particular bars are…well…thinly veiled Asian prostitution fronts).  Why do I think that?  Well, it mostly had to do with fact that she was wearing a belly-bearing tube top and jeans that came dangerously close to her hoo-haa…that and the make-up.  But I’m not one to judge another’s fashion choices, especially when it’s drizzly and 55 degrees outside.

9:15a – Wanting nothing more than to rip the driver a new asshole, I simply say hello and instruct him to drive over the Bay Bridge.

9:18a – I get on the microphone, apologize again to the group, and try to appease them with some sub-par commentary.  Needless to say, I was way off my game.

9:34a – The driver was speeding recklessly down the highway, and I was having trouble standing (since, as you may recall, I had no seat).  Also, since his lady friend was napping in my seat, I had nothing to hold.  I noticed that there was one empty seat, and it just so happened to be next to my soul mate.

9:35a – I started passing out water to the group, and when I finished, I sat next to my soul mate.

9:48a – I see that we are almost at our first winery (on time), so I resume my place at the front of the bus and give the passengers their instructions.

10:01a – We pull up to the winery, and I make an effort to let the passengers know that we arrived on time, so the schedule would run as planned.

10:02a – I shot the driver a dirty look and left with my group.

From this point forward, the day ran fairly smoothly.  My driver and his lady hung out on or near the bus.  I never acknowledged her presence though there were a few passengers that knew she was a stowaway and wanted to add that into their case for getting a refund.

While we dined at the second winery, I befriended two hilarious British men from Northern England. They were celebrating their 50^th birthdays, and I could tell that we would be fast friends.  As it happens, we were.

On the ferry ride back to San Francisco, I hung out with my northern solidarity friends for quite some time, and then I noticed my soul mate sitting by himself.  I took a seat and was immediately drawn into his gaze.  We talked and laughed.  He told me how wonderful I was.  I secretly hoped he’d invite me to dinner.  And then, I had to run away like Cinderella.  The boat docked and I had to be the first one out.  I was.  My hilarious, yet bumbling, English friends hung out near me as I bid adieu to my passengers.  Then, my soul mate (whose name I never learned) walked off the boat, fixed his gaze on me, and gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.  And that was the last time we’d see each other.

Not so for my birthday boys!  They invited me out for drinks, and we went on an all-night odyssey of dining and drinking through San Francisco. 

So, while the day started off terribly, it did end quite well.

And, in case you were wondering, that driver was fired months later when he attempted to rob all of the company’s buses on his day off.  It was then revealed that he had a long criminal history and was raging drug addict.  Awesome!