Bachelor Party Mayhem
Aug. 10th, 2002 09:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningHe made a malfunction tonight.
I saw one of the officers' lips twitch, and struggled to keep a straight face myself. Sometimes, not laughing is the hardest part of my job. The man in front of us apparently didn't notice. Which, considering the fact that he'd consumed far more alcohol than Paul Bunyan should've been able to put away and still stand up straight, wasn't surprising. It's amazing how quickly one can sober up when confronted with twelve police officers in one's hotel room, I suppose.
Fifteen minutes earlier, it had been a quiet night. Then I had been called down to room 1027, with Anne saying only that it was an "emergency." We'd been talking about deaths in the hotel, and how to handle them, and how none of us had current CPR certifications, so I was more than a little frightened. I stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner at a run, to find Anne and a guest standing outside the closed door. She had her keys in hand, he had personal belongings. I saw no blood, smelled no smoke, heard nothing out of the ordinary, so I slowed down.
"I'm transferring this man to another room," Anne said when I got there. "There are two other guys in there. They were screaming and shouting and breaking things in there a minute ago, and they won't let me in to check the damage, or give me their names." "Wonderful, " I said. "That's not going to be a problem. Do you have a key to the door?" She put her keys in my hand and stepped back. I knocked on the door. "Security." There was scuffling inside, and I heard the bathroom door close, but no-one answered. I knocked again. "Security." Still no answer. I love these kinds of moments. I shrugged at Anne, who looked worried, and then I stepped back just far enough to be in view from the eyehole. "You gentlemen have a choice. You can either open the door now and let me assess the damage, or I can go downstairs, call the police, and let them handle it. Which would you prefer?"
The door opened.
The guy standing there was maybe two inches taller than I am, and about fifty pounds heavier. I stepped into the room, pushing past him. Anne hovered just inside the doorway. There were a total of three guys in the room. One was either feigning sleep or passed out in the first bed. The other was standing between the two beds, rubbing his eyes. "What's going on, officer? We're all asleep in here." (Remember what I said about not laughing? Consider this another of those moments.)
The room looked like a tornado had ripped through it. A drunken tornado at that. Drawers were pulled out of the armoire. The lamps were broken and on the floor, which was also littered with empty beer bottles. Two more cases of beer were set under the table, out of harm's way. Pity, that. Though I supposed it spared the carpets. The guy at the door had the grace to look ashamed, at least. His friend was still trying to convince me that nothing was wrong and they had all been asleep when I woke them. I cut him off. "Who's responsible for this?" "I am," said the one at the door. "And what's your name?" "Robert Petersen." He stopped, then added defiantly, "The Third." I shook my head. "Whose name is this room in?" "Mine," said Robert. "And did you leave a credit card at the desk?" "Yes, I did." "Well, when we assess the damages, they will be added to your card. Do you understand?" "Yes, Officer." I went on to warn them that if we had any further trouble from them, they would be evicted. They stood there, nodded as appropriate, and I left the room. The arguing began before the door was shut completely.
Five minutes later, Anne and I filled Donna in on what had gone on. Between us, for liability reasons, we decided it would be best to call the police after all, since we would then have a formal record of the complaint. The damages in the room seemed to be minor, but just in case... And so it happened that at 3:30 in the morning, I was watching twelve of Raleigh's finest grill the most sober of the bunch. The story he gave was too pitiful to be anything but the truth.
"Rob's getting married at two tomorrow," he explained earnestly. I winced. Sometimes I have to wonder if the bride knows what kind of prize she's getting... he went on. "We went out drinking tonight, sort of a bachelor party, and his old girlfriend showed up. He wound up kissing her, and now he doesn't wanna get married. We were telling him he was just drunk and to sleep it off, and he got mad." He went on to explain in rather accurate detail the visit we had made to the room earlier, and to protest that they hadn't caused any trouble since then. Which was true. I intervened to explain why we had called in the police, and he seemed reassured. "We'll try to handle Rob," he promised. "He's not usually like this. He's just stressed and drunk and he made a malfunction tonight."
We wrapped up the visit smoothly, and there weren't any troubles from that room for the rest of the night. In the elevator, on the way down, one of the officers said, "I want to go to that wedding tomorrow, just to see what happens." It was a tempting idea, on one level. But then, I've always been able to see the fascination with sticking your hand into the fire, too.
I saw one of the officers' lips twitch, and struggled to keep a straight face myself. Sometimes, not laughing is the hardest part of my job. The man in front of us apparently didn't notice. Which, considering the fact that he'd consumed far more alcohol than Paul Bunyan should've been able to put away and still stand up straight, wasn't surprising. It's amazing how quickly one can sober up when confronted with twelve police officers in one's hotel room, I suppose.
Fifteen minutes earlier, it had been a quiet night. Then I had been called down to room 1027, with Anne saying only that it was an "emergency." We'd been talking about deaths in the hotel, and how to handle them, and how none of us had current CPR certifications, so I was more than a little frightened. I stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner at a run, to find Anne and a guest standing outside the closed door. She had her keys in hand, he had personal belongings. I saw no blood, smelled no smoke, heard nothing out of the ordinary, so I slowed down.
"I'm transferring this man to another room," Anne said when I got there. "There are two other guys in there. They were screaming and shouting and breaking things in there a minute ago, and they won't let me in to check the damage, or give me their names." "Wonderful, " I said. "That's not going to be a problem. Do you have a key to the door?" She put her keys in my hand and stepped back. I knocked on the door. "Security." There was scuffling inside, and I heard the bathroom door close, but no-one answered. I knocked again. "Security." Still no answer. I love these kinds of moments. I shrugged at Anne, who looked worried, and then I stepped back just far enough to be in view from the eyehole. "You gentlemen have a choice. You can either open the door now and let me assess the damage, or I can go downstairs, call the police, and let them handle it. Which would you prefer?"
The door opened.
The guy standing there was maybe two inches taller than I am, and about fifty pounds heavier. I stepped into the room, pushing past him. Anne hovered just inside the doorway. There were a total of three guys in the room. One was either feigning sleep or passed out in the first bed. The other was standing between the two beds, rubbing his eyes. "What's going on, officer? We're all asleep in here." (Remember what I said about not laughing? Consider this another of those moments.)
The room looked like a tornado had ripped through it. A drunken tornado at that. Drawers were pulled out of the armoire. The lamps were broken and on the floor, which was also littered with empty beer bottles. Two more cases of beer were set under the table, out of harm's way. Pity, that. Though I supposed it spared the carpets. The guy at the door had the grace to look ashamed, at least. His friend was still trying to convince me that nothing was wrong and they had all been asleep when I woke them. I cut him off. "Who's responsible for this?" "I am," said the one at the door. "And what's your name?" "Robert Petersen." He stopped, then added defiantly, "The Third." I shook my head. "Whose name is this room in?" "Mine," said Robert. "And did you leave a credit card at the desk?" "Yes, I did." "Well, when we assess the damages, they will be added to your card. Do you understand?" "Yes, Officer." I went on to warn them that if we had any further trouble from them, they would be evicted. They stood there, nodded as appropriate, and I left the room. The arguing began before the door was shut completely.
Five minutes later, Anne and I filled Donna in on what had gone on. Between us, for liability reasons, we decided it would be best to call the police after all, since we would then have a formal record of the complaint. The damages in the room seemed to be minor, but just in case... And so it happened that at 3:30 in the morning, I was watching twelve of Raleigh's finest grill the most sober of the bunch. The story he gave was too pitiful to be anything but the truth.
"Rob's getting married at two tomorrow," he explained earnestly. I winced. Sometimes I have to wonder if the bride knows what kind of prize she's getting... he went on. "We went out drinking tonight, sort of a bachelor party, and his old girlfriend showed up. He wound up kissing her, and now he doesn't wanna get married. We were telling him he was just drunk and to sleep it off, and he got mad." He went on to explain in rather accurate detail the visit we had made to the room earlier, and to protest that they hadn't caused any trouble since then. Which was true. I intervened to explain why we had called in the police, and he seemed reassured. "We'll try to handle Rob," he promised. "He's not usually like this. He's just stressed and drunk and he made a malfunction tonight."
We wrapped up the visit smoothly, and there weren't any troubles from that room for the rest of the night. In the elevator, on the way down, one of the officers said, "I want to go to that wedding tomorrow, just to see what happens." It was a tempting idea, on one level. But then, I've always been able to see the fascination with sticking your hand into the fire, too.
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no subject
Date: 2002-08-11 02:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-08-11 02:54 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2002-08-11 03:09 am (UTC)Of course, this is all pure speculation, and it really -could- have been all related to the stress of the impending marriage. Cold feet on the eve of such an event isn't exactly uncommon. Still, there is no excuse for his behaviour, and as you say, forgiveness would be a difficult to come by commodity. That would be assuming she (the bride) ever found out, which is unlikely. :/
no subject
Date: 2002-08-11 09:10 am (UTC)*snicker.*
Date: 2002-08-11 01:06 pm (UTC)