Quip List

This is a running list of all the nonthreatening banter I've used throughout the evening to endear myself to the guests in hopes of receiving tips. Be forewarned, I'm feeling particularly coy.

10:30--Young man walks across lobby bringing a pizza up to his room.
I call out, "Make sure you save some of that for us"
Then Yusuf thunderously decrees, "You will return to us seven slices!"
The young man stutters for a second by the elevator.
I look at him understandingly. "Don't worry, we're generous; one or two slices will be fine"

10:45--Man calls down asking for the location of the nearest liquor store. While I'm Google-mapping it for him, he remarks hopefully on the establishment of a bar in the back of the hotel. "That would be nice," he says.
"That would be nice for all of us," I say knowingly.

10:50--Young man comes down and wordlessly drops off two slices of pizza with pineapple and a variety of meats on a plate of cardboard torn from the box. The slices look wet. I try to protest that he is being too kind, but in vain.

10:55--Small, older man with glasses comes in, stops at the front desk, and grimaces at the pizza.
"Where did that come from?" he wonders.
"A....well-intentioned guest," I stammer graciously. (Update: it's 3:45 in the morning and I am now eating that pizza)

11:45--In an elevator with a Spanish couple. The husband does not speak any English, but the wife does.
Me, to the husband, using my 4th-grade Spanish, "Como estas? Allegre? Trieste?"
"Allegre,"says the husband with a puzzled half-grin, "Y tu?"
"Allegre," I nod vigorously.
Awkward pause. "Pocito espanol," I say dumbly.
We are nearing their floor. Woman tries helpfully to say something very simple in Spanish, but I don't have a clue. "Pocito pocito," I say.
"Where are you from?" she asks with a little exasperation as they exit the elevator.
"North Carolina," I say quickly, sheepishly.
The doors start to close. A flash of inspiration! I look up. "Carolina del Norte!" I exclaim triumphantly. But she is gone, and the doors have closed.

2:30--4 people stumble in, one of them, a small woman, absolutely flailing. "He looks like ANDY!" she screams, "my brother Andy!" She turns to me. "Is your name Andy?" She wonders, lolling, then wanders off to the other side of the lobby.
I decide to mess with her. "Yes," I say, just loud enough for her to hear, but indirect enough so that it takes about three seconds to register in her appletini-addled brain.
"WHAT?!?" she shrieks, and comes flying across the room and throwing her arms onto the desk.
Her husband/God, I don't care/brother is chuckling, but he's wondering just a little if it might be true. "Is it really?" he asks.
I pause for just a second, but I can tell that to them, especially Tipsy McStaggers, it is excruciating.
"No," I whisper, and bow my head with an evil grin as pandemonium ensues.