It has been said that damage to the frontal lobe of your brain can cause residual effects in the form of loss of the ability to recognize future consequences and a disregard for personal safety. Additionally, this can predispose an individual to a particular future occupation. Confused? Don’t worry, that’s not a symptom. Put simply, this means that if your parents had lost their grip on you at some point on the way to the mailbox one day and they dropped you face first on the sidewalk in such a way as to create this type of permanent damage to the front part of your brain - then you are more than likely to choose your occupation from a much smaller and very select list; one that requires a disregard for your own safety and self-preservation.

This short list includes: race car driver, police officer and serial murderer.

If you should find yourself in this position, the difference between becoming someone that voluntarily straps themselves into a two-ton vehicle for the purposes of obtaining deathly speeds while outmaneuvering several other individuals in similar conditions – or arming themselves with a gun and a badge in an effort to fight crime while risking death at the hands of societies worst – or even still, becoming societies worst, moving in secret, stalking, murdering, perhaps dismembering and/or consuming their victims one at a time to fulfill their thirsty blood-lust all depends on one pivotal moment in time; a moment that gives you a nudge in one particular direction.

This moment could be during that summer when your older cousin ran the roller coaster at the local fair and let you ride for free, despite your not having reached the age requirement. Your strap yourself in and feel the rush of adrenaline as you hit 0-Gs on the first drop. Maybe it was that afternoon you spent quality time with your grandfather; a man you loved and respected. You joined him in watching his favorite cop show and began to transpose that love and respect to the ‘dedicated law enforcement officers’, those selfless do-gooders risking their own mortality for the sake of the common-man. Then again, it could be that simple stroll through the woods that one autumn evening and the discovery of a dead animal. You can’t help but to be fascinated by its exposed entrails, the pool of blood near the body beginning to brown and the preliminary signs of rigor mortis setting in. Any of these could potentially send you down a similarly risky, yet all-together very different road in life.      

To the best of my knowledge, I was not dropped on my head a child – though it is entirely possible that if I was, it only affected memories of traumatic blows to the head. Still, I recognize the pivotal moment in time that shaped my fate – along with the aid of my own personal mental idiosyncrasy…

As a child, (frontal lobe fully intact), I would often lie in bed at night and ponder all those who inhabited that space in a different time before me. Whether at home, a relative’s house or a childhood sleepover – my thoughts remained the same: Who rested in this same space before me? What were their names and what kind of personalities did they have? Did they have joy here? Did they have strife? Was this the room where they learned of a family member’s passing? Was this the room they received news of great fortune? Who were they and what were their stories?

As you can imagine, this type of mentality created a very knowledgeable teenage history buff – a good outlet for such an obsession, but it wasn’t until a rare moment at age sixteen that would steer me towards a profession that provides the opportunity to be a perpetual fly on the wall.

In my mid-teens I acted quite frequently in community theater and equity houses. These types of live theaters often survive, due in great part, to the dedicated and consistent attendance of its most loyal patrons season after season. One such patron was a woman named Jeri Nardone. This lanky, stringy haired ‘woman of a certain age’ loved the theater and her community and never missed a show. She was soft-spoken, generous and outwardly appreciative to cast members; we got to know each other well. Then, one day I mentioned my intent to find my first real-world, punch a clock, non-musical job. Jeri Nardone, who was well connected in several facets on the community, told me about a new hotel opening at the edge of town – my fate was sealed.

There are an endless number of reasons to stay at a hotel: a family vacation, an affair, a house fire, a deceased out-of-town relative or even a common business trip. Despite the cause however, each guest brings with them a unique story, an individual personality, quirks, demands, complaints and desires – all overlapping in an endless cycle with one common factor: the hotel; a building holding moments in time and unspoken secrets. For the hotel’s innkeeper, it is a daily practice of patience, discretion and unyielding creativity to hold it all together.  

My confessinns will detail various experiences and acquaintances obtained over the span of three decades in the hotel industry, throughout various parts of the county, working in every conceivable hotel position including Food & Beverage, Front Desk, Housekeeping, Sales and Executive Operational Management. I will disclose insider knowledge, secrets and tales about the Inn, its staff and guests as well as travel tips previously unavailable for public consumption. You will come to know me as The Innkeeper; I will change the names of the individuals to protect their identities and refer to the corresponding hotels as The Inn. 

Hotels offer a simple room key as the promise of satisfaction and comfort with walls that guarantee privacy and trust, but for this Innkeeper – it’s time to make some ConfessInns.


~The Innkeeper