The Innkeeper Chronicles: What's In A Name?

            ConfessInns:
      The Innkeeper Chronicles
                                  Secrets Unleashed

What's In A Name?

I have a friend named Joe. Joe looks very much like what you may imagine a ‘Joe' to look like. Not that every Joe looks alike, but this Joe - if you ever were to see him - you would say, “Now that guys looks like a 'Joe'." I know this other person named Joe too. He also looks very much like a ‘Joe’. This second Joe doesn’t look too much like the first, but if you were ever to see Joe #2 you’d probably say “Now that guy looks like a ‘Joe’ too. I met another man once that was also named Joe. For the sake of remaining chronological, let’s call him Joe #3 for now. This Joe did not look like a ‘Joe’ at all. At first I thought his resemblance to be more representative of a Felix or Franklin. It’s strange how some people fit right into their names as though their parents were somehow clairvoyant in matching it to their future likeness and others seem to have a much more awkward fit all together.

One day after a meeting with the Housekeeping staff in the Birch Room, one of the cozy conference rooms located on the first floor, I walked to the Front Desk to speak with Stephanie about picking up an extra afternoon shift over the upcoming weekend. When I arrived she was checking-in a guest, so I stood waiting for a few minutes flipping through brochures in a rack nearby and pretending to read their contents as they finished up. As it turned out, the pen Stephanie handed the guest to sign his registration card was dry as a bone. Since Stephanie had her head down making key cards at that particular moment and since I was failing miserably in feigning interest about the local hiking trail site map - I handed him a pen from my pocket.

“Welcome to the Inn,” I said as I pointed it at him, “How long will you be staying with us?”

“A few weeks or so, maybe longer,” he replied, taking the pen from my fingertips.

He signed his name and initialed by the rate as Stephanie had instructed him, “How long can I keep this rate - that is, if I need to extend?” He asked with his head down.

“Well, Mr. Webber, the coupon code you used online is good for five days,” she said placing his key packet on the desk beside him. “Can I have someone help you with your bags?”

Mr. Webber placed my pen into his pocket, slid his registration card forward to Stephanie, grabbed his room keys and grunted, “No need,” then he lifted three or four white plastic grocery bags which sat on the floor by his feet. He tied them together creating a common center knot that made the heaps of plastic look like puffy white flower petals.

“The elevators are this way,” I interjected to fill the lingering silence while gesturing with my vacant, pen-less hand, “have a wonderful stay, Mr. Webber; sleep well.”

He walked past me without a glance and barked, “Call me, Joe.”

Right away I thought about the odd fit of his name. I would have guessed Fredrick or maybe even Fitch before Joe any day. His awkward and off-putting personality had little to do with this thought however. I’ve never met any Fred or Fitch that reminded me of this strange fellow, actually as the level of weird increased over the course of his stay it became apparent that I had met no one at all like Mr. Joe Webber before.

Each encounter Joe had with the staff and myself seemed to top the last. The man clearly had little or nothing to do all day and just paced around the lobby making other guests feel uncomfortable and changing the TV channel in the sitting area to old western movies. I made it a point to speak with him as often as possible to monitor his mental state and encouraged the staff to do so as well. A few days into his stay he started becoming more comfortable with his surroundings. Soon it was he that spoke to us as often as possible; most conversations followed this order:

1.) Joe asks a ridiculous question. (“What brand of mulch is used around the bushes outside?”)
2.) Joe states an uneducated opinion. (“Mulch is bad for the bushes, you should use pebbles and rocks so the roots can get more water.”)
3.) Joe avoids eye-contact and shows disinterest while the person he just posed the ridiculous question and uneducated opinion to, tries to figure out how to respond to such insanity.
4.) Joe randomly interrupts with completely off-topic…let’s say ‘frugal’ inquiries. (“Do I need to order a cup of coffee to have a bunch of those little creamers?”; “Does my rate go down if I don’t need housekeeping for a few days?”; “Can you give me a list of local restaurants that serve dinner for under $10?”)

I can understand a traveler’s desire to keep expenses to a minimum, but this Joe was just plain cheap. Every freebie, sample, coupon, or minor complaint that would be rewarded with a discount was sucked up - post haste…Joe was the King of Discounts. He first checked in for fives days per his internet coupon rate, but on the day of his departure he made another reservation from the hotel’s business center to arrive that same day using another coupon. He did the same again when that offer expired and so on and so on until our dear Joe was a guest for over a two months.

I had seen Joe nearly every day of his first two months at the Inn and I recall only three different variations of the same basic outfit he wore over that time. Then, seemingly out of nowhere things began to change. He began dressing much better, shaving more often and trimming his unibrow. Joe even had a girl or two on a few occasions and returned some evenings with take-out bags from much more upscale restaurants than would cater to his dollar menu requirements up to that point. He hung around the lobby much less often and asked fewer questions. He stopped stealing coffee creamers from the dining room and extended his stay for another month in an upgraded suite without any discounts.

The staff wondered about the sudden changes and hypothesized about him having won the lottery or being switched out for a cleaner, wealthier twin brother. For the life of me, I could still not get over how his name terribly mismatched his face. (Maybe Fabian or Floyd would fit better, but I digress.)

A few days before his third month came to a close, I received a call in my office from the Front Desk as I sorted through the day’s emails. Nelson told me that there were some men in the lobby to see me and that I should hurry.

I closed my office door for a moment and adjusted my tie in the mirror behind it. Then I flew out to the hall and B-lined it straight to the Front Desk where I spotted four men in black suits and ties milling around each other with two uniformed police officers in tow.

The men in the suits ranged in age from fifty-five down to about thirty and they all looked equally intimidating and intense. The oldest stepped forward after I introduced myself to the herd.

“My name is Special Agent Claude Malkison. I understand you may have a guest here by the name of Joe Webber,” he said glaring.

What happens next in this situation is that I say five simple words. The answer will be simple as well and absolutely definitive in dictating how/if we go any further…

“Do you have a warrant?”

It is the requirement and policy of every hotel I have known, that guest information is sacred and protected. This goes for all anonymous callers, ex-spouses, family members and yes - law enforcement too. Unless of coarse, direct permission is given by the guest or inquirer has a warrant. Police and agents like those that stood before me know how it works and usually won’t waste time asking if they don’t have one.

The second oldest of the four Suits raised a blue folder, “Here you go,” he said.

My eyes danced around the page and I quickly spotted the name Joe Webber, however it was listed in a section labeled “Aliases.” His other names included Mike Tobber, Nick Popper and Tony Langetti. The document was legal and allowed for the complete search of his room and vehicle as well as a direction to apprehend him immediately. I instructed the front desk to provide the Suits with any and all information they required and soon after they left the lobby with the officers to head for Joe’s room.

The only one of the men that stayed behind happened to be the youngest, “Probably not seasoned enough to come along for the bust,” I thought. He was quite pleasant once we were alone and very loose-lipped.

The young Suit told me that Joe had taken a cruise with his wife five months previous and had never returned. His wife reported him missing and it was ruled that he had suffered some kind of accident and fallen to his death from the ship. The authorities were immediately suspicious due to a very large insurance policy which was collected months later. Large withdrawals were then made from her account and wired to newly opened checking accounts under each of the alias listed. He would hide out until the money came in and they would fly out of the country when the time was right.

The trouble for Joe was that the police had been putting increased pressure on the wife as time went on and finally managed to convinced her to spill the beans about their plot to fake his death.

I realized at this point that I had neglected to look for Joe’s real name on the warrant and casually asked to see it again. First Name: ‘Fletcher’ - I should have known.

~The Innkeeper

*Next Chronicle Post: Saturday *