If the guests aren’t complaining, they’re wandering around naked
I have worked in my family’s hotel for almost all of my life. It’s seasonal, as in any coastal town. I started out washing up and prepping in the kitchens on Friday nights and in the school holidays, moved into the restaurant as a waiter, then on to front of house and finally into management. As with any smaller business, there is really no such thing as “I’m a chef” or “I’m a housekeeper”; everyone mucks in.
We once had a team of senior cricket players who came back a little worse for wear after hitting the local cider. I don’t know if they had lost or won, but one guy locked himself out of his room naked and made his way down to the bar looking for the toilet. That has happened multiple times with people who come home drunk from weddings – my mum once had to climb through a window to help a lady who had got stuck, naked, in the bath for about five hours. We have also found a female guest wearing a long skirt pleasuring herself on the patio, fully embracing her audience.
