Days in the Life of a Pattaya Hotel Owner

So yet again, a trip away from Pattaya sees another series of calamities having befallen me. The most serious problem on my plate was one of my own making — caused, albeit unwittingly, through my own veritable stupidity, but I will come to that later. I had departed Pattaya for a week in Udon Thani to undertake some editing and get a handle on how my book’s sequel is panning out. I would then be traveling back to Bangkok to meet Peter who was arriving for another one of his trips. We would then both return to Pattaya — I specifically to the bosom of Mrs. Boss. To go away on my own is always seen through less than rose-tinted glasses by my wife. Eventually, though, I am able to sufficiently convince her that I need the peace, quiet and my own space in which to concentrate on my writing over extended periods. Despite my explanations as to what I am doing — and how disciplined I need to be to achieve the objectives I have set myself — such trips as still regarded by her as a holiday. Rising at 07:00 and then staring at my manuscript and/or a computer screen for eight to nine hours is not a bloody holiday. It is not some fun experience that allows me endless hours drinking and partying by night — such extravagances would render me incapable of concentration the next day and rather defeat the object of the exercise. I actually find myself becoming increasingly agitated by the lack of understanding shown towards my writing efforts. Perhaps when the large royalty cheques come pouring into the Meacher bank account that will change…then again, perhaps not.

An incident free journey followed by a smooth check in at the Charoensri Grand Hotel, in the centre of Udon Thani, saw me settled by early Friday evening. I decided to go out for a meal and a beer or two…and almost achieved that goal. The fact that the meal was replaced by an extension of my intended stay in the chosen bar meant I had consumed far more alcohol than had been the plan and would render Saturday a nonstarter. Never mind — I still had almost a full week in which to play catch up. I was moving rooms within the hotel on the Sunday so had mentally written that off as a work day and spent another night having a few too many drinks and feeling sore headed the following day. Mindful of the ridiculous scenario that had unfolded on my last visit to this hotel, where a change of rooms was necessary, I ventured to the reception counter with some little hesitancy and a case load of trepidation. I was most certainly not in the mood to play out another situation which saw me having to literally check out of the hotel, walk through the main doors and then immediately back into the hotel and reregister, all for a simple change of rooms.

The receptionist advised me that my new room would now not be available until 14:00 that afternoon as the incumbent guest had requested, and been granted, a late check out. I was not overjoyed at this news, but smiled and accepted my fate. I returned to my room, attempted to start some work and gave up after five minutes. At 14:30 I returned to the reception to enquire as to whether I was now able to move rooms only to be told the late check out had been extended to 16:00. Okay now I was a little agitated but as I have proven myself to be incapable of doing any work this day I returned to my room without much of a fuss and there settled down to watch a movie. Fifteen minutes later the room phone rang and a sweet voiced receptionist enquired, “Is that Mr. Mitcher?”

“Well yes, it is Meacher actually but yes, this is me.”

“You late check out and not tell hotel, what time you leave.”

“No I am not checking out I am moving rooms.’

“But you have to leave your room at 12:00 and it now nearly three in afternoon.”

“Yes, thank you I know what the time is. The fact is though that I am waiting for my new room to be made ready. You have given the guest in that room a late check-out and then an extension of that late check out and done so without ever bothering to tell me what was happening. I have now been waiting around for over two hours to move rooms and still, as I understand it, have another hour or more to wait.”

“So what time you check out.”

“When my new room is ready.”

“Where your new room?”

“I do not know, you are the hotel receptionist, I am the guest, it is surely up to you to tell me.”

“I tell you check out”

There was now this overwhelming feeling of déjà vu and I really was not mentally equipped to deal with another completely ridiculous, almost comic-book situation. Does this ever happen to other people? Is it only me that the fates decree should be subjected to such inanities? Instead of racing downstairs and confronting the receptionist I decided to simply put down the phone and return to watching the movie. What, after all, were they going to do? The answer to that question, of course, is more than I ever imagined. And I’ll be revealing that ridiculous tale shortly.