Hell Freezes Over: The Ballad of Joan and Olga

There are certain things I don't imagine myself doing.  Competing in the 2012 Summer Olympics.  Memorizing the formula for glue (anyone get that reference?).  Long division.  Then there are those things that not only do I not picture myself doing, but things that I under NO circumstances ever want to do.  Eat salmon.  Throw out good wine.  Camp.  However, this past week I was confronted with something that I never planned on doing, and in fact would have laughed at the thought of.  What was it you ask?  Why, this past week I helped a woman achieve orgasm.

Allow me to explain.  The hotel I work, star of much past ridiculata documented here, has in every guest room a small pamphlet detailing items available for purchase.  This pamphlet is known as The Pleasure Chest.  The Pleasure Chest contains items ranging from vibrators to dildoes to butt plugs to a pair of rhinestone-studded handcuffs  (because nothing classes up a joint like bedazzling some bed-time restraints).  On this fine evening of which I write, a lovely woman, let's call her Joan, called down to Guest Services and requested Item #105 from the Pleasure Chest, which (for those of your with prurient interests) is a Rabbit Vibrator made famous years ago by Sex & The City.  Joan was completely unashamed about her request, to which I say congratulations!  Get your freak on!  I told her I'd have it sent to her room and hung up.

This is where the entire operation starts to go slightly awry.  Whose job is it to deliver sex toys to rooms, you wonder?  Why, it's the Housekeepers' responsibility (though I always thought it should have gone to Room Service..."Your butt plug on silver platter, sir!").  So I get on the radio to inform the Housekeeper that we have an order. 

"Guest Services to Housekeeping," I said "Room 1607 would like to order Item #105 from The Pleasure Chest."

"Copy!" the radio squawked back.

I happily moved on with my evening, which I'm sure consisted of nothing resembling work.  Approximately fifteen minutes passed and the phone rang again.  It was Joan and it seemed that the delivery of vibrator to vibratee did not go as planned.  Apparently, when I passed on the message to the Housekeeping Manager, (let's call her Olga) the message was not received.  Olga, you see, was born and raised somewhere in Eastern Europe and to say that English is her second language is generous.  Olga, upon hearing my message, got right on her duties and promptly delivered an iron and ironing board to Joan.  I'm sure somewhere out there, there is some housewife that has a dirty little secret about her ironing board, but apparently Joan did not wish to pleasure herself atop a pressing table. 

In a display of patience unheard of among hotel guests, Joan calmly drew out the Pleasure Chest pamphlet and showed Olga just what exactly she was requesting.  Olga, still somewhat confused, returned to the Housekeeping Office to try to find Joan's toy.  After a thorough search, Olga conquered...she found a box with the Pleasure Chest logo on it!  Proud of herself she marched right back up to Joan's room to deliver her prize.

Unfortunately, this was strike two; what Olga actually found was the intimacy kit (also provided by The Pleasure Chest, but not available in the pamphlet!) containing, among other things, condoms and lube.  And really, if a woman is trying to have a pleasant night by herself is there anything more lemon-juice-in-the-wound than sending her a pair of condoms?  Unless she's a lesbian.  But for some reason I imagine lesbians traveling with their paraphernalia.  Somehow Joan, who is now my favorite guest in history, still manages to keep her cool and calmly called me back and explained what had happened.

It's at this point that I really had to become involved.  I called Olga up to the office and pulled out The Pleasure Chest pamphlet to again go over with her what, exactly, Joan was looking for.  Olga professed to have no idea where all these sex toys were being kept, and kept shrugging her shoulders.  I'm sure you can imagine how wonderful it is to be having an extended conversation about vibrators with a woman who acts like she was brought up in a small town just outside of Transylvania.  Every time you say the word "vibrator," she thinks you're saying "vampire" and throws holy water in your face.

I realized fairly quickly that Olga was not going to be much help in this department, and had to start calling around the hotel to find out who, if anyone, would be able to locate the assorted items.  Everyone I spoke to informed me that it was Housekeeping's job to deliver said items.

"I know!" I wanted to scream, "But, goddammit, Olga doesn't know where they are, Joan has been waiting for 25 minutes to get off and for fuck's sake this is the first hotel guest I've actually like in 2011!  So if someone, ANYONE, has any idea where we can find a toy that locates a woman's g-spot, get it up to Joan's room so she can have her very hard-earned orgasm!!"

But I didn't. 

Finally, we found a Bellman who knew where the toys were kept.  Why he knew is probably a question better left unasked.  It turns out the assorted sexual accoutrement were being kept in a locked closet in the gym, which I hope will make everyone pause before they go sniffing around your hotel's fitness area looking for a towel.  I dispatched Olga to retrieve the vibrator and called Joan back.

"I'm so sorry for the confusion," I said "but your purchase is on the way right now."

"No problem!" Joan chirped, not skipping a beat. "I can't wait!"

Joan is my heroine.  I hope that that vibrator gave her a night she'll never forget.