Another from the car rental days
The frontline desk monkeys in the Terminal hated two groups with a passion that made the Daily Mail's displeasure with illegal immigrant single mother asylum seeking paedophiles look like a minor peeve.

1. Central Reservations.

We'd arrive at sparrowfart, expecting a 'normal' (i.e. manic) day, and the reservations printout was greeted with utter horror as it unrolled scroll-like across the desk at 6 am.

What the bloody hell?

Someone had late-booked about 50 extra rentals. Including automatics, estates, people carriers and two Mercedes. You know, the stuff we need 24 hours to get in.

And had we been given the slightest teeny tiny hint that bunging on 50 extra units with no notice might be a tad of a problem?

Naah.

And the first flights were due in NOW.

The day was spent shouting at operations to "get me as many transporters as exist in the known Galaxy over here now as they've just stuck another dozen bookings on *glances* AAAAARRRRRGGGHHHH make that fifteen *sobs* please give me cars, I'll have your babies", followed by sub-renting (at full daily rate) from the grinning gits at Hertz and Avis who knew exactly what our Central Reservations were like......oh, and breaking the land speed record on the trip to the petrol station to refill the units that the thoughtless bastards had returned on fumes.

The Branch Manager went home in tears, leaving muggins to kiss the feet of the returning punters who brought their cars back tidy and refuelled (they'd be getting the free upgrade from an Escort to an E-Class next time) and subvocally curse the overseas customers who invariably left them resembling a charity shop's skip with at least three parking tickets outstanding, but I digress.

12 or 14 hours into this lovely shift of Doom, last flight for the day lands. We have scraped together every spare rental unit in the known world, and have just survived the day.

Generic Bloke-In-Suit waddles up to the desk, waving Amex Gold (in the days when it meant something) and bellows "I need a car" (fuck me, THAT'S why you're at the car hire desk, I thought you wanted an ice-cream) in full plummy member-of-the-golf-club-and-pretend-I-went-to-Eton tones.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?" (Oh God, they've done it to me again)

"I can't be bothered with all that, I'm in a hurry, what have you got, I need something decent"

"Sorry Sir, we're fully book..."

"DON'T GIVE ME THAT. DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?"

"Errm, no.."

"WHAT SORT OF CAR HIRE FIRM HAS NO CARS AVAILABLE?"

*Sotto Voce 'A Busy One'*

"Sorry Sir, I physically don't have any cars available, I'm waiting on some that are due back and a transporter but it could be a while. Have you tried one of the other firms?"

(NB I was already a smidge doubtful about giving him a car as he smelt of booze)

"I ALWAYS USE THIS FIRM, MY COMPANY HAS AN ACCOUNT (So why wave the Gold Card, thinks I?) I DEMAND A CAR RIGHT NOW"

"I'm sorry, we have no cars available. You can have the next one that comes back in, but I don't know when..."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KNOW. ARE YOU COMPLETELY USELESS? I WANT YOUR NAME"

*Grits teeth*

*Taps name-badge on chest*

"My name is right there Sir, would you like me to write it down for you?"

*Customer goes slightly purpler, as if his head was someone's bellend who was receiving a slightly too enthusiastic hand-job*

"However, I'll ask if Avis have a spare car for you, and it'll be at your corporate rate"

"HGNN...ERRM"

Avis do.

Credit card declined.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN DECLINED?" "WHY CAN'T I PAY USING MY COMPANY ACCOUNT" "Your account is not with Avis, Sir"

The purple-headed one ping pongs back to me.

"I WANT A CAR RIGHT NOW"

"As I said, Sir, you can wait for the next one to come back, or if you're staying locally we can have one delivered tomorrow morning? When I actually have some?"

"THAT'S NOT GOOD ENOUGH.I WANT YOUR NAME"

*taps ID badge with barely restrained insane rage*

"It's still the same, Sir, would you like me to write it down for you again?"

His Purple-ness stomps across to the Airport Info Desk, no doubt to complain to someone who wouldn't give a fuck. And then to the payphones (yes, I'm that old).

And then back to me.

"I'VE BEEN ON TO YOUR HEAD OFFICE"

"That's odd, they closed three hours ago, however do go on..."

*OH SHIT HE'S BEEN ON TO CENTRAL RESERVATIONS*

"Here's my booking reference, NOW GET ME MY FUCKING CAR"

Soo, Mr Purply got a car. One reserved for a customer first thing in the morning, who had booked in advance, like normal people do.

Oh, and he later tried to avoid payment by claiming I had threatened to kick his head in, petrol bomb an orphanage and rape a baby seal among various other offences in an inarticulate letter to head office. However old Mr Purple chops had missed a couple of things. Like the audience of about fifty people, the CCTV camera, and the fully uniformed and heavily armed pair of coppers standing twenty feet away. Who coincidentally pulled him over quarter of a mile down the airport bypass ten minutes later...

So, the two most hated?

1. Central Reservations (or rather the company policy to never refuse a booking, even when ludicrous)

2. The twat on the information desk who would tell dickheads who hadn't booked at the peak of holiday/business rush 'Go and call this number, that company will always give you a car'

As for Mr Shouty? Naah. Having a Heckler & Koch up the snotter when he got shouty with the copper who pulled him over on suspicion of being pissed (having witnessed the above) seemed like a good enough result to me.

And he was only going to the airport Hilton, after all.
(osok Rebel without a clue, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 14:27, Reply)