Everyone has a story about bad customer service. We share these stories with glee, more than happy to bemoan the waitress who brought you diet Coke instead of root beer, or the shop clerk that didn't call the store in the next state over to see if they had your size. We never hesitate to roll our eyes at the person on the other end of the tech support line that asks of you tried rebooting your computer, and who hasn't stage whispered as soon as we were placed on hold, "This guy has no idea what's going on."

Perish the thought that it could indeed be us that's clueless and obnoxious. We have every right to demand our ever whim be catered to, and that it be done with a smile and a, "Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Thank you for choosing to do business with us!" After all, it's their job, right?

In my experience, hotel employees fall victim to this line of thinking more than any other branch of the service industry. They are ever portrayed as pompous and apathetic, or empty-headed and nauseatingly chipper. But a strange thing happens to people when they check into a hotel. They morph from practical, sane humans into entitled jackasses that don't understand instructions as simple as, "turn left."

I invite you to see what life looks like on the other side of the registration desk. We are police officers, breaking up prostitution rings; we are gods of the elements, receiving prayers to break away the fog that's blocking your view, or create snow in the middle of July; we are magicians, expected to conjure up rooms that don't exists at the drop of a hat; we are wedding planners; we are grief counselors; we are the captive audience; we are translators; we are forever apologizing for things we had nothing to do with and we do it all with a smile. We are the few, the proud, the hospitality workers.