Shriners, Shenanigans, and Stolen Sheets

Slipping into my magenta smock, feeling the cool polyester against my skin, a surge of nervousness floods me; today’s shift at the Holiday Inn is bound to be far from routine. The annual Shriners’ convention is about to begin, bringing with it the usual whirlwind of activity. Famous for their vibrant parades, distinctive costumes, and lively fellowship, the Shriners inject both excitement and a peculiar set of obstacles for the hotel cleaning staff. Maneuvering through crowded corridors filled with cheerful guests sporting fez hats, handling last-minute requests for toiletries, and tidying up after their lively gatherings add to the charged atmosphere. As I mentally brace myself for the day ahead, I remind myself that if any of the rowdy old farts get too unruly, I can always outrun them.

Employed as a “stripper” at our local Holiday Inn, my role involves speeding ahead of the housekeeping team with my laundry cart, efficiently stripping the rooms to keep operations flowing smoothly. This demanding task calls for quickness and accuracy as I must promptly remove all linens, towels, and rubbish before the cleaners arrive. Yet the Shriners’ annual presence complicates things considerably. Their drunken behavior regularly leaves rooms messy with beer cans, liquor bottles, and moved furniture, forcing me to clean up twice as quickly to finish on time. If the Shriners have all departed for their meetings, I can strip each room without difficulty, moving the laundry cart fluidly along the hallway. But if they remain inside their rooms, the challenge becomes overwhelmingly greater.

Following a brief peptalk from Rita, we each take our carts and depart housekeeping, heading toward our designated areas. At the first door I approach, I rap loudly and announce myself before stepping inside. Receiving no response, I cautiously turn the doorknob and enter to find a group of Shriners sprawled about, clearly recovering from a wild party. Their vibrant fez hats lie scattered throughout the room, and the air is thick with the residual smell of alcohol and cigarettes from earlier revelry. The sight of their plump, elderly bodies in varying stages of undress is shockingly unsettling; I quietly mutter an apology under my breath and swiftly close the door to conceal the scene.

Fortunately, the next few rooms are unoccupied, giving me the chance to swiftly strip them before the Shriners return from their meetings. Aware of the ticking clock, I move efficiently yet carefully, removing towels and picking up litter with practiced skill. The calm quietness inside the empty rooms allows me to proceed methodically, taking care not to disrupt anything further, knowing every moment is crucial to ready the rooms for the cleaning staff. There is a blend of urgency and steady rhythm in this work, and I aim to complete stripping this row of rooms before the men come back and hinder my pace.

While stripping the fifth room of the day, I am abruptly interrupted by the unmistakable loud and lively arrival of the Shriners just outside. Their raucous laughter, the clinking of beer bottles, and the steady clatter of their polished black shoes broke through the otherwise silent hotel hallway. Usually, their exuberant parades and playful behavior would lift the spirits, but as I hurried to prepare room after room, the idea of their noisy intrusion only drew a weary sigh of irritation. The stark contrast between their joyful energy and my fatigued state was palpable; they celebrated with cheer, while I longed merely for a quiet moment to finish stripping the rooms and head home before the afternoon was too far gone.

Stepping out of the room with a bundle of soiled towels in hand, I am taken aback by the sight of my laundry cart speeding down the corridor, commandeered by none other than the Shriners themselves. Clad in their bright red fezzes and beaming widely, they deftly weaved through surprised housekeeping staff, their laughter reverberating against the sterile walls. What was usually a mundane task of gathering towels had instantly transformed into a whimsical spectacle; the cart’s small wheels rattled against the industrial carpeting as they zipped between cleaning carts and sidestepped bewildered passersby. Their contagious laughter filled the hallway, turning an ordinary passage into an impromptu racetrack. For a fleeting moment, I find myself caught between frustration over my missing cart and amusement at the ridiculousness of the scene. Clearly, my laundry responsibilities have been taken over by an irrepressible group of elderly scoundrels, savoring their break away from home.

Throughout the remainder of the convention, an unexpected blend of disorder and unease arose, leaving a memorable impact. Although I had always considered the Shriners to be dignified gentlemen who brought the annual circus to town, I was taken aback to discover they became unruly and wild when left unsupervised by their wives. Each day, maids struggled to keep their carts stocked, as the men would help themselves to shampoo and extra towels whenever they passed by. Moreover, I encountered unsettling situations when several men, old enough to be my grandfather, propositioned me, which left me feeling both repulsed and exasperated. The excessive drinking only added fuel to the fire, amplifying reckless behavior and causing tensions to rise among the hotel staff as we tried to remain hospitable. By the end of the week, I was far from alone in quietly wishing them a gracious goodbye.

Once the Shriners gathered their fez hats and quietly shuffled out of the hotel, tranquility at last returned. The corridors, which had been filled with loud laughter and the noisy clatter of commandeered laundry carts, grew still, giving the exhausted housekeeping team a chance to pause and restore order. Although the week had strained my patience and determination, it also gave me a clearer insight into the behind-the-scenes difficulties in hospitality when dealing with unpredictable guests whose lively energy sometimes tipped into disorder.

In the ensuing calm, my colleagues and I shared tired smiles, aware that the chaos would become a memorable tale rather than an ongoing ordeal. As I secured my laundry cart and prepared to leave, I felt a renewed respect for the endurance needed to manage hospitality’s more turbulent moments and for the peaceful intervals that follow. Taking a deep breath, I stepped outside into the afternoon sunshine, prepared to rest, recover, and meet whatever challenges the next day might bring.