The following is a story I wrote the company newsletter while working as a Bellman at the Hyatt at Fisherman’s Wharf newsletter back in the 1990s. The premise for the article was to gather stories from various folks in the hotel and leave it to the reader to determine if the tales were true or…tall.  Here is my entry…as it was printed in one giant block of text:

Well a few months ago, I was working an ordinary night shift: Val was smiling behind the front desk, Wilson Pineros was standing at attention in the Valet Department and I was overseeing the Front Office activities as self-appointed M.O.D. (Kimberly allowed me to call myself that if I didn’t get in the way.) Suddenly a car with three suspicious-looking characters in it screeched up to the front entrance. The passenger side door opened and out came a leather clad woman with long hair and a spandex clad man with longer hair. Was “Poison” playing a show at the Coliseum? I wondered. The driver’s door flew open and out cam the biggest, hairiest man I had ever seen. Big Foot, perhaps? The missing link? No it was the guest from hell. He kicked in the front door and sauntered (as much as one can saunter in combat steel-toed boots) to the Front Desk. He demanded a room in a broken, drunken dialect as his counterparts unloaded the car. Val’s smile soon disappeared but she was accommodating. They decided to self-park the car and they got no argument from Wilson or myself. No sooner than they went to their rooms did Kevin McCarthy come down to report to Kimberly the havoc the guests were wreaking in the halls. At Mr Solomon’s request, Kimberly called the room to get some sort of security deposit as was the normal procedure. The guest became outraged and said they were leaving immediately. I ran out to valet to tell Wilson to bring up the car, but I saw terror in his eyes. He told me there was a pit bull in the back seat of their car and that there was no way he was going to bring it up out of the garage. I slapped him twice across the face to snap him out of it – I was unsuccessful. We decided that since they brought the car down that they could bring it up. We were pleased with our decision. The hulking, hairy giant emerged from the front doors in a rage. “Where is my ****ing car!” I explained to him our brilliant deduction and he genuinely seemed to understand. His eyes returned to their natural color and he took a deep, calming breath. He leaned over and said to me in a beautiful, soothing voice, “Bring my car up…you @#(!) or I’ll …(censored)!” Needless to say I bolted down to the garage ready to carry the car up on my back if I had to. Now, we had to outwit the fanged beast in the back seat. Since Wilson was the valet, he had to do the driving. He was not amused. I had to distract the dog. The dog was not amused. I pounded on the back window, thusly whipping the dog into a feeding frenzy. Wilson, with cat-like reflexes, jumped into the drivers seat and started the car. I taunted the dog in and effort to keep Wilson alive if not but for a little while. Wilson drove off (obviously not following the speed limit of the garage) and I chased the car still taunting the dog. I don’t know what was whiter: The dogs fangs, my eyes or Wilson’s knuckles. Wilson pulled up to the front door and bolted out of the car as if it were going to explode. The giant man and his rocker sidekicks jumped into the car and sped off. The dog stared at me through the back window, vowing that he would return some day to get me. Wilson and I, with a sigh of relief, walked together back to Housekeeping to change our pants. Wilson is now living comfortably in Miami, Florida…with not a pit bull in sight!