You Can Trust Me. I'm a Doctor

When I opened my business I agreed to uphold the Hospitality Industries Code of Conduct to respect the rights, dignity and professional integrity of clients and guests.

As I was naïve I believed that travellers were honest until I accommodated Dr Knowles from the UK for four days.

He told me that he had only booked at Terrylin as I looked as though I needed his business, and his mate in Sandton was on holiday and they got mixed up with his arrival.

On his departure he asked me to call for a taxi immediately to take him to Kyalami Estates.

Dr Knowles then requested the following:

Three separate invoices. One for accommodation and meals. The second for internet usage and clothes washing. The third for transport.

I printed these and Dr Knowles presented me with three credit cards.

"But, I also need some cash for spending money. At least R1000. You can debit each card as follows, R200 on this one, R300 on the next one and the balance on the third," he said.

I give him R1 000 and the taxi driver arrived.

"Let him in and tell him I'll be out soon," continued Dr Knowles. "In the meantime, I will put the cards through and sign the slips just to help you."

The 'phone rang. Dr Knowles' mate. "Just tell him I'm on my way. Can't talk now", he said and told the driver to hurry up.

Later I realised that the good doctor had conned me out of R2 420 and I called him on his mate's landline.

Dr Knowles: "Where did you get this number?"

"From my 'phone," I told him.

"Ha, Ha. I didn't know South Africa was so advanced. Anyway, I knew I had scored. Tell you what you can meet me at the airport when I leave. Not sure what day yet. You can trust me. I am a doctor. Or, I can refund you from the U.K. This will be better as I can't come over to you now. And you don't know where I am."

"Yes, I do," I replied. "The taxi driver has given me the address. Tell you what, e-mail me your card details authorising the debit or I can collect this from you. Tell your mate I am on my way."

The e-mail arrived in minutes with - I hope you are happy. You overcharged me anyway. I have a good mind to send a review to TripAdvisor letting everyone know what a con artist you are.

Five years on, I am still waiting for the review.

Pissed Poppy

With unhappy and frustrated guests unable to secure flights home because of the Icelandic chaos, there were those in tears hurtling off the airport to queue and queue with one, saying:

"There has been a death in the family. We need a plane now."

Before Terrylin opened Maria told me: "I have been touting at the airport for over 10 years offering accommodation to stranded guests and earning commission."

The problem is that Maria has a daughter from hell, Poppy.

Poppy loves gambling, drinking, smoking and causing trouble all at the same time.

Maria calls Steven to fetch a guest.

Poppy: "Do you know how to order a pizza for this gentleman?"

At the same time, another guest asks for a bigger bed.

Poppy: "My mom can get a bigger commission at a place with a bigger bed."

The baffled guest asks to go back to the airport.

Steven returns again with an exhausted couple who ask him to buy them two bottles of wine. They drink one and offer the other to me.

Poppy: "No, don't worry. I'll take that. I haven't had a drop in ages."

I hand over the bottle on condition that she leaves, and off she staggers.

The following day Maria, flush with commission decides to treat herself and Poppy:

"Steve, please take us to the Mall and fetch us later, around 2. We'll be waiting."

They are nowhere to be found. Steven drives to the airport, to be told by a driver that Maria and Poppy are at the Casino gambling.

At midnight, Steven receives a call from Maria who has 10 guests willing to sleep anywhere, even on the couches or in the bath.

Steven returns with no guests only a skint Maria and Pissed Poppy cadging a lift home.

So, we learn as we go along.

Taxi Tales

Ewan asks me to call for a taxi.

Once I have done this he then asks another guest, Michael, if he would like to share the fare?

"No thanks, I was overbooked at the place around the corner. As I am a frequent guest, they offered me free transport to the airport this morning," replies Michael.

I call the place around the corner to confirm. Maggie, on morning shift and like Manuel, from Fawlty Towers knows nothing.

But she will send the driver over.

Impatient Ewan jumps into the guesthouse van and off they go.

The taxi driver then arrives.

He wants his fare from Michael who refuses to pay.

"Please, sort this out. This is not my fault," says Michael.

I call the guesthouse and the owner came over, paid the driver and Michael left.

Then Kingsley asks me to call for a taxi.

What are the odds? The same driver arrives and Mishaek says: "I am going to have a quick shower."

Later, Kingsley says: "I thought the taxi fare was included. Why can't you take me for free?"

The driver has now had it: "You asked for me to fetch you, didn't you. Get into the car and pay me."

The last couple to leave ask: "Where is the nearest petrol station? We need to fill up."

So tankful, am I.

But, with a major headache I swallowed two Dulcolax instead of Panado.

Now I still have the headache, and the runs.

African Adventures

The e-mails usually begin with a standard format:

Hello, do you have a bed available for me on .... and, can you fetch me from the airport? How much will this cost?

Nell asked this and there were more e-mails to follow -

Hi, me again, just one question - Could you organise a tour for me to the Kruger Park, Pilanesburg, Lost City, Lion and Rhino Parks, Victoria Falls, Swaziland, Lesotho, Cape Town and Mozambique.

No, Nell, I reply, the logistics would be impossible. Please contact a travel agent. They are qualified to do this.

But they will charge me for that and I need your help, Nell replies. I think I'll go to the Kruger Park first, then Cape Town, then to the Lost City and Pilansberg and then Victoria Falls, Swaziland and Lesotho.

I google seven budget safari tours, e-mail them and forward the information to her.

I cannot afford this. Didn't I say I was on a strict budget? is her reply.

Now I am the hell-in. This took me two hours, I tell her. Now she is on her own.

Two weeks later. - I never knew it was so much work and so many options.

I thought Cape Town, Lesotho, Swaziland, Lost City, Mozambique and Zimbabwe were within driving distance from your hostel and I only intended to spend one night at your hostel anyway.

This is why I did not understand your e-mails about flights and visas.

Anyway, I have booked the tour to the Kruger Park and will be going there directly.

But, I still need your help with the rest of my African Adventures.

Will you have availability for a dorm bed in about two months time?

Brenda, an ex-colleague calls for an update.

We natter for a while and she says: "My, you are so lucky to have retired at your age."

I, the Bitch.

'Tis amazing how many locals acquire foreign accents when up to nonsense. Three arrive from the 'States'.

With thirty two years of combined hostel-running experience and much advice, I asked:

"What must I do with the items guests leave behind?"

"If they do not contact you within in a month take their things to the welfare," they all nod in agreement.

After they leave I open the wardrobe and find a bag of wet smelly clothing, mouldy bread and a TV.

I 'phone them. Collection is arranged for the following day. Three days go by. I have dumped their clothing in the garden shed.

I 'phone again and tell them I am dropping off their belongings at the welfare.

Two hours later they arrive:

"You are a bitch," I am told, "and you can give us petrol money to travel back to Pretoria."

The nerve.

Frank, rings the doorbell: "I want to stay for the night. The wife, the bitch threw me out. I will tell you the whole story."

He starts unpacking his car. Not even a rock star has so much luggage. There is a microwave oven and a TV. There was even a desk and a chair.

"This is not going to work," I tell him.

"All you women are bitches," he replies.

Another local, wearing a turban, asks for accommodation for four, from the Middle East for a week.

"But, I would like to inspect the premises first," he demands.

"Why?" I ask, "the place is not for sale."

"My business associates are very fussy about cleanliness and security. They can bath together, eat together and work together, but as their countries are at war they cannot sleep together. Or, with anyone else, he continues.

"This is a backpackers hostel," I say, "with beds in dorm rooms."

"They'll need a dorm room each but I will only pay for one bed."

"And, if I have other guests, what then?" I say.

"Well, you do not have any other guests this morning, do you?" he replies smugly.

"Yes, I do. They are hanging from a hook behind the door," I say.

As he leaves, he mumbles: "Bitch!"

Water Woes

The rain is often a main topic of discussion: "When? How often? How much? Does it also rain in Cape Town?"

I reply: "It usually rains here, along with hail, thunder and lighting, in the evening, from about 5pm."

"It's now 5oh5, and it's not raining yet."

Or, if it rains at around 3pm.

"Is it 5 o'clock, already?"

Then the bell will ring during a downpour and a potential guest will say over the intercom.

"I have questions, but I need to see you outside. What have you done to the weather?"

Adele, treating her elderly mom to a holiday at Kruger, asked me why we had to switch off our electricity and geysers at certain times? Her mother was very offended because where they came from geysers were old people.

One morning, I wake up to the sound of gushing water. Dash outside. Burst geyser. I 'phone a plumber.

"What is the problem?" he asked: "Are you sure the geyser has burst? How is water flow, fast or slow? Have you checked, if there is perhaps not another problem? Is there a drip tray? How old is the geyser? What is the capacity? What is the make and model?"

Now, how would I know?

On his arrival, he asks for a ladder and I am told that the geyser has not burst, so he installs a new element.

The following morning, I hear water again, this time a little closer.

The bathroom has flooded! The plumber arrives, with a bewildered look on his face, and fiddles about:

"All sorted, Madam."

The following morning, kaboom!

The plumber tells me he is not coming back. Spend three hours finding another one, who installs a new geyser.

The following morning, no water.

"I was in the shower and you have no hot water. What do you mean, none at all? Oh well, I'll just have to swim now."

Steven drives to the Council, and later hurtles into the driveway as though avoiding a twister:

"Some idiot forgot to fill the reservoir." (A joke, right?) "But, the water will be on, at 12."

At 3pm, the taps are not even gurgling.

Steven pacifies me: "Maybe they are filling the reservoir with hosepipes."

I picture them, dangling their legs over the edge, while at Terrylin there are seven bogged toilets.

Our First Guests

When I was still naïve, I allowed the following:


At 2 am, two ladies arrive and ask to do an inspection of the rooms both speaking at the same time.

Once the momentous decision has been made I call them to reception.

After 15 minutes, another decision is made of which credit card to use. Five are declined.

"We are sooo tired. Why can't we just pay in the morning?" one asks

"Can you cook us some meat and eggs, now. We are sooo hungry," asks the other.

"It is 3am," I reply. You can have a light breakfast in the morning."

"But, can we order dinner now? Please call someone as we would like to see Johannesburg and Soweto tomorrow."

At the breakfast table: "Where are the meat and eggs?"

"At the supermarket," I reply.

"Did you forget to organise the tour?"

After an hour long discussion I make the boooking. The guide is on his way.

"Will there be an interpreter?"

"Please cancel the tour. We do not have any money. Please call a taxi."

Four calls later - the time changes from now, to just now, to now-now, to later.

Steven then steps in and confirms that the taxi is on its way.

"You are so unkind. We can change our minds as often as we like." They grin at each other.

Then I am followed around.

"Is this a fridge, no?"

"Is this a microwave oven, no?"

"Is this a swimming pool in the back garden, no?"

"Is these posters of Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley on the walls, yes."

"No, that's Steven and me," I reply. They look at me as though I am mad.

"We are going to report you to the Tourism Department."

But not before I report them to the Mental Health Department.