The pizza imp
"I worked night audit (overnight shift) for three years at an Embassy Suites in a medium-sized city. I loved the shift: the general quiet, smoking with the guests, getting to know people on a level that the regular staff rarely got to experience. I also once hugged Laurence Fishburne, which is a total highlight of my life. Embassies have an open atrium style, like a big cylinder, which is great for keeping track of ne'er-do-wells.
"As with any hotel, we would get plenty of groups staying for weeks on end. One of those groups was a business that was doing something businessy that I can't quite remember. Ninety percent of the time, if somebody from one of these groups was still up and in the lobby when I got on shift at 11pm, they were closing down the hotel bar and I would see their groggy face at 7am as they crawled down their meetings. Again, mostly cordial people who liked having the time off from their significant others to drink all night and flirt with people. One guy, however, will stick out in my mind forever.
"It was pretty well-hopping for a mid-week night shift, and we still had a good chunk of arrivals left. I got in, checked with the outgoing staff, talked to the security guards, and was ready to dig into the audit. The front desk 'pods' at my hotel faced directly toward the bar, so I could see if any late-nighters were drinking too much for their own good. There were three or four people still at the bar, and one guy was getting progressively louder and belligerent. The bartender made eye contact with me, I got on the horn to the security guard, and walked over to examine the situation.
"At this point it is around 11:45pm and the restaurant is closed. The guy, however, wants pizza. This is fine, and I inform him that I would be more than happy to give him the numbers to all the national chains and some good local places as well. He mumbles something about a local place and I grab a menu for him and wish him a good night.
"Cut to about 2am, when the bar is closed, and the bartender tells me the guest is finishing up his last drink and doesn't want to take it upstairs. I ask her if he ordered the pizza yet, because the place stops taking orders as 2:15. She says no, so I amble over and ask if he needs help ordering. With bloodshot eyes and shaky hands he proceeds to toss his credit card at me and then points to an item on the menu he wants. OK… fine. I tell the guest I cannot order for him, because if something goes wrong with the order I would be on the line for it. He isn't having any of it, but he can't talk at this point. I call the security guard to grab the wheelchair so we can take him upstairs to his room on the second floor, directly over the front desk, and I get on the phone to the pizza place and decide to get the whole thing over with.
"Thirty minutes later, the pizza gets there. The delivery guy (who is there often because their pizza is fucking amazing) comes down with a big smile on his face, shaking his head. I'm on the phone and can't ask him what was so funny, but I figure shenanigans.
"An hour later, at around 3:15am, I hear this weird heavy breathing coming from above me. I ignore it for a bit, but after a few minutes I step out from behind the desk and look up. The guy is standing over the railing, stark-ass naked, holding half a 20in pizza taco-style, with all the cheese and sauce removed and covering his whole body. I'm completely flabbergasted, and I've seen some really strange shit: bitten-off ears, girls peeing in our fountain, a bat loose in the hotel. But this is the most batshit insane thing I've ever witnessed. Bear in mind, it's deathly quiet, and I'm staring up at a naked man covered in pizza sauce and pepperonis. The only sound is his heavy, labored breathing.
"Still keeping an eye on him (and him on me), I inch over to the front desk and grab my radio to call the security guard to watch him while I call the police and an ambulance to get him off-property. That split second I have between finding the security contact in the radio and taking my eye off the guy is just enough for him to ghost. I can't hear him, can't see him, nothing; when the guard does his sweep, he can't find him either, not even in his room. He does, however, find the half pizza laying on the floor where the guy was standing. The police can't even find the bastard, and his room doesn't have anything in it besides a pizza box and his clothes. The bed isn't even rumpled.
"Come 7am when the next manager comes on shift, I recount the whole bizarre story to him. The guy never showed back up to collect his clothes, which were still in the lost and found by the time I quit that place.
"When I asked the delivery driver what was so funny, he said that the guy paid with the credit card, paid again in cash, and tipped him $500. To this day, I have no idea what happened to that guy." -- Mike Pearson
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