Hockey Weekends at the Hotel: A Sea of Butts and the Battle for Public Decency
If you’ve ever worked the front desk at a hotel, you know weekends can be a mixed bag. There are the wedding parties (tipsy but tip-happy), the business travelers (quiet, coffee-dependent), and then… there are the sports teams. Among them, one stands supreme in its power to test humanity’s limits: the youth hockey tournament. Our tale today, inspired by a brilliant Reddit post from u/LivingDeadCade, is not for the faint of heart—or the easily scandalized.
Imagine you’re managing a hotel, bracing for the annual arrival of hockey families. You’ve prepped your staff, hidden the good towels, and, in a strategic move worthy of Sun Tzu, you’ve cordoned off the pool, party rooms, and gym. The plan? Contain the chaos. But as every seasoned innkeeper knows, entropy finds a way. And sometimes, that way is through a veritable sea of butts.
The Annual Migration of the Hockey Herd
There’s a special kind of energy that accompanies a hockey tournament weekend. The front desk hums with the sound of rolling coolers and the laughter of parents who—freed from the responsibilities of home—revert to their own schoolyard days. The kids? They’re somewhere in the background, likely reenacting the Battle of Stalingrad in your hallway. But it’s the parents who are the true stars (or villains?) of the show.
As u/LivingDeadCade eloquently put it, the adults “congregate their coolers, bring food and drink and changes of attire, and spend hours sweating into our cabana chairs.” The party is relentless. The sense of ownership? Complete. The only thing more powerful than their disregard for hotel rules is their collective ability to turn any communal space into a private lounge.
The Unseen Perils of Passive Hospitality
When the post-game revelry is confined to one area, there’s a strange sense of relief. You can almost forgive the scattered beer cans and the faint smell of nacho cheese if it means the rest of the hotel is spared. But, as our storyteller discovered, there’s a dark side to letting the hockey parents have their fun: the unchecked sense of belonging can embolden even the most modest guest.
Enter the workout room. Or, as it was on that fateful night, the impromptu changing room for hockey moms. The security camera, minding its own business, suddenly captures not the usual treadmill shuffle, but a full moon rising—times ten. A “veritable sea of butts,” the author laments. Not a single face, just a collective display of suburban cheek as the moms, facing the wall for privacy, unwittingly moon the all-seeing lens.
It’s a moment of profound professional crisis. Do you intervene? Do you gouge your eyes out? Or do you, like our protagonist, simply sigh deeply, rub your temples, and vow to write a very strongly worded sign?
When Signs Become Shields
The next morning brings hope. Armed with a freshly printed notice—“Nudity is prohibited in this area”—our weary hero tapes it to the wall, directly beneath the camera. It’s a gentle plea for decorum, a beacon of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, sobriety will save the day. Maybe next time, the sacred workout room can remain a temple for squats and lunges, not a stage for the hockey mom full-moon revue.
The Secret Lives of Hotel Staff
If you’ve never worked in hospitality, you might think this is an exaggeration. But ask any hotel worker, and their eyes will glaze with memories—some hilarious, some traumatic, all unforgettable. The “plague of hockey” is a shared experience, a rite of passage for front desk staff everywhere. They swap stories like war veterans, each tale more absurd than the last.
May the Coffee Be Strong, and the Butts Few
So, next time you check into a hotel during a tournament weekend, spare a thought for the staff. Their only hope is that the season is short, the coffee is strong, and that no one decides to bare all beneath the watchful eye of the security camera.
To my fellow hoteliers: Good luck out there. May your workout rooms remain butt-free, your signs be heeded, and your sanity remain mostly intact.
Have you survived a sports team invasion at your workplace? Share your wildest stories in the comments—let’s commiserate and laugh together!
Inspired by u/LivingDeadCade’s tale on r/TalesFromTheFrontDesk. Read the original post here.
Original Reddit Post: I looked, and behold, a pale sea of butts.