Returning the Key in Venice

Front desk clerks at major Italian Hotels have seen everything. Nothing ever fazes them, unless you return your room key five years late.

In 2003, my wife and I, along with friends, stayed at the Hotel Europa and Regina. When we checked out, I forgot to return the room key. This was not as easy as it seems because the key was a memory stick attached to a huge brass bell-like thing with a red tassle. It was designed that way to discourage a guest from stuffing it in his pants pocket and walking off with it.

So much for that design theory.

I only discovered my error long after departing Venice on a cruise ship to the Greek isles. In fact, I got through the cruise ship metal detector with that big hunk of brass in my pocket. (So much for maritime security procedures, too.) I felt guilty but, at that point, I wasn’t going back to Venice. So, I packed the key away and took it home with me, determined to return it via FedEx. Of course, I never did.

Fast forward to 2008. I was packing for a research trip to Italy when I discovered the brass key, still tucked away in my suitcase. I thought, “You know, this could be a pretty funny.”

Two weeks later, I entered the lobby of the Hotel Europa and Regina, approached the Front Desk Clerk and said, in Italian, “Five years ago, my wife and I stayed here. Unfortunately, I forgot to leave the room key. Here it is.”

The clerk looked at me as if I had shuttled in from Mars on the Battlestar Gallactica. Not the reaction I was hoping for. So I handed him the key, said, “I’m sorry,” and turned to leave.

“No, Signore, wait! Please!” the clerk said. Then he disappeared into the back office. Soon, he came back with five members of the hotel management team. The General Manager stepped forward with a big smile on his face.

“Sir, we have been waiting for you!” he said. “We haven’t been able to rent Room 149 since you left!”

“So I owe you five years rent on the room?” I said.

“Si, Signore, we will prepare your bill subito (immediately!)”

“Bene! Manda la fattura a Berlusconi!” (Okay! Send the bill to Berlusconi!)

Laughs, and applause, all around. As I exited (always leave them laughing!) I heard the other desk clerks marveling in Italian at the miracolo that had just occurred. I just wanted to see Berlusconi’s face when he received the bill. True story.