Perhaps I should start at the beginning. This past week, the La Quinta Midtown followed the lead of other La Quintas in the chain and switched operating systems over to something called Nite Vision, which is without a doubt the least audit-friendly system that I have ever encountered. Our former system, known as LISA, was designed for accounting purposes. Nite Vision—touted by the powers-that-be as the greatest idea since the walking man—is geared more toward hotel and motel management…but because auditing, in my opinion, is basically accounting I am hating the new system with the intensity of a thousand white-hot suns. We converted to Nite Vision Monday night, and by Tuesday evening everyone who went near the damn thing was reduced to a helpless, gibbering idiot (though for some of the people at the front desk, this is barely noticeable).
I was given the extreme pleasure of conducting our first Nite Vision audit, a task that has since become a blur because not only did I spend what appeared to be forty-eight hours on it (okay, I may be exaggerating a tad) anything that could conceivably go wrong did that evening: some numbnut neglected to buy more copier paper, the phones went out, etc. But did I let the system defeat me? Did I break down crying, curled up in a fetal position and wishing for it to go away? Of course I did—several times that night, in fact. But eventually I wrestled the bull by the horns (okay, maybe this isn’t the best analogy but work with me here) and took control of the situation. And with each subsequent night, as I became more and more confident with using the system…I became more and more convinced that it’s a steaming pile of horse crud.
It has definitely changed the face of auditing around the Midtown location because I have no earthly idea of knowing whether anything is correct because I cannot print out any pre-reports—I have no idea of knowing whether the rates are correct or the tax exempts have been applied right because the system either does not allow me to print out certain reports or I can’t locate the reports that, if they can be printed, need to be printed out. It’s almost like the people who designed this damn thing just assumed that no one at that front desk ever makes a mistake, a thought that makes me cackle wildly to the point where I’m ready for a friggin’ strait-jacket.
I’ve been the guinea pig on this thing all week, and the GM is still convinced that the powers-that-be have made the right decision (though he says this in a “Raymond-Shaw-is-the-kindest-bravest-warmest-most-wonderful-human-being-I've-ever-known-in-my-life” Manchurian-Candidate kind of way). But here’s the real test: will the relief auditors, “Little Miss Weekend Warrior” and the other gal (she works four days a week at our Southside location, and one at Midtown) I refer to as “Dreads,” be able to perform this new audit. The smart money says no: Warrior made no attempt to attend any of the sessions conducted for the new system (though she did sit in and watch me do half the audit before taking off, explaining she had to go) while Dreads, though she was present and accounted for at the night auditor Nite Vision session, has ignored the conversion completely.
Against my better judgment, I told the GM this morning that I could be persuaded—if necessary—to sit in on the first four hours of the audit to make certain these two were up to speed on the changes. (I had also been asked by the full-time auditor at the La Quinta on 204/I-95 if she could sit in as well.) Lord knows I did not want to do this, and in fact I was praying that the GM would say “Hell, no” because I’m already swimming in enough overtime to incur the wrath of his boss. No such luck. He’s given me the greenlight.
Why do I have a bad feeling about this?