Hotel Rows Rock Andalusian Wedding of the Year!

The 17th Duke of Huescar, and his wife Sofia Palazuelo, recently baptised their second child Sofia Fernanda Dolores Cayetana Teresa Angela de la Cruz Micaela del Santisimo Sacramento del Perpetuo Socorro de la Santisima Trinidad y de Todos Los Santos. (Sky News, 26 October 2023)

It was late evening in Seville. Teresa Hermosa, the Hotel Don Xabi Alonso’s Chief Executive, was still working in her office.

Sipping an espresso, she checked through security arrangements for the hotel’s big wedding the following week. Every aristocrat in Seville and the surrounding region would be in attendance. There could be no slip-ups!

She jumped in surprise as her door flew open and Miguel Rodriguez strode in. Without waiting to be asked, he threw himself into the chair in front of her desk.

“Get yourself a new Events Director, Senora Hermosa!” he announced. “I resign! This wedding and these people with their stupid names are killing me!” He slumped deep in the chair looking like he might cry.

Teresa really hoped he wouldn’t. Three times in one week was three times too many in her view. Also, she was never quite sure how to handle crying male employees. What was the right move — give them a hug or tell them to grow a set of cojones?

She settled for what she always did; she pushed a box of tissues towards him. “What’s happened now, Miguel?”

Miguel drew a deep breath. “She wants name cards on all the tables, Senora. I’ve told her it can’t be done!”

Teresa spoke firmly. “You know our policy, Miguel. What the guests want, the hotel provides. You can’t say no!”

“It’s not me saying no, Senora! It’s Hugo at the print company. He says they do not have enough cardboard for two hundred and fifty guests with such long names. Actually, Hugo says the whole of Spain doesn’t have enough for such a thing! And would they even fit on the tables?”

Teresa frowned. “Try another print company. Ring around!”

Miguel snorted. “You think I haven’t? No one wants the job! They all say the same thing. They tell me that …” He took his phone from his hip pocket and read from it. “ … Dolores Fernanda Marguerita Cayetana Micaela Daniela de la Cruz Teresa del Santisimo Sacramento del Perpetuo Socorro de la Santisima Trinidad y de Todos Los Santos, doesn’t need a name card. She needs a billboard!”

Teresa could feel her temper rising. Everything was a drama with the Events Director. “It’s very simple, Miguel. Restrict each guest to two names per card. Problem solved!”

Miguel threw his head back and laughed. “Problem solved! You are very funny, Senora. I’ll let you explain that restriction to him.”

“To whom?”

“To the groom! His snootiness the Duke of Terranova!” Miguel checked his phone again. “Or José Manuel de Zuleta y Alejandro Francisco Chico Juan Miguel Osorio y Bertrán de Lis Carlos López de Carrizosa y Mitjans, if you prefer. He says any shortening of their names is insulting and will result in a cancellation!”

Teresa’s face turned pale. This wedding was the hotel’s biggest earner ever.

Miguel continued. “The best man has already asked for a discount because I didn’t use all of his names when I spoke to him. He looked at his phone once more. “That’s Luis Martínez de Irujo y Hohenlohe-Langenburg Alfonso de Hoyos y Fernández de Córdoba Alfonso Martel y Fonseca, if you want to give him a call.”

Teresa thought quickly. “We could offer to announce the names of the guests as they arrive. Instead of the cards, I mean.”

Miguel treated her to another snort. “They want the cards and the name check. Which is another problem. We rehearsed the announcements yesterday. This morning the Maître d’ phoned in sick.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

Miguel shrugged. “Reading out all those names has given him muscle tension dysphonia, apparently.” He noticed the blank look on Teresa’s face. “That’s a sore throat, Senora. He won’t be back until after the wedding.”

Teresa fixed Miguel with a stare. She got the feeling he was enjoying this. “Is there anything else I should know?”

“Yes. We don’t have a photographer for the day.”

“Why not? What’s happened to Juanita?”

“Juanita resigned yesterday,” said Miguel, studying his fingernails. “The family wants the names of every individual appearing in the photos to be written out in full. Juanita says life’s too short and they can stick their photos up los traseros.”

Teresa slapped the desk. “This is ridiculous! People around here need to grow a backbone!”

Miguel shifted in his seat. It sounded to him like he’d just been insulted. “There’s nothing wrong with my backbone, Senora Hermosa! But I’m done talking to Duke-Up-His-Own-Trasero and his bride! They can get married without my help!”

He rose from his chair, left hand on his chest and right arm extended dramatically. “From now on, I work only for ordinary people with unpretentious names!”

“Please sit down, Miguel.”

“I am not for turning, Senora!”

“Sit your whiney ass down!” Teresa shouted.

Miguel sat down, shocked. Teresa didn’t often lose her temper.

“This has been a difficult project for all of us, Miguel,” she said in a more conciliatory tone. “For you, as Events Director, above all.”

Miguel nodded, slightly mollified.

“But it’s been tough for me, too,” she continued. “Having to deal with tantrums, tears and histrionics every day has taken its toll.”

Miguel opened his mouth to protest, but Teresa raised her hand like she was stopping traffic.

“Let me finish, please. We have another wedding next week. You can work exclusively on that one if…if …you guarantee there will be no more drama.”

“That’s all I ask for, Senora,” Miguel replied, joining his hands as if in prayer. “To work once more with ordinary folk.”

“You’ll like this couple then,” said Teresa, opening a drawer and taking out a file. “They’re huge football supporters.”

“My kind of people,” said Miguel with a contented smile. “The salt of the earth! Who is the groom?”

Teresa read from the file. “His name is Filipe Zubizarreta Koeman Ferrer Nando Guardiola Sacristan Carlos Bakero Laudrup Stoichkov Salinas Torres.” She glanced up at Miguel, who sat motionless in his chair, his face frozen in a rictus.

“He’s named after every player in the Barcelona football team which won the European Cup two weeks before he was born. His father was a big fan.”

Teresa closed the file and handed it across the desk. “The bride’s father supported Real Madrid. They won the Spanish Cup the day she was born, but I’ll let you read her names in your own time.”

The Events Director held the file like it was a box of dog poop.

Teresa smiled coldly. “Everything okay, Miguel? Is that salty enough for you?”

The Events Director rose slowly and shuffled towards the door. The conversation had left a bad taste in his mouth.

It had nothing to do with condiments.