29 July 2005

We put the "Ho" in Hotel

It must be hard to get good help these days. Last night I stayed at a hotel that I shall refer to, for the sake of avoiding a painful litigatory process, as the “Governmentally sanctioned non-weekend day-off Inn".

I wasn’t on Holiday, mind you, but I thought it a safer place to stay than the "Running from the Police Inn" across the road. The coppers seem to hang out there, for some reason.

“Do you have a reservation?” Asked the night clerk.

“No. I have no reservations about staying at the Governmentally sanctioned non-weekend day-off even though I am not on Holiday Inn.” I replied. “I’m sure it’s almost as nice as the Motel 6".

“Very funny, um” She replied while squinting at my credit card. “Mrs. Beatrice Yamaguchi…”

“Please, call me Betty” I replied breezily. It’s always better to be on a first name basis with the help. They may just give you a heads-up when the police drop on by.

I had just settled in, and was watching an anatomically unambiguous yoga video, when in walked an elderly lady. She treated the scene with classical aplomb and when apprised of the fact that she had been booked in a room already occupied, promised to tell the night clerks not to let my room out to anyone else.

Fine and dandy! I started another tape, played a vigorous game of “Pump the Professor” and fell asleep.

An hour or so later, a cheerily inebriated long haul trucker staggered in.

I flipped on the light. He shrieked like a three year old girl with a skinned knee.
“Be gentle,” he whimpered before his eyes rolled up and he sank to the floor.

Crap. I pilfered his wallet, called the front desk to have him removed. Once again, I asked them if they’d stop letting out my room. “This is the second time.” I reminded them.

“It was never twice!” She protested.

I was stunned. “I’m an evil su-su-scientist!” I sputtered.. “I’ve been rigorously trained for years to be able to count to two!”

Besides, I’d used a calculator

She eventually conceded the point.

“Well, did you have a reservation?” She asked snotilly. Obviously, not making a reservation means that you have to sleep with every Tom, Dick and Hairy that breezes in after midnight.

Damn. I’d already used my only reservation joke, so I weakly asked her how many people did they expect me to sleep with that night. Weak or not, she conceded the amount ought to be zero, (based on my looks) and vowed that I would have no more interruptions.

She was also kind enough to send down room service with a decent amount of Cognac, which mollified me, but I can’t stop thinking of that the poor sod who walked in on me at 1:00AM:

Scarred for life he is.

And that's the way I likes it.