Visit

VISIT
Not too long ago I was summoned by a potential client to visit him
in his city so he could tell me face to face why I am exactly the wrong
person to write anything for him and that if I cared about the human
race I would take effective steps to remove myself from the gene pool.
The client-not-to-be put me up in a hotel near his office, the "Chateau
De Snob," I think it was called. I look for two things in overnight
lodging: "Bargain" and "Rates." I used to stay at Motel 6 when it was
only Motel 3 And a Half, and I am accustomed to having to ring a buzzer
for at least a minute before Norman Bates comes out of a back room to
rent me a bed for the night. It was therefore with a bit of trepidation
that I pulled my rental car in front of the Chateau De Snob's lobby and
watched as an army of men dressed like the guards of Munchkin Land
stormed out and opened my door.
One of them roared off in my vehicle, and I was handed a plastic
chip in payment. "Well, thanks for the UFO money," I told the senior
ranking officer, "but the car is not mine to sell." Up in my room the
Munchkin soldier carrying my bag made a great show of opening the
curtains. He pointed out the phone, the bathroom,and the television--
apparently he felt I would otherwise be unable to identify these
things. Then he approached me and held out his hand, so I shook it
vigorously. Frowning, he hung up my bag, demonstrated how to work the
TV remote, and came back for another handshake. He looked even more
irritated, though I was doing my best to be nice. He fussed with the
thermostat and made sure there were no monsters in the closet. This
time as he returned, his palm held upward, I realized he wanted more
than just friendship. I dug in my pocket and his expression brightened,
but his face fell when I gave him the white plastic chip. He pitched it
on the bed and left in disgust.
At dinner with my client I did my best to select from a menu
printed in French, though what I ordered apparently translated to
"Small Bits of Tasteless Stuff on a Plate of Grass, Covered in Watery
Mayonnaise."
The waiter ignored my desperate attempt to obtain a "la burger
o'cheese with fries o'francais," despite the fact that I held my nose
so it would sound like I was speaking French.
My client talked on his cell phone the whole time, breaking away
from his conversation occasionally in order to advise me that I was
"essentially worthless" to his company.
When I got back to my room, I was horrified to discover that
someone had broken in! However, I apparently must have scared them off
before they could take anything--indeed, the only sign of disturbance
was that they had thrown back the covers on the bed to take a nap. My
fumbling with the plastic card the hotel called a "key" must have given
them time to escape out the window. In their haste, they left a small
piece of chocolate, which probably dropped out of a pocket. I ate it in
good humor, appreciating the irony.
Best part of the trip: the hotel was kind enough to place a well
stocked refrigerator in the room, which I made use of not only for
liquid refreshment but for the peanuts and canned oysters. Every time I
pulled out another can of beer a digital readout tick upward another
500 points, which I figured was a meter on the number of calories I was
consuming. What the heck, it made up for dinner, in my opinion. Worst
part of the trip: my not-a-client has been leaving messages for me
since I got back, telling me he won't pay for the "outrageous bar bill"
I charged to the room. I ask you, why would I go to the bar when I
had a refrigerator full of free goodies in my room? Sometimes people
are so out of touch it scares me.