How Did I Get Here?

Sunday

Today’s return trip was uneventful and since yesterday’s post was monstrous, I’ll take it easy today and just cover the biggest steaming load of bullshit that culminated today.

I lost the book I was reading somewhere on the trip. I didn’t discover this until we had left Lone Pine and were heading back to Vegas but since I didn’t crack it while in Lone Pine, I surmised that I had left it at the crappy HoJo we stayed at in Vegas.

No problem, I would just call them and swing by to get it on Saturday when we rolled into town.

Ooh, even better, I’ll call them first to save the ride across town in case it wasn’t there (which it HAD to be). That little idea almost soothed the mountain of pissed off I had for leaving it at the HoJo in the first place, especially after Sir Phil and I both double scanned the room before we left.

If you committed to reading the entire post yesterday (cudos), then you will know that by the time I rolled into Vegas Saturday, I was one grumpy bastard so you can imagine where this is going, having to call up a hotel to ask for a lost book.

First, the assmonkeys wouldn’t even pick up. I had to call 4 times just to get a human being on the line who then immediately put me on hold. Then, predictably, I was forgotten about until someone else completely different got on the line and treated me like the ensuing confusion was my fault. Then I was put on hold about a fraction of a second before the line went dead.

I was unusually calm about this because I just knew this would be a butt-skewering when I started the project.

Another half dozen tries and I got them on the horn again. I calmly explained my situation and they transferred me to housekeeping. Once there, I got a recording of course and the line went dead.

Another half dozen attempts and I was back at the front desk.

Going through the explanation again.

Threatening them not to send me to housekeeping again.

“You’ll have to call back tomorrow. They are gone for the day and the lost and found is there. We don’t have the key.”

“That does me no good. Tomorrow I’ll be a few thousand feet over the Rockies.”

“Sorry, we don’t have the key. You’ll have to call back tomorrow.”

You son of a bitches!!!!! You are DEAD TO ME!

But they couldn’t die just yet because they had my book.

Fast-forward to this morning while I’m waiting to board my plane after the layover in Dallas.

Six tries, again. Finally, I get through.

Very carefully, I ask to be transferred to housekeeping in an attempt to bypass as much as possible the massive retardation that is the so-called Howard Johnson employee assistance program.

I get housekeeping (after 5 minutes on hold, of course) and explain my situation. I figured I could have them send it to my house or even ask my buddy who just happens to be in Vegas for a bachelor party, pick it up and send it to me.

“No, we don’t have anything logged in for that room on those days. Let me check the lost and found……nope, nothing. Sorry.”

Howard Johnson, you bastard son of a bitch. I know that book was in there and now not only did your pieces of shit theivin’ maids swipe my loose change the first day, now you kept the book I was in the middle of reading. You are below contempt and now you are TRULY dead to me.

It wasn’t as much the book (I reordered it for $12) but the bookmark I had was a gift from my sister-in-law who is a missionary and picked up the hand-sewn leather bookmark from Africa.

Hear ye, hearye, let it be known, on this 7th day of May, in the year of our Lord the two thousandth and sixth, that the Howard Johnson Motel chain is dead to me, forever taking its rightful place on my List of Shit, never to be removed no matter the circumstance.

So it is said, so it is done.

Free Advice for Today: “Choose a seat in the row next to the emergency exit when flying. You will get more leg room.”