Where to start? I'm what you could call an 'art guy'. You don't put in 30+ years behind a desk without understanding the definition of life passion. Still, being greeted by the screaming visage of a woman behind the front desk was a tad off-putting. Don't get me wrong - I love a good scare as much as the next guy! You ever see "Poltergeist"? GREAT scary film from the 1960s. Seriously, check it out. Creepy old woman and a tree monster. I gave up my dream of becoming a senior-living botanist because of it. So yeah - I get 'art'. But work with me here!
The reception lady was very friendly, zero issues with check in. So imagine my shock when I entered the elevator only to be confronted with...bloody handprints. I KNOW! I stayed in a Detroit Quality Inn back in the 1980's that was the scene of a brutal murder-suicide, and THAT had less blatant crime scene evidence than this gore lift. At my floor stop I harkened to the nearest cleaning person I could find. To my surprise she ignored my complaints completely, and also appeared to be MISSING AN EYE. I can only hope that the handprints were the result of this tragic cornea malfunction and not some sort of assault.
I have a thing for the 'royal' treatment. Whenever possible, I prefer to reserve an entire floor of the nearest Knight's Inn for my travel needs. This I refer to as my 'manor' for the entirety of my stay. Sadly, I could locate no Knight's Inn on this particular trip, so I sadly reserved the 'Duke's Realm of Infinity' suite. To my dismay, I instead found myself at something dubbed the 'Cattle Baron's Room'. A CATTLE BARON? What kind of low-rent fiefdom is THAT? After the bloody elevator I was simply too emotionally drained to pursue it further, and made the best of these 'bovine quarters' as I could. I never even bothered to unpack my robes and finery.
After a quick shower (good water pressure, towels could use an additional thread count) I returned to the lobby in search of dinner. The hotel restaurant served well-proportioned meals. I had a pheasant burger, which was a delight with not a feather to be found. Still, try as I might, I alas could not full enjoy my feast for I noticed, near the waiting area for tables, a portly gentleman LEANING against the eatery wall. Yes, you heard me correct. LEANING. If there's one thing I cannot tolerate, it is a leaner. You don't get to my level of finance consulting without encountering a few 'leaners' along the way. It's a telltale sign of a type of person I've learned to instinctually avoid. It starts with 'leaning'. Soon, these ner-do-wells graduate to smoking cigarillos. The next thing you know, they are having a torrid affair with your wife Janice when she is supposedly off taking a spin class. So excuse me, but yes - I HAVE NO PATIENCE FOR A LEANER. Seeing little other course of action available and no longer having much of an appetite, I abandoned my pheasant burger (paying, of course, with the customary 8% tip added) and strode to the business center (good lighting, needs stronger paper clips). I hastily made a rather effective 'DO NOT LEAN' sign, and slapped it on the waiting area wall. I could tell from the glean in the host's eye that she understood.
Deciding some air and a good post-bird burger constitutional was in order, I left the lobby and strolled the hotel grounds. Imagine my shock to discover a woman, mere feet from the entryway, sprawled completely on the ground, holding aloft in her arms A SMALL TODDLER. I could not see the youngster's face, but judging by the overalls and red crop of hair I'm assuming they were local farm people. I understand we are living in a different time, and believe me when I say I am 'woke'. But having to witness a milk maid clutching a crop ginger while I'm trying to digest my meal was a touch unpleasant. Maybe move them to the rear of the grounds?
Deciding I had had enough 'fresh air', I returned to the hotel, only to find myself face-to-face with the largest dog I have EVER seen. And before you paint me with the 'doesn't like animals' brush, you should know I had a Yorkie-Poodle as a child. Went by the name of Salinger. Great dog. Saved me once from an over-enthusiastic mailman. Long dead now. Both of them. THE POINT IS - WHY ARE DOGS OF THIS SIZE ALLOWED INSIDE? Janice and I used to watch the Westminster Dog Show every Thanksgiving, and I would easily have dubbed this beast 'worst in show'. The canine's owner was significantly injured, leading me to guess the dog was obviously used in underground fighting rings, undoubtedly while hip-hop music was playing. Sad. I quickly left the scene. Deciding a nightcap was just the thing to calm my nerves, I entered the hotel bar eager for a reasonably-priced cognac. To my absolute horror, I got no further than ten feet inside the pub before I spied A SEVERED HUMAN HEAD. I'm no forensic odontologist, but I would guess that this poor woman had been dead for days. OBVIOUS OCCULTISTS. Still, would return. read more