Sunday, January 04, 2009

you know what'd be great right now...

Last night we met up with the Lads for drinks and dinner at an Indian Restaurant where we shared a dessert called Tarta Fantastica, which incidentally is what I plan to name my adopted Asian daughter. The boys came back to the hotel to hang before heading out to the clubs sans me. I used my illness, my addictions and my old age as excuses, but really, I'd rather get dental work than go to a Euro club whilst sober. 
I changed into my jammies and watched Dean Man Walking which, much to my IMMENSE delight, was just starting. I've noticed several things about television here. 1) They have no problem with blackface. Alex disagrees with me, missing it everytime someone in blackface comes on the screen. But trust me. I've seen it like, seven times. And 2) commercial breaks are few and far between, but they take forever. It's a good 15 minutes. So in the midst of Dead Man Walking, I got, as Cathal would say, a bit peckish. 
Our hotel being basically a really big house, Alex and my room is the Harry Potter quarters under the stairs on the way to the kitchen. And upon check-in, my pal Cormick made it clear we should feel free to use the kitchen. At the time, I thought, "What the hell for? Like we're going to have a dinner party?" But now, during Dead Man Walking, with 15 minutes to scavenge for a snack? Well, shit. 
Still, Cormick wasn't manning the desk, it being midnight and I was in my pjs and pigtails. I wandered up the 4 steps to the lobby and poked my head around the dining room and parlor. Not a soul! And that guy that's normally at the front desk late night was no where to be found. 
A peek in the kitchen couldn't hurt, I figured, imagining a little toast and jam or maybe a biscuit. 
The door was open and the kitchen was pitch black, save for the little light above the stove so I marched right in like I owned the place. Which is where I found the front desk guy. 
On the ground. Kneeling on a towel. Bowing repeatedly. Toward what I assume to be Mecca. 
Preserving the reverence of the moment, I screamed, "Oh my God! I'm so sorry! Pardon me! Oh. Oh God."
This dude didn't twitch a muscle, praying as if no one had ever entered the kitchen which obviously, no one ever should have. I rushed the 5 inches back to my room and closed the door. 
A few minutes later, the phone rang. 
"Yes, hello. This is the front desk."
"You just came into the kitchen. Do you need anything?"
I froze. What the hell was I supposed to say? Um, I wanted to steal food from you like some 18th century street person in a Broadway musical. 
All I could up with was, "I'm so sorry. I was looking for my brother."
Why he would be in the kitchen when he obviously left with his friends an hour ago was beyond both of us, but Mecca let it go at that and I found a box of tic tacs...


Bug said...

I think your new motto should be: audacity, always audacity. You could have said, "I was looking for someone to cook a steak and fries for me" and see where it goes. I mean, what the fuck? You survived rehab. You get a free pass to be as eccentric as you like.

Brock said...

I would never go out if I were in a hotel room. Hotel rooms seem like loads of fun. Ask for more blankets and build yourself a fort!

sfmike said...

Tarta Fantastica is the best drag name ever. Please don't waste it on an adopted child.