I was out with my fiancee last weekend in search of a wedding venue. On Friday, we kicked it off with a lovely dinner and some wine (they didn’t serve beer, I nearly had a stroke when I found out I would have to drink wine). The table next to us had three middle aged, very unhappy looking ladies. They grabbed a manager and complained that they hadn’t received their check and were extremely annoyed by this fact. I think they got a discount, cashed in their tab…then sat around for another hour. I know that’s what I do, bitch about not being able to leave three minutes after I finish like a five year old, then proceed to stay right up to closing time.
We got to the hotel fairly late, and we were looking to check in and crash for the evening. This plan, however, was interrupted by a middle aged gentleman wearing white tube socks and low cut black shoes, which perfectly accented his jorts. He refused to present a credit card, so the hotel employee had to engage in a back and forth that lasted ten minutes. He then proceeded to tell the 22-year-old hotel worker about the intricacies of HIPA laws in the state of Indiana. At this point, I began to tap my credit card on the counter, since this dud of a human clearly couldn’t tell I was there. Each tap was progressively louder and filled with incrementally more rage. Finally, upon me clearing my throat and driving my card into the wood hard enough to snap it, the ingrate looked up and saw the maniacal look in my eyes. I shudder to think what the next step was, but luckily, I didn’t make the news, so it worked out for all.