Hotel California

I had another uncomfortable experience this week. I delivered to the Ramona Ritz-Carlton. At least I think it's called The Ritz, The Ritz is the hotel that's known for sheltering illegals and encouraging pedophilia, right? No? Hmmm, maybe I have my hotel chains mixed up a bit. Either way, I got a delivery to one of our finer establishments here in Ramona. Let me back up a bit here. I think I'm giving our town's humble Inn a bad rap. Regardless of the number of amateur chemistry sets they have brewing in the bathtubs over there, they deserve a little credit. I mean, they do offer complimentary cigarette burns on every bed spread and a light glaze of semen on every ceiling. Those perks only come in the presidential suites, though. The standard rooms only include a legless cot that sits on a dirt floor next to a pale that's either an ice bucket or a crapper. I haven't figured out which. On the plus side, they do have a lovely Koi pond for everybody to enjoy. Well, I guess raw sewage being pumped into a drained pool isn't exactly a Koi pond, but what goes in there does float!
Sadly, my destination wasn't one of the Inn's classier clients. I was missing out on the slew of Exxon Oil moguls that frequented the more luxurious suites. Instead, my destination was the manager's office. Hold up, Exxon Oil mogul is street slang for guys who slam black tar heroin, right? No? Man, I'm getting a little mixed up today.

Anyway, the hotel always ordered food from us. It was always the same person too. A hipster looking douche-bag that had to be in his mid-twenties and who apparently felt obligated to stiff every single delivery driver that was lucky enough to grace his lobby. The difference is, this time there was actually some semi-reputable looking customers checking in when I arrived. Usually I walked in and interrupted a toothless hobo or two that would be brandishing a sharp stick while haggling with the desk clerk about how much it would cost to rent one of the fancy legless cots that everyone was always raving about.

The reputable customers that were in front of me appeared to be a married couple that must have been close to 70. Not that that matters, because I politely did what I always did, I waited for the customers to successfully check in and then I moved up and accepted the usual goose egg that I was more than accustomed to.

The elderly couple were on their way out of the lobby with the Skeleton Key to their room when they noticed the zero spot that I was netting from the clerk. Quick tangent; I think I'm handing out a little too much credit by calling the guy that was manning the front counter a "clerk." When I think of a clerk, I imagine a suit and tie wearing gentleman that's not trying to mainline pasta alfredo sauce with a IV drip. This particular "clerk" was a high-school super senior with cut-up designer skinny jeans and a size-too-small Bright Eyes T.

Anyway, the husband of the older couple started digging around in his wallet and then proceeded to hand me five bucks and say, "I understand. My son used to be a delivery driver. He saw all kinds of crazy things. Have a good night." At first I refused the money, but after the man insisted I thought it would be a win win for me. I'd net a few extra dollars and I would get to humiliate the desk flunky by showcasing just how much of a cheap fuck he actually was. Right after the desk jockey witnessed the transaction between me and and the older gentleman, he hung his head in dismay and said, "Thanks, but don't worry about tipping the driver. This sad incident has really opened my eyes. I'll make sure to take care of this hardworking and surprisingly fit young driver." Wait a minute, I think I might have mis-remembered a detail or two here too. Oh yeah, he never said any of that. The counter cock simply nodded, double checked to make sure he did in fact stiff me, and then said, "Late!" as I walked out the door with the hard earned cash of one of his customers. He really couldn't care less that I was getting a handout from a couple that was celebrating their diamond anniversary by staying at a hotel that I'm positive has claimed the lives of at least a small strip club worth of escorts. Think about that. Shouldn't anybody with a pulse feel guilty about allowing an incontinent couple with cataracts to tip a driver for a meal that they're not even privy to? The lobby lackey should've said, "No. Don't worry about it. I'll get him. Thanks anyway." Instead he just gave me a head nod and a look that screamed, "You got lucky this time, I hope you're looking forward to the ramrodding I'm going to give your wallet the next time I see you." 

Seriously, come on people. We can't really be going down this hellish highway of incivility. We simply can't allow card carrying AARP members to cover our tabs. As the youth of this country we should be doing these kinds of financial favors for them. We're supposed to be garnering wisdom from these sages. Not garnishing their wages so we can choke down a oven baked, fudge filled brownie while we're on the clock.