I was looking at farms in Connecticut and predicted I’d lose track of time, as is my regular habit, so I booked a room at a hotel the day before. It was an interesting lobby. It looked like it might have been decorated by the same guy who designs the Jiffy Lube waiting rooms. The young woman at the front desk looked like she wanted to be somewhere else.
“Checking in?” she welcomed me.
“Yeah. Higgins, John.”
“You have a reservation?” she asked with a worn perkiness that comes toward the end of a shift.
“Oh my God, I have thousands…”
“Sorry?”
“…millions, maybe. And paranoia-fueled hesitations; a few hundred quirks, too.”
She stared at me the way many people do, for some reason. Perkiness depleted.
“I held a room, if that’s what you mean.”
She looked at her computer. “Ok, got it. Just yourself, Non-smoking, one night.”
“Yup.”
She then told me about the free continental breakfast; I asked her which continent.
“It’s a continental breakfast, Mr. Higgins.”
“I know. You said that. But which continent are you talking about? I don’t want to find out it’s Antarctica and I come down and find seal blubber and krill.”
“It’s donuts, muffins, coffee- stuff like that…” If she could’ve added “asshole” to the end of that she would have.
“They don’t eat donuts in Antarctica. Come to think of it, I don’t know what they eat for breakfast in Antarctica.”
She raised her eyes above the computer monitor and glared at me. “We won’t have blubber, trust me.”
“Thank God.”
“Yeah don’t worry,” she said with an ever so slight headshake.
“What do they eat for breakfast in Antarctica anyway? I don’t even know,” I thought out loud.
She swiped my room key into the computer while staring at me. I believe she had had enough of me at this point.
“Can you google it?”
“Google what, Mr. Higgins?”
“Google ‘Antarctican breakfast’ …then, while you’re at it, ask Google if Antarctican is a word.”
“I’d have to get out of this hotel reservation screen and go to the internet. So, um, no.”
“Ok. Suit yourself. Next time you go to Antarctica you’ll wish you knew.”
“Enjoy your stay, Mr. Higgins,” she wished, with a tone indicating the absence of sincerity.
On the phone with Nancy later, I told her about this exchange. I got the sense that she was happy she wasn’t with me.