I travel a lot. I stay in many hotels, see many cities, eat at MANY fast food restaurants. Basically, I'm looking for simple, courteous service. Something I can understand, something I can appreciate, something I can at least tolerate. Allow me to take a moment of your time to discuss an adventure I had in the recent past.

The town is New Orleans, Lousiana. The French Quarter, true Dixieland music, the famed Hurricanes; it's a city that never sleeps. You can buy anything, anytime, anywhere. I wasn't there during Mardi Gras, but nonetheless, I thought I'd enjoy my stay. The weather was great. During the days, I sat by the waterfront in the sun, writing, reading, or just enjoying the fresh air. I worked in the evenings, at a theater on Canal Street. And after work, I'd enjoy myself around town with friends, visiting various jazz clubs, satiating my appetite with some local cuisine, and generally having a good time. So with all this glory, what was wrong with this picture?

I think I'll start with my lovely place of temporary residence: the Pallas Hotel. I should have known immediately that I was in trouble. They pronounce it "Palace" yet spell it "Pallas." Go figure. By the end of my stay, I was calling it the "Pal-Ass."

I took to calling it "The Fleabag Hotel." I would answer the phone, "Hello, Fleabag..." I have since decided that "fleabag" is inappropriate. "Bag" isn't encompassing enough. I thought of "fleasuitcase" or perhaps "fleacloset", both of which are much larger than a "bag", but still, not enough. Welcome to the Flea Storage Center!

Now, the general disgust I would experience upon simply EXISTING in the hotel was one lovely aspect of my stay. Another was the delightful front desk service this hotel had to offer. I call this portion of our story "The Fax Episode."

Scene 1

        Time: 10:45am
        Place: The Big Jew's room.

        [THE BIG JEW (hereafter TBJ) is on the phone.]

TBJ: Okay, so you'll send me that fax?
CUSTOMER SUPPORT FROM APPLE: Yes, in about ten minutes.
TBJ: Thank you.

        [Ten minutes pass. The phone rings. TBJ answers it.]

TBJ: Hello?
FRONT DESK PERSON #1: Front desk. We have a fax for you.
TBJ: Thank you.

Scene 2

        Time: 4:30pm
        Place: The Front Desk

        [TBJ goes downstairs... Oh, the elevator is another
         saga in itself.]

TBJ: Hi, I'm from Room 654. I have a fax here?
FRONT DESK
PERSON #2: Just a minute. [He checks his stack of faxes.] No,
  sorry, there's nothing here.
TBJ: I got a call this morning that said I had a fax here.
FDP2: What room are you in again?
TBJ: 654.
FDP2: Just a minute. [He checks the stack again.] No, I'm 
  sorry. There's no fax for you.
TBJ: I got a call this morning. Someone told me there was a fax 
  here. I was expecting a fax.
FDP2: Are you sure they got the right number?
TBJ: Yes, I was expecting a fax this morning.
FDP2: What room are you in again?
TBJ [beginning to fume]: 6-5-4.
FDP2: Let me look again. [He brings back one fax.] Is this it?
TBJ [reading the fax, seeing that it's for someone named
  Linda]: No, that's not for me.
FDP2: Just a minute. [He goes back to the stack, gets another 
  fax.] Is this it?
TBJ [reading the new fax, seeing that it's for someone named 
  Billy]: No, that's not it either.

        [this bit is repeated *seven times*. None of the faxes 
         are for TBJ.]

FDP2: I'm sorry, those are all the faxes.
TBJ: It must be here. This morning, someone from this front 
  desk called me and said, "You have a fax here." So I came
  downstairs to get it.
FDP2: What time this morning?
TBJ: About 11:00.
FDP2: Oh, see, that was the morning shift.
TBJ: What?
FDP2: The morning shift. I'm on the afternoon shift.
TBJ: So when the morning shift leaves, they throw away all 
  remaining faxes?

        [HINT: I think I confused him with the word "remaining."]

FDP2: No.
TBJ: So it should still be here?
FDP2: Yes.
TBJ: Maybe it's near the fax machine.

        [FDP2 leaves. Minutes later, he returns with FRONT DESK 
         PERSON #3.]

FDP3: You have a fax here?
TBJ: Yes.
FDP3: What room are you in.
TBJ: I'M IN ALL THE ROOMS...


(Actually, I didn't say that... I did say:)

TBJ: 654.

        [FDP3 flips through a box DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF ME ON THE 
         DESK. She finds the tab marker for "654", pulls out a 
         sheaf of papers.]

FDP3: Is this it?
TBJ: Yes. Thank you.

It's amazing exactly how insanely stupid some people can be. Perhaps I shouldn't get so riled up about all this... I mean, people are always going to be dumb, and there's little I can do about it, so why get pissed off? It's just my defense mechanism. I have to reassert my awareness that I'm a little quicker than the average bear. Otherwise, I might just melt into a puddle of my own -- Well, never mind. I wonder if I'll ever understand how their minds work. Maybe they're a bizarre unfinished collective, like the Borg. Maybe they're one of God's failed experiments, like Andrew Dice Clay, The Bangles, or the TRS-80. And maybe they have a hidden agenda, and some day, I'll be the subject of their web site. In the meantime, I just have to accept the fact that I don't get it.