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You thought you'd heard it all! But no, trouble tracks The Big Jew wherever he goes. There's no way out. As I've established, this particular hotel in New Orleans was enough to make my hair stand on end. So many issues to cope with, and I only have so much tolerance. That's a rather poor choice of words, I think. To say I only have so much tolerance might imply that I actually have so much tolerance. This is not the case. My tolerance is very low. One stupid person per month is my current quota. And yet in one week, I experienced difficulty obtaining a simple fax, and I was incapable of successfully dismissing the housekeeping folk.
So let's talk about the elevator. This was the third and final challenge that
lay before me during my stay in Louisiana. In a typical elevator, there are several buttons. Some indicate direction (e.g., UP, DOWN), some are for location (e.g., LOBBY, PARKING, 9TH FLOOR), some are for action (e.g., STOP, ALARM). As far as I can tell, however, there are no elevators which suggest the sort of behavior I experienced here. And there is no scientific research available to explain this phenomenon either. Ride the elevator or be damned, my friend. Or in my case, be damned no matter what.
There were three elevators. My room was on the 6th floor. The only floors I
cared about were 6 and the lobby. One might predict that the sequence of events
to get to my room would be as follows:
But no, there's more. Here's the way it actually happened.
I have been unable to discern any rational explanation for these elevators. The best thing I can come up with is that whatever was plaguing the employees of the hotel has mutated and been passed on (probably through me, I'm such a jerk) to these elevators. I just stand there, shaking my head, waiting on the 3rd floor, mumbling, "I don't get it." |