Montage Checkout
I was a witness. I was standing in line to check out at the Montage. The guy in back of me settled his hotel bill and bought the place for $360 million. Everyone behind him got free stays. Unfortunately, I was before him and had to pay for my room, plus an extra $75 cleaning charge for getting the guest chocolate I accidentally slept on laundered from 22 pillows, sheets, comforter and headboard. I’m a restless sleeper. I was surprised the footboard was spared.
I’m never in the right place at the right time. I’d give anything to have been behind the guy who bought the place. Better yet, I wish I stood hand in hand with this guy on this deal. I know I’m not allowed to covet my neighbor’s wife, but the Bible doesn’t say anything about coveting his property and then giving it to my wife. My wife loves the Montage. She goes frequently to the spa and gets my wallet massaged. My wallet is now very thin and supple. The spa treatments have worked wonders.
I’m so jealous of the new owners. The going price was $1.4 million dollars a room. I’d be happy, if I was just on the receiving end of a room or two. Now that would be a happy checkout. Perhaps all is not lost.
I’m back at the front desk cancelling my mistimed checkout and asking for an extended checkout instead. The front desk clerk wants to know why I’m requesting this new transaction. I can’t very well tell her that I suddenly like the back of the line over the front of the line. So I cross the line by fibbing that I left my wallet in the room safe, along with some very important business papers. The clerk kindly suggests that a bellboy escort me back to the room to retrieve these possessions without the need to rebook. I add on to the fib by telling her I forgot all the complimentary shampoos and conditioners. She looks at my bedhead and seems relieved that I’m telling the truth.
I rush off to city hall to copy land surveys of the Montage. Now back in my room, I add a Jewish Indian burial ground to my survey copies. The sale will come to a grinding halt, as lawyers look for native stand-ups and jokes buried over thousands of years. I’ve even included a picture of an ancient audience laugh sign made from fossilized coastal coral reefs. This added touch should get the Coastal Commission involved as well. I’ll now have the time to develop my own line or two to get in on this deal.
I found myself a computer hacker and have added ancestry.com leafs that trace the Crantz family tree back through Pocahcrantzas, Sitting Bullstein and Crazy Horseberg. Of course, you know by now where our final burial ground of last laughs rest. I will be accepting offers of $1 billion a room. I believe now I’m in the right place at the right time.
Mark is a transplant to Laguna from Chicago. He occasionally writes the guest column “Pet Peeves.” His recently deceased Border Collie, Pokey, is his muse and ghostwriter.
