Day 87
Location 16 & 17: London & Dublin
Jan. 26, 2023
Growing up, I preferred A Series of Unfortunate Events to Harry Potter for two reasons: (1) I had an inkling the author of the latter would turn into a bigot, rageful against transgender people and (2) I had an inkling that I would one day experience a series of unfortunate events that would turn me rageful against Hostel Astor Victoria in London. I was right about both.
1. 10:00pm (Last Night)
I sign up for a late checkout. "I think it's until 1pm" says the employee (incorrectly) before adding "you don't need to pay right now" (also incorrectly). Off to bed.
2. 11:08am
8 minutes past normal checkout, my key card stops working. Down at reception, the hostel manager explains there's no record of my late checkout since I didn't pay. The employee last night was as useless as my non-working key card. I pay $5. Key card is reset. Back to bed.
3. 11:45am
An employee wakes me up. "Sir, it's 45 minutes past checkout." I feel frustration boil within me like I'm Johnny Depp realizing the rum is gone in Pirates of the Caribbean (or in real life, apparently). “I paid for a late checkout 37 minutes ago” I retort as she leaves to check that info. Back to bed.
4. 12:00pm
Woken up again. Frustration returns (like I'm a 1960s dad whose son just quit football for the school musical). The manager scolds me "you've been asked multiple times to leave, sir. Late checkout is 12pm." No hello. No excuse me. No sorry for being a big, dumb idiot.
First, I debunk his lie that I was "asked multiple times" to leave. Second, I complain that the previous human alarm clock left to check my late-checkout status, but never returned (like a different 1960s dad who left for cigarettes and Chinese food sixteen years ago). Third, I explain I was told late checkout is at 1pm. "I think I'd know when late checkout is, I'm the manager". I feel like a stumped sex therapist: I don’t know what this guy's fucking problem is.
"I'm not implying you're wrong, I'm explaining I was fed wrong information...” then with a spoonful of genuine desperation in my voice “I’m getting yelled at and I didn’t do anything wrong.” Unfazed by this plea for peace, the manager shrugs. “Well, it’s gonna take me 30 minutes to pack” I warn him. “I don’t care, you just need to leave” the manager rudely quips. If I was a sex therapist before, I'm now a proctologist, because I’m clearly dealing with an asshole.
5. 12:02pm - 12:28pm
26 minutes straight of full-on angry packing. Like cheated-on-and-packing-to-walk-out-while-your-partner-pleads-with-you-to-stay type stuff. Or like Johnny Depp packing after discovering the rum is gone. Oh, I used that one already? Sorry, substitute in your favorite celebrity alcoholic.
My eyes dart from the unstained hostel bed to the untampered-with outlets to the un-shattered windows as I choose where to enact my revenge. Eventually, I decide, to take the high road. But don’t get me wrong, I’m still supremely frustrated (like yet another 1960s dad who just found out Sterling lost American Tobacco) (that’s a Mad Men joke). And I expect the basic courtesy of supreme kindness at checkout.
6. 12:30pm
As the manager grabs the key card from my hand, I turn to leave–trying to convey my anger through curtness. My silent message is lost on the manger. “Hey!” he shouts. Oh great, now what? “You have to pay for late checkout!”. “I—You—But….” If a loss for words is the name of a small town somewhere, that’s where I'm at. After a heated exchange, I storm out as the manager turns to an employee to say something (presumably) disparaging about me.
7. 12:32pm
The Bank of America app is open on my phone, showing the $5 transaction from 84 minutes ago. The hostel doors fling open welcoming my grand return. I shove my phone in the manager's face. "Here's the proof I paid already, since I know you were talking shit."
"Oh my god, you're right. I'm sorry, I don't know why I was being such a dick this whole time, I'm sorry man. Next time you're in London, you've got a week stay here...on us! And I'll buy you ice cream. And you're so cool and smart and whatever else you want me to say in this stupid fake response."
Okay, he didn't say any of that. He just snickered, and I left again. For good.
Discussion Questions:
1. In Section 5, which celebrity alcoholic did you think of? (Assign point values based on the following scoring guide:)
Dean Martin = 1 pt
Alec Baldwin = 1 pt
Mel Gibson = 2 pts (double points because also anti-semetic)
Dennis Quaid = 1pt
Woody Allen = 0 pts (no points for pedophiles, sorry)
Shia LaBeouf = .5 pts (now sober)
John Belushi = .5pts (now dead)
2. Do you think the dad in Section 4 that left for cigarettes and Chinese food is ever coming back? Explain your answer.
3. Is Don Draper redeemable? Or does his seven seasons of deplorable actions in Mad Men make him irrevocably immoral?