I had reserved a two week stay in Orleans, France.
The hotel I was residing in was a shoddy yet ornate relic from the 19th century. The interior had been advertised as being renovated, but as I tapped my foot on the shriveled carpet of the lobby, I found myself avoiding the gaze of cracked portraits hanging upon stained walls.
A friendly young woman escorted me to my room. Her smiles reassured me, but it worried me that she had also been the receptionist. When I asked her why there weren't more employees tonight, she said they'd be back soon. I could've sworn I heard her whimper after she said that.
Laying back on that stiff mattress, I started to plan my itinerary for tomorrow. After a little while I turned on the tv, just to drown out the incessant humming of the archaic lantern light.
The channel depicted a very old, hunched person riding a bike down a cobblestone road. I couldn't tell if the person was male or female because the dusk light of the setting did not really provide too much in the way of visibility. What I could see is that the old person was doning a dark green hooded cloak, and that the street was empty.
The camera angle suddenly switched from a third person view to a first person view of the individual riding the bicycle. I watched the cobblestone road becomea blur as the rider began to pick up the pace.
Eventually the bike stopped in front of a familar looking hotel. The camera view rocked back and forth as a gnarled hand opened the lobby door. The view passed by the young receptionist, who was whimpering and shaking.
"Please grandmother, don't hurt him," she stammered in French. Yet the camera view looked up towards the staircase. I winced from the creaks of the old floor boards that could be heard from both the tv and from somewhere outside my room
At this point I was a bit flustered and decided to change the channel. I was hoping for rerun of Seinfeld, but all I got was the same show. The camera stopped just inches from my door.
Silence.
The door, in all of it's entirety, rocketed through the room and slammed into the tv set and knocked it on its side.
The hooded person came towards me swiftly without moving her legs.
"Hey," I said.
She whipped out a batch of steaming oatmeal cookies.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out a delicious looking enchilada.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some bagels and cream cheese.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some chocolate fondoo and breadsticks.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some ice cream cake.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some smoked salmon.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some angel hair with lemon garlic sauce and some pieces of chicken. The chicken was tender and I would know because she let me poke it.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some beef lo mein with a fortune cookie.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some turkey breast cold cuts, thinly sliced.
"No I don't like that."
She whipped out some sautéed pork dumplings.
"No I don't like that."
The old lady sucker punched me in the face.
"Ow," I said. And then I noticed tear droplets splash onto her cloak. I realized then that I had been a poor guest.
I stood up and gave her the biggest, tightest hug I could muster. Then I treated her and her grandchild to dinner at Applebees. We had a time full of laughter and great atmosphere. Just like in the commercials.
The end
Vacationing in Orleans