My job sometimes takes me to Alpharetta, Georgia. Usually I stay at the Ameri-suites Hotel, which is very close to the Alpharetta office. I have an idea how Joseph felt in Bethlehem; the last time I tried to get a room at Ameri-suites I was told there was no room at the inn. A co-worker recommended Double Tree, because they give out fresh baked chocolate chip cookies when you check in.
That night when I returned to the room after a long day of testing, I decided to treat myself to room service, something I'd never done before. I ordered a steak dinner and half an hour later there was a knock at the door. I opened it and Room Service carried in a tray and placed it on the desk. Before eating, I changed out of my work clothes. I opened my suitcase to put on my Harry Potter pajamas, only to discover I'd forgotten to pack them. No matter; there was no reason why I couldn't just lounge around in my underwear.
I ate at the desk, and then watched TV for a while. I'd decided to call it a night when I remembered the tray. In the movies, hotel patrons always leave their room service tray in the hallway. If it's good enough for Hollywood, it's good enough for me. Since I was still wearing nothing but my Fruit of the Looms, before opening the door to put the tray in the hall, I looked through the peephole to make sure the coast was clear.
It was a challenge opening the door while I was holding the tray, but I managed. Just as I set the tray down, I realized: The Key! I heard the click of the latch as the door closed behind me.
Thank goodness for potted palm trees in hotel hallways. I took refuge behind such a tree, running out every few seconds to knock on the door of room 212. When whoever was in room 212 opened the door, I didn't want them to see me in my current state, so after knocking, I ran back to the safety of the palm tree, where I planned to ask the occupant of 212 to call the front desk and send someone up with a key to 214. I heard the television in 212 but no one answered the door, no matter how many times I ran up to it and knocked. I was ready to try my luck with room 210 when the elevators opened and a tough looking fellow in a blue uniform came rushing out at me. "You!" he shouted. "I've got you now!" It seems the folks in 212 had looked thru the peephole when I knocked and saw no one there, since I had taken refuge again behind the tree. They assumed some kids were engaging in hi-jinks so they called to complain, whereupon the front desk folks took a peek at the security monitor. I hadn't noticed the little black balls in the ceiling that concealed the cameras.
I explained to Hotel Security that I was not the Alpharetta Strangler, but had merely locked myself out of my room. The tray in the hallway gave credence to my story, at least enough so that he used his pass key to open the door, though he did follow me in to take a look at my I.D., which seemed superfluous since he'd already seen much more of me of me than my drivers license picture shows.
When I checked out the next morning, I was grateful to see that the day shift was already on duty. I wouldn't have to face the person who received the complaint from room 212. While the front desk clerk entered information into her computer I noticed a piece of paper with a large red circle with a slash running through it. Behind the slash were the Greek letters Delta Sigma Pi. I asked the clerk about the sign and she explained that three years ago, a fraternity rented a room for the night. Within an hour there were eighty people and ten kegs of beer in the room. The police had to be called and now the Deltas are no longer permitted in the hotel.
I noticed a similar paper, except this time instead of the red slash covering Greek letters, it covered a photograph of the Rolling Stones. "Are they banned, too?" I asked. The clerk nodded as she continued to type. "They were worse than the frat boys. Just as drunk, but with underage girls in the room. They won't be staying here again, that's for sure."
When she handed me my receipt, I saw the third "wanted poster". Behind the familiar red circle and slash was a black and white photograph of a fat, bald man, wearing nothing but underwear, crouching behind a potted palm tree.
I'm going to miss those chocolate chip cookies.
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