There’s a thing called time decay when you’re trading stock-market derivatives, in that not only do they have a limited shelf life, but their level of deterioration accelerates most rapidly as their lifespan zooms to a close.
In that vein, the time decay of my vacation is making my head spin.
I got an alert from my bank today that I’d fallen way below my designated balance. (Did I mention I didn’t pay bills — mine or anyone’s — this month?) So I took that as a sign to use the remaining funds to go book a show ticket for tonight!
Now, every hotel here hosts some sort of live production. I was particularly interested in the show at my hotel — especially because they keep leaving me voicemails to tell me that I can get 20% off tickets by stopping by the box office and showing my guest card.
So today, I said what the hell and went to the box office. I picked the 10 p.m. show, I picked my seat and I asked for the discount.
You’d think I’d have asked Twatzilla behind the counter to go kick a puppy on my behalf.
She asked what kind of discount I thought I was entitled to. ! I said I kept getting these voicemails telling me to get my 20% off, so that’s the discount. She asked whether I had gotten any discount books when I checked in. I said yes. She asked me to show them to her. I said look, I’ve been here for a few days — I’m not carrying around all the crap I was handed on day one.
So I had to show her a credit card, room key, room charge card, and a driver’s license and she said she needed to verify with the front desk that I was entitled to the discount I claimed I was entitled to.
HUNH?
Look, I get that maybe there are different levels of discounts for different guests. I have a suite at the top of the hotel, so I presume the fact that I got a really good room must have opened me up to some spectacular offers. Great! Give ’em to me. God knows I’m usually considered to be the riff-raff (see previous entry on WHY I FUCKING HATE RUM JUNGLE).
But gah, this was turning straight into a production. And I don’t do productions. I took back all of my cards as she got on the phone ,and she said, “What, don’t you want the discount?” And I said, “I did. But there are other shows in the area that won’t require this kind of effort. Thanks anyway.”
I was so angry — in fact, when I got back to my room, there was ANOTHER voicemail from the front desk, telling me to stop by the box office and ask for my 20% discount off my tickets.
Look, had I waited, I’m sure I would have gotten it. But seriously, this is my vacation. I don’t tap-dance for anyone and NOT for box-office monkeys. Sorry.
Before I returned to my room, though, I wandered over to a neighboring hotel to see about getting a ticket to its featured show. I would find out later that I had a coupon to get $30 off a seat to that production, but I had stomped there in a huff and didn’t exactly think to look at my pile of coupons. (Including several 2-for-1 dinner offers, which I found myself unexpectedly not needing, so you can see my reluctance to look through my stuff.)
Anyway, not only did I buy a ticket to the neighboring hotel’s show, but I also paid less than I would have for the one at my hotel.
And the best part? I said I wanted to pay the least amount possible, and I was shown my choice of seats. So I picked one and when the woman ran my credit card, she said, “Hey, I upgraded you to the $90 section but you’re only going to pay $50. The seats are better there. Enjoy!”
So, holy shit, I had to practically give blood and piss samples to get the guest discount at my hotel, but the other hotel (where I have stayed before — maybe that’s why they were so nice to me) automatically gave me a great deal WITHOUT ME EVEN ASKING.
I know they all deal with dipshit tourons all day long, but man, to have someone do something so nice for me — without it even being within the realm of expectation — was absolutely exquisite.
So, I’m out of money for dinner but I have enough in my pocket for a big fat cocktail after the show, and damn it, I’m about to have a really fantastic night. Once I finally see the show, I shall pay mad blog props to the hotel in question.
The sad thing about my hotel, though, is that I’ve never been treated better anywhere else that I’ve stayed … with the exception of box-office twat-nozzle. Amazing what one asshole can do to crap on your day, but luckily, that day has been so very saved. And I am so very grateful!