I know I really ought to be paying attention to this presentation on DICOM and HL-7 standards in healthcare, but really, could you?

I thought so.

So I arrived in SA at just after 11PM last night, went to the Hertz to find that my travel agent had for some reason rented me a compact. A compact. Me. Presidents Club. Five Star. Standard mid-size via corporate policy. Automatic upgrades. My upgrade was to a Corolla. Woo. And here I was hoping to pick Melly up in a Jaguar to further secure her image of me as a pretentious, narcissistic jagoff.

Sorry Melly. We will be cruising SA in the Corolla. Surprisingly, the car drives really well, even if I can’t get the goddam seat to adjust.

Minor issue. I’m not happy, but I’ll deal.

So after a number of wrong turns (read four) I finally found myself at the Radisson Downtown – without question the WORST hotel I have ever stayed in as a business traveler. The place is dilapidated. Dirty. Ceiling tiles stained and cracked, light fixtures hanging askew, walls in desperate need of a cleaning. Sure the lobby is generally pleasant and tastefully decorated in a neo-southwestern way, but it’s kinda like putting lingerie on a Labrador. Yeah she may look pretty, but you’re still sleeping with a dog.

So I checked into the hotel, and this round and wheezing gentleman with a readily apparent developmental disability was working the desk. After roughly ten minutes of typing his autobiography into the computer, I was handed a key to room 222. I took the creaky, dirty elevator up to that floor, walked down the hall, stuck the key in the door, and opened it to find a friendly young couple in varying states of undress preparing for bed.

Now I’m not opposed to some swinging, but generally I prefer to be introduced first.

And remember, this is Texas. Walking into someone’s room unannounced at midnight on a Tuesday can and usually will get you shot. Legally.

I apologized for the error, dodged the now airborne ice bucket, bid them good night, and went back downstairs to discuss my opinions on alternative lifestyles and room sharing options with the desk staff. After explaining my dissatisfaction at having to share a bed with a strange couple, I asked for a new room. I’m so demanding, I know. I also pulled out my cell phone and called AmEx to find me a new hotel.

After another ten minutes of prose, Forest hands me the key. To room 222.

Now I’m starting to get frustrated. I explained again that there were people already in there. He was shocked to hear this and immediately returned to his novel in an effort to find me a new room. Soon after he hands me a key to 540. I take the key, look at him and say perhaps too sternly, “Now there had better not be anybody else in this room.” He jumps back startled from the desk, fear in his eyes and asks “Why? What are you going to do to me?!”

Now if you are having a bad day, scaring disabled kids is not the way you cap off the night. First I felt frustrated, then I felt like a fucktard.

I smiled reassuringly and informed him that I didn’t mean that I was going to cause him any bodily harm, but rather that I wanted him to make sure there was no one else in the room. At about this time, another employee had walked up and offered to call the room for me. Which she did and subsequently woke up a nice but now very irate gentleman who was previously pleasantly asleep in that room.

Jimbo calls Amex again with renewed urgency.

So let’s do the math. I’ve been in town an hour, and I have already pissed off three hotel guests and scared the crap out of a disabled kid. I’m thinking seriously at this point of screwing the corporate policies and just checking into the Marriott at $250 bucks a night, but I know this is gonna cause my boss to go into conniptions after our recent discussion about my expense account.

Eventually and with a little more effort we were finally able to find an actual room without an actual person asleep in it already.

I walked in and found a leaking faucet, no phone on the desk, ONE available power outlet not in use or covered by some largely immoveable piece of furniture, and a dial up connection that barely pushes the needle to 21 kbps.

21 kbps?

No high speed?

I think I would be willing to share a room with the Young Republican’s National Committee rather than give up high speed access to porn.

Melly , don’t be surprised if I’m crashing at your place tonight.