300WP: Hotels

 

Write about a memorable experience you  had staying at a hotel. 

I had just started working for a major corporation in my hometown and my new team was having a big meeting in Miami. I was so excited to see South Beach and check out the salsa scene.

We stayed at the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in: right on the beach with huge rooms and beds, an enormous bathroom, very fancy products on the vanity. There was also a very famous pop star staying at the hotel, so I knew this was a posh place. The country mouse in the city, as it were.

The first night we were there, my boss had a poolside reception for the group we had assembled. She handed me her corporate credit card and told me to open a tab. I went to the bar, which was super-swanky and beautiful. I was gazing around, waiting for the bartenders to help me.

I heard a guy next to me ask for six glasses of Sambuca and a draft beer. The bartender gave him an odd look: not many people in this part of the world order Sambuca. It’s an anise-flavored liqueur and something of an acquired taste. And the guy says, “Yeah, I don’t know, they’re British. They like Sambuca. I think it’s disgusting.”

The way he said it, so smug and like he was trying to impress this bartender, made me want to see what this jerk looked like. He was standing directly next to me, wearing a nice suit. Sort of a Midwestern heftiness to him, sandy hair.

He saw me and said, “Oh, are you like, English or something? You like Sambuca?”

I said, in a perfect London accent, “What did you say?”

He paled. “Oh, so…you’re British? I mean, I just never met anyone who liked this stuff.”

I said, in my cool accent, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I happen to like Sambuca.”

At this point, the bartender is smothering laughter and this guy is backpeddling as fast as he can.

I finally broke into a grin and said in my regular voice, “Nah, man, I’m just  messing with you. I’m from Kentucky.”

His face went totally blank. “So you’re…you’re not…”

“I’m not English. I was just messing with you.”

He smoothed his tie, turned, and left. Didn’t take the tray of glasses the bartender had prepared. Or his wallet.

I consider this my first real improv experience with the Yes, and… technique.

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